A Story

So
I'm
at
work
and zombies attacked!
Naturally, this pissed me off, so I leapt to action, as only I can.
I clambered up the very inconveniently placed poles that stick through the middle of the store and through the exposed piping of a company too lazy to put ceilings in their buildings, as people in my line, worried more about getting their groceries than being eaten by zombies, complained up at me from below.
From my robotic exoskeleton, which I always wear to work for such an occasion, I flipped a flamethrower and a spinning blade-disc-of-death, from my left and right arm, respectively.
I leapt down from the ceiling, B.D.oD. churning and flamethrower spewing, into the middle of the produce section.
As zombie parts flew in front of me and disintegrated in the heat, some fat lady came up behind me and pounded on my back, complaining I had crushed her child's birthday cake she had just retrieved from the bakery section. I didn't hear her through the whirring, churning, clanking, squeeling gears and wires of my exoskeleton so I believed that a zombie had somehow gotten behind me and was crawling on me.
She died shortly thereafter.
After realizing my mistake, I carried the body (a feat I could have not performed without the increased strength from my exoskeleton) to the meat department. They packaged it and sold it on sale, and I rang it up for people all day.

The end!