In the fifth year of the zombie apocalypse, order has collapsed, but the rules of the project remain.
I, the former gold-medal Party B, opened a zombie funeral parlor in the ruins.
Service items: Provide end-of-life beauties, memorial ceremonies, and urn customization for zombie customers.
Clients include, but are not limited to: the zombies of a former noble lady who demands that the petals must be fresh, the zombies of a professor who insists on using children's songs for the funeral BGM, and a group of former square dance troupes who sit in protest because they are dissatisfied with the color of the urn.
My sister, who wants to save the world, resents my work.
I handed over the quotation to my latest client, the zombie former richest man in the world who insisted on lying in a diamond-encrusted crystal coffin while a recording of his own death speech was played.
"You have to pay more."
Intention:—