We had more than two hundred fifty adventures together. We crammed them all into a hundred and four days—give or take.
Things always got crazy. We changed the world. We changed the galaxy. At the end of every afternoon, it changed back, and that was fine.
Same old us. Same mad scientist in town. Same harmless pet platypus.
Then, one day, The Doctor made a “zombie-inator” without a self-destruct button…one that did its job.
He pulled the trigger. The -inator was somehow aimed straight at our yard.
My brother was Patient Zero.
He got our mom. She turned our dad. Then our sister, and her boyfriend, and soon our whole block.
The Tri-State area fell. We tried to save it. We fought it as long as we could, but you can’t fight the sunset.
My brother fled. At first it didn’t matter—taking him down wouldn’t have changed what he did.
Friends. Family. Loved ones. Lives destroyed…oh, what might have been.
This morning, though, I woke up, and I knew things were different. He’d returned. You can’t spend all that time with someone without knowing when they’re about to be breathing down your neck.
So to speak.
I wanted to be angry at him. In the end, it’s not his fault. It’s Doof’s. And he’s long gone.
If anything, I will be grateful. Before I have to finish him, I get to say the words.
“Well, Ferb. I know what we’re gonna do today.”