Title: "The Farting Fisherman" In the apocalypse, you'd think that zombies would be the deadliest thing you'd have to worry about. But that was before the legend of 10K's toxic fishing method made its way across the airwaves, all thanks to Citizen Z. There had been a mundane day at Northern Light, with Citizen Z, also known as Simon Cruller, staring at his screens, intercepting transmissions, and providing aid through his radio communications when an image popped onto the screen that caught his full, undivided attention - it was 10K. 10K, the young survivalist with a sniper rifle, a quiet demeanor, and a sharp eye for killing zombies - not to mention Citizen Z's crush - had been caught on a rogue drone camera. He appeared to be wading into a murky swamp pond, and, to Simon's surprise, 10K swiftly peeled off his clothes, dropping his signature gear and standing in nothing but his birthday suit, the moonlit water reflecting off his pale, taut butt cheeks. Simon gulped, adjusting his parka. Though not particularly the time for ogling, Simon couldn't help but admire 10K's lean physique and the way his muscle definition played a game of hide and seek with the dim light around the pond. As Citizen Z fumbled at the controls to adjust the satellite feed for a better angle--a completely scientific endeavor, of course--his mouth went agape in bewilderment when he saw 10K steel his gaze on the water before him. Simon watched, popcorn forgotten, as 10K lifted his cheeks and let rip what could only be described as the most resounding and bubbly fart ever to grace the post-apocalyptic air--or water. The ripple effect was immediate. Fish began floating to the surface, dazed, their eyes bulging in a silent, comical "O." Simon snorted, nearly choking on air. 10K casually glanced over his shoulder with a bashful yet mischievous grin, visibly enjoying the relief, oblivious to the fact he was on camera. There was an undeniable charm to the dirt-smudged face that looked satisfied for having conjured a fishing technique even Poseidon wouldn't claim. Back at Northern Light, Citizen Z was laughing uncontrollably, wiping tears from his eyes. His fingers itched to reach through the radio comms and ask 10K every detail about what he'd just witnessed. How did he discover this method? Did it work with all fish, or just the swamp-dwelling variety? Was there a particular diet that contributed to the lethal potency of his flatulence? But professionalism (or what was left of it) prevailed, and Citizen Z simply transmitted a message, "10K, got fish?" 10K's voice crackled over the radio, a hint of pride detectable underneath the static. "Yeah. Swamp sushi, a la 10K." Simon imagined 10K later, expertly roasting the fish over a campfire, the flames casting an orange glow that danced across his toned back and played along the scars and stories marked on his skin. The fish sizzled, releasing a smoky aroma that mercifully masked any residual smell from their peculiar method of capture. As the story of the dead-eyed, fart-fishing marksman spread amongst the ragtag groups of survivors and hilariously squeamish reactions were shared, Simon chuckled to himself. From now on, besides being the traverse sniper, 10K had earned himself a new title - the Farting Fisherman of the apocalypse. And Citizen Z? Well, he never looked at fishing - or 10K - quite the same way again.