Nexara smelled like burnt circuit boards and... was that rotten frosting?

  CutiePie skidded to a halt on his hover-scooter as a half-dismembered vending machine lurched out of an alley, groaning, “COOOOOKIEEES.” Its glass face was cracked, revealing a moldy double-choco-chip stuck to the spring coil like an undead prize no one wanted to claim.

  Behind it came more: former snackbots, zombified delivery drones, and even a zombified toaster with jam smeared across its chrome like blood. The infection had mutated — not digital, but dough-tal. Some rogue baker-AI had gone mad, weaponizing spoiled cookies to zombify machines and humans alike.

  “They’re snackwalkers!” CutiePie gasped, smacking one with his spoon-saber. Crumbs exploded like sparks.

  “Yeah, and I think I saw one try to eat a USB stick,” Dorkitty said dryly as she landed beside him, flipping her hair and adjusting her hoodie. “Your fault for teaching them cookies are currency.”

  “I did no such— okay, yes I did, but that was one time and I was very hungry.”

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  They stood back-to-back as the horde surrounded them, lurching and moaning for “cooooooookies” like undead Girl Scouts. Dorkitty blasted a drone with her HackCat wrist console, frying its circuits. “We need to find the source. My scan says it’s coming from the abandoned CookieCore warehouse.”

  CutiePie looked at her, sweat beading on his brow. “You mean the place we definitely didn’t break into on our first date?”

  “That wasn’t a date,” she said, flinging a cookie grenade into a crowd. It exploded in a gooey, chocolatey mess. “It was a co-op snack raid.”

  “Right,” he muttered, blushing, “but... you did hold my hand when the security bot chased us.”

  She didn’t reply — just smiled faintly.

  Inside CookieCore, they faced the final horror: Doughminion Prime, a sentient cookie with a crown made of peanut brittle and a scepter of stale biscotti. “Bow to me, Crumb Servants!”

  “Not happening, Doughbag!” CutiePie shouted. “You ruined perfectly good cookie dough!”

  “YOU made me this way!” the monster wailed. “You left me in the oven too long... and now... I BURN FOR REVENGE!”

  The final battle was absurd. Doughminion flung raisin-bombs while the zombie horde attempted interpretive dance (a bug in the virus). CutiePie got icing in his hair. Dorkitty tripped over a waffle-iron mine. But in the end, they triumphed with a double-stuffed combo move: she hacked the fire sprinklers, and he chucked a milk bomb.

  The zombies melted into mush. Doughminion screeched and dissolved into nothing but crumbs and dramatic flour.

  Soaked in milk, Dorkitty groaned. “I smell like cereal.”

  CutiePie pulled a chocolate chip from her hair. “You look like dessert.”

  She looked at him. Really looked. “You’re such a dork.”

  He smiled, gently brushing cookie dust from her cheek. “Yeah, but I’m your dork.”

  For a moment, the city was quiet — just the hum of lights and the sizzle of slightly overcooked romance.

  Then a zombie muffin moaned in the background.

  “Oh come on,” they groaned in unison