It was the Japanese survivors that helped the American survivors build Neo New York. They had more resources and were better organized. When the class system was established for the construction of Neo New York, the Gold and Platinum Quadrants were populated with mostly Japanese survivors, whereas the Silver and Copper Quadrants were mostly American.
Heinz was born in Silver, in a German-American neighborhood. But as a teenager he was moved to Platinum when his father got a position at the new university that had opened up. It was very rare for entire families to be moved from Silver to Platinum, but they made some exceptions for university faculty. The high school Heinz attended was predominantly Japanese, with some Indian and Chinese students. The few students who were considered white were Jewish or half-Japanese. Heinz was the only blue-eyed blond kid in the school.
The other kids didn’t like him. Not only because his eyes, skin, and hair were different, but because he was low class. He had come from Silver. He didn’t belong. Because of his white skin, the kids called him Cum Face.
“How’s it taste, Cum Face?” a Japanese kid told him as he shoved his face into a mound of dog shit. “Does it taste like home? Did you used to have to eat dog shit for lunch in Silver because your family was so poor?”
Heinz wanted to fight back, but that would only make it worse.
“Maybe we should put shit in your eyes, too, so they won’t be blue anymore.”
They rubbed shit in his hair, on his skin. Then the group of five Japanese boys kicked him repeatedly. When they were done, they laughed.
“It’s a good look for you,” one kid said. “You’re not quite as ugly with shit all over you.”
“From now on,” said another, “you have to wear shit all the time. We’re sick of looking at your ugly cum skin and snot-colored hair.”
Another said, “If we see you and you’re not wearing shit on your skin we’ll kick your ass.”
When Heinz arrived at home covered in shit, his father was displeased with him.
“You let those inferior slanty-eyed rodents do this to you?” his father yelled. “You are Aryan, the descendent of Germans. Have you no pride?”
“But there were five of them,” Heinz said.
His father slapped him. “One Aryan is worth a hundred of them. A million. You are racially superior to them.”
His father lifted his shirt to reveal a large black swastika tattooed over his heart.
“Do you see this?” his father said, pointing at his tattoo. “This is a symbol of pride. One day you too will wear this symbol, if you prove worthy of it. You must never cower before such vermin. It is better to die than to shame your race in such a manner.”
“I’m the only Aryan in the school,” he said.
“One day that will change,” his father said. “Until that day you must endure. You must show these scum what a true Aryan is made of. You will not show any weakness. You will prove the quality of your genes. You will show them your race is the master race. Is this clear?”
Heinz nodded and then his father helped him clean the shit off of his face.
Heinz freezes when he hears the sound of growling coming from behind him. He turns around slowly. A large mechjaw is facing him, pointing its Gatling gun at his chest.
“Nice doggy,” Heinz says with a smile. The dog growls at him.
Heinz reaches into Adriana’s pack and pulls out her weapon: a blowgun. Slowly, without making any sudden moves, he brings the blowgun close to his lips.
“It’s okay.” His voice calm and soothing. “No need to shoot.”
Just as the Gatling gun is about to fire, whirring into motion, Heinz blows a dart into the dog’s neck. The gun shuts off before any bullets come out. The dog’s body twitches and then falls to the street, paralyzed.
“That’s a good dog,” Heinz says, placing the blowgun back into the bag.
The nerve toxin in the darts might not do any damage to the undead, but it numbs their muscles and nervous system for a short amount of time, immobilizing them. At first he thought the blowgun would be a useless weapon out here, but now that he’s run into a mechjaw he sees how useful it can be.
Heinz kneels down to the undead dog. With his gloved hand, he pets the hair on its slimy head, staring into its black hungry eyes.
“Why aren’t you covered in shit?” a Japanese bully asked Heinz the next time they saw him.
There were seven of them this time.
“We told you to wear shit from now on,” said another. “Otherwise we’d kick your ass.”
“I considered it,” Heinz said. “But I decided not to.”
Heinz changed directions to take a shortcut behind a shopping center. The bullies followed.
“Why not, Cum Face?”
“Because I didn’t want to look like the lot of you,” Heinz said.
Two of the bullies got in front of him so that he couldn’t move forward anymore.
“What did you say, Cum Face? You saying our skin looks like shit?”
Heinz got in the kid’s face. “You heard me, insect. Now get out of my way. I’m sick of looking at your filthy skin.”
The kid punched Heinz in the eye. He was wearing an iron skull-shaped ring that cut open the puffy flesh around the Aryan’s eyebrow. Heinz looked back at him, a thin trickle of blood on his cheek.
“Don’t you dare ever touch me again with those disgusting hands,” Heinz said.
The kid punched him again, causing more blood to erupt from his forehead.
“This is your last warning,” Heinz said. “Do not touch me again.”
The kid raised his arm to throw a third punch. Then Heinz stabbed him in the head with a crab fork. The boy screamed as blood squirted out of the hole on his forehead. Two boys tried to grab the Aryan, but he turned on them before they could pin him down.
Heinz stabbed the thin two-pronged fork into one of their eyes, scooping out the eyeball like a scallop from its shell. The kid dropped to the ground, shrieking. Then Heinz stabbed the other in the neck. This bully did not cry out. He stepped back, holding his neck. A look of horror crossed his face as blood geysered from his jugular over his fingers, showering the pavement and the other bullies.
When they saw this, all of the kids ran away, except for two: the leader with the hole in his forehead and the kid with the neck wound, bleeding to death by Heinz’s feet.
“One day all of you cockroaches will fall to the master race,” Heinz told the lead bully, flicking the eyeball off the crab fork.
The bully cried at Heinz, begging for mercy. The blood from his stab wound ran down his nose and mixed with his tears.
“I’m sorry,” said the bully. “I’m so sorry.”
As the bully’s friend lay motionless in a puddle of blood, a horrible stench of feces filled the air. The kid had shit his pants after he died.
Heinz looked at the dead kid’s ass.
“I want you to smear his shit all over your face and hair,” Heinz said, impersonating the Japanese kid’s voice. “If you don’t I’ll kick your ass.”
The bully cried as he pulled handfuls of shit out his dead friend’s pants and rubbed it on his skin and hair. The shit collected in the hole on his head, mixing with the blood and crumbs of skull.
“That is why your race is pitiful,” Heinz said, bringing the crab fork to the kid’s throat. “An Aryan would never disgrace himself like that, no matter what the cost.”
Night falls and the streets fill with the living dead. A cloud covering blocks out all light from the moon and stars, drowning the city in black. The only thing that lights Heinz’ way is the fire from his flamethrower and the burning corpses as they hit the ground.
The zombie mob stretches as far as he can see in all directions, a great sea of writhing molten flesh. The fifteen foot circle around Heinz is the only empty space that he can see for blocks.