EXT. - RURAL FOREST CLEARING - DAY 10K stands in his birthday suit, a look of unabashed relief on his face. The world has gone to zombies, but he's found a slice of Eden with a functioning makeshift shower. 10K dips a rusty old bucket into the pristine creek, grunting with the effort. He hoists it up to a jerry-rigged pulley system connected to a branch overhead, his muscles rippling comically as he flexes. With a triumphant heave, 10K pulls on the rope. Water cascades down, hitting him squarely on the head. He stands tall, striking a heroic pose, eyes closed, face lifted to the waterfall pouring over him. Sudsy soap suds slide down his skin as he scrubs with a bar of soap he's miraculously preserved all this time--probably swiped from an abandoned motel during one of their scavenging runs. CUT TO: EXT. - SAME CLEARING - CONTINUOUS After the impromptu shower, 10K fashions himself a towel out of a large, zombie-themed beach towel (the irony isn't lost on him). He saunters over to a piece of shiny metal crudely nailed to a tree, passing for a mirror. He fumbles with a toothbrush and squeezes the last life out of a tube of toothpaste. With exaggerated enthusiasm, he brushes his teeth, humming a jingle from a pre-apocalypse toothpaste commercial. Each brush is met with a comical twang, as if this were the most important mission of the day. CUT TO: EXT. - POND - MOMENTS LATER 10K strolls to the pond's edge, casually glancing around to make sure no z's or prying human eyes are watching. With zen-like calm, he wades into the water, enjoying the serenity of the pond. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and-- PFFFFFFFT! A laughably loud fart echoes across the water, ripping through the silence. A flock of birds takes flight from a nearby tree. 10K's face breaks into a sheepish grin as he feels the relief washing over him--the simple pleasures of the post-apocalyptic world. His moment of tranquility is suddenly interrupted by a bizarre spectacle: several fish flopping and turning belly-up, victims of the toxic guff. 10K's grin widens with opportunistic glee. He bends over, plucking one of the floating fish from the water, examining it closely--his standards for fresh aren't what they used to be. 10K (with prideful sarcasm): "Who needs a fishing pole when you've got lethal gas?" He hoists the fish like a trophy and chuckles at the absurdity of his catch. His survival skills just got a new, unorthodox addition--a method that would definitely give Bear Grylls a run for his money. As 10K exits the pond, he gingerly steps around the collateral damage of his aquatic assault, heading back to camp with a resigned "dinner's on me" look on his face. Behind him, in the water, bubbles keep rising to the surface--but these aren't from fish. FADE OUT.