As the rag-tag band of survivors made their way through the zombie-ridden post-apocalyptic world of Z Nation, there was one beacon of hope connecting them to the remnants of civilization: Citizen Z, the eccentric, former NSA agent, managing communications from his solitary outpost in the frozen wastelands. Meanwhile, 10K, the young, sharpshooting loner with a penchant for notches on his gun, had developed a rather unique method of fishing--a technique so bizarre it warranted a concerned and curiously amused inquiry from Citizen Z. "So, you're telling me you wade out naked into the swamp... and then what?" Citizen Z's slightly distorted voice crackled through the walkie-talkie. The rest of the group rolled their eyes but couldn't help but listen in. 10K, standing modestly on the bank of a viscous swamp pond, replied matter-of-factly, "You get it all off to blend with nature. Nature doesn't wear clothes, you know?" Citizen Z couldn't stifle his laughter. "Aha! And might I compliment you on how your... ahem... well-toned posterior complements the scenery?" 10K opted to ignore the cheeky remark, though a fly on his shoulder might have detected the faintest smirk. As he strutted confidently toward the mucky water, the morning sun glistened off his skin--every muscle well-defined and sculpted from days of fighting the undead and force-marching across the remains of the country. Citizen Z watched via satellite, popcorn in hand, as 10K entered the water with the elegance of a natural predator. 10K's face was the perfect picture of focus. However, a keen observer might note how the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his glee at the ludicrousness of his unconventional 'fishing method.' "And now," 10K murmured to himself, readying for the piece de resistance, "the secret weapon." From the safety of his arctic lair, Citizen Z leaned forward, gripping the desk. "Wait for it," he whispered to the monitors, an excited shiver running down his spine as 10K assumed the position. With the patience of a monk, 10K lowered himself into the water, the swamp bubbling around him. His head tilted back ever so slightly, eyes slightly squinted, and he let loose the thunderous bubble that would be mortality's final curtain for the unfortunate fish. The swamp seemed to quake under the force of 10K's gastrointestinal gale. "Oh my god," Citizen Z howled, tears streaming down his face from laughter as he witnessed the surface of the pond roiling with escaping bubbles. "It's like a symphony of death...!" "Symphony of death," 10K repeated solemnly but with a wink nobody could see, "effective, though." Just seconds later, the fish began to pop, belly-up, on the surface of the water, their final moments marked by the awful stench of 10K's internal weaponry. The visuals, broadcasted strategically on a slight delay to protect 10K's modesty, left Citizen Z in fits of uncontrollable laughter. "I can't wait to recount this tale! The legend of the post-apocalyptic swamp fart fisherman will echo through the ages!" In the background, Warren's voice could be heard, "Focus, Citizen Z. We've got zombies to cure and a world to save." 10K simply grabbed his makeshift spear, slinking through the water to gather his catch for the day. And just like that, another day in the bizarre world of Z Nation carried on, with 10K's bare-bum fishing by flatulence enshrined forever in the annals of apocalyptic legend. Citizen Z signed off, still chuckling, "Over and out, 10K. May your aim always be true, and your farts... fatal."