"The night is darker than usual. A lone man is walking near the remains of a shopping mall previously known as One Utama. Even the moon is sallow, the colour of a week old corpse. It illuminates 5 people walking down the deserted street. They’ve heard rumours that this part of town is infected. They should be afraid but they’ve swallowed some pills and are feeling euphoric, invincible. Ahead is the Bukit Utama Park where apparently the infected were herded like contaminated cattle after the grisly battle and then fenced off. Now this is where people looking for trouble come, egged by false courage.

One, an adrenaline jock just wants the next thrill. His best friend who never says no to him follows behind, eyes darting around with fear he will not admit. Ever so often he looks at the chick next to him, a Goth-lolita with crimson lips. She said to him earlier, “bring me the heads of the living dead, and I’ll show you a good time.”

The jock’s kid brother follows, chubby from too much nasi lemak but dying to fit in with the cool crowd. And then there’s YOU. A thrill seeker, you’ve hooked up with this band of crazies because hell, it’s a Saturday night and you heard there might be zombies.

This is the known story. It started with a botanist by the name of Alfian close on a cure for cancer. He’d won many awards in the field of medicinal plants. He’d found a way to control violent epilepsy, pretty much cured bi-polarism and rumour had it could even regenerate decaying tissue. He was a man driven for the improvement of humankind, for helping the sick, for prolonging life.

What many do not know that underlying his obsession was a darker agenda. Alfian desired to cheat death…

He sought immortality, literally. There is a myth about a plant that is able to stun ageing and reinvigorate limbs. A fountain of youth. Or at the very least something that can stop the Grim Reaper cold in his tracks. He fantasied about the glory. This narcissism led him to neglect his girlfriend Zafira who followed him into madness but is fast realising that the man she fell in love with was long gone replaced by a mad scientist.

And then he discovered it, a dwarf species of the Rafflesia known for its death-stench. He found that its stamen is able to reknit itself back to health when bugs come and feed upon its nectar. And to please Zafira, he named it Zaflessia. He’s close to unlocking immortality, there were several prototypes ready for testing.

And then Zafira came, issuing an ultimatum. They had an ugly fight followed swiftly by a desperate make-up. As he slept, she laid in the dark and realised she would never be first. Walking softly to his lab, in a fit of sudden rage she smashed his research.

Liquids and fumes permeated the air creeping in crevices, airborne and sinister. And those that inhaled, suffocated in their sleep. But death was not the end, the mutated spores moulded with organs and veins and in the deep of the night metamorphosed into something much, much worse. The next day Alfian found Zafira passed outside the lab, most of her body covered in a strange cocoon-like web.

He tried to free her but it seemed that the cocoon was actually part of her. Crazed, and realising his folly, he devoted his time to finding a cure. What he didn’t realise was that she was already dead.

A week later Zafira broke free of her chrysalis, unfurling decayed limbs into the walking dead. Elsewhere similar cocoons were breaking free.

A noise startled the jock. A moan. A terrible sound of dragging, a shambling of rotted flesh and unholy intent. He finds himself surrounded by the mutants, dead people made

limber by the spores of the malicious flower. He swings his fists and contacts with rotted meat. The zombie turns and bites his hand off.

Propelled by his screams, best friend tries to help him but too late another who looks like she could be a Tiger beer auntie buries her teeth into his neck. Her sharp nails thrusts into his stomach bringing forth entrails. His eyes widen in shock looking at Goth-lolita who has turned paler than her white make-up.

There is a terrible sound of Tiger beer auntie chomping and slurping down entrails. Goth-lolita runs only to face a zombie hoard. She turns in time to see a construction foreign worker taking a huge chunk out of kid brother’s side. He’s squealing like a stuck pig. The zombie he rips apart his head and scoops out brains, warm and trickling with head juice.

Goth-lolita finds a branch and brings up this fragile weapon, swiping wildly. Damn it, she’ll go down fighting. From the ground, a legless zombie grabs her legs and tears it off. She falls, tears streaming down her face and crawls making small animal sounds as the hoard envelops her.

And suddenly there’s silence, with only the sound of feeding. They make quick work of her meat and then red-eyed and still so very hungry turn their putrefying heads to YOU."

- Concept by Chacha and Helena Bin
- Written by Honey Ahmad