18+ Only. Play Responsibly.
Granny had brought a frying pan, a rolling pin, a cleaver, a revolver, a shotgun and a Molotov cocktail to the zombie apocalypse.
I killed the bonus with one finger.
The wheel stopped.
Wrong side.
The Power Spins disappeared.
The game returned to the ordinary reels.
Granny was still there.
Of course she was.
The zombies had spent the entire session failing to remove this woman from her street and I had just accomplished more structural damage than the undead by pressing GAMBLE once.
That needed rewinding.
I had started Granny vs Zombies 2 LootCollect with €100.00 and €0.80 per spin.
The neighbourhood looked like the sun was setting on the precise evening when local property values became irrelevant.
Orange sky.
Brick houses.
Broken windows.
Abandoned car.
Granny standing somewhere beyond the reels with grey hair piled high enough to survive blunt-force trauma, one hand ready for cookware and the other apparently reserved for whatever weapon the evening required.
On the left sat four brains.
Mini.
Minor.
Major.
Mega.
The zombie apocalypse had denominated cerebral matter.
A blue brain was 10x.
Yellow 50x.
Orange 500x.
Purple 5000x.
Somewhere during the collapse of civilisation, somebody had sorted human brains by prize tier and mounted them beside the road.
Fine.
Across the top of the reels waited a trail of greyed-out objects.
The frying pan was available first.
Granny had not yet been trusted with the full arsenal.
This seemed sensible.
The first useful spin put Cash Values across the middle and the frying-pan Collect on the far side.
Pan landed.
Everything useful came rushing into it.
2x.
4x.
Another 3x.
Nine times the bet.
€7.20.
The trail moved.
Rolling pin unlocked.
The game had watched an old woman collect money with a frying pan and concluded that what she needed next was a longer blunt object.
I kept €0.80.
The early paylines themselves were mostly decorative interruptions.
J.
Q.
K.
A.
Coffee cups.
Furniture.
Bits of suburban property that had apparently survived the infection only to become low-paying symbols.
The interesting part happened whenever Granny’s equipment arrived.
A rolling pin came in with a Cash Value.
It selected the thing and boosted it.
A modest little value suddenly had several more times the bet beaten into it.
This was not baking.
Granny had discovered financial tenderisation.
The spin paid enough to push me back above €100.
€103.20.
The next trail step opened.
The household was escalating.
Then the cleaver arrived.
There were Cash Values on screen.
One moment they were single objects.
The cleaver came down.
Duplicates.
The game had found a way to make money reproduce using kitchen equipment.
Granny had moved from collecting cash with cookware to dividing it with a blade.
No zombie had yet presented a credible argument against her.
The balance peaked at €106.40.
That was as prosperous as the street got.
A run of empty spins followed.
€101.
€96.
€92.
One Cash Value sat uselessly without the right Collect.
A coloured Pot Coin landed and flew toward one of the tubes beside the reels.
The pots were impossible to ignore.
Green.
Pink.
Orange.
Blue.
BOOST.
SPLIT.
EXPAND.
CASHMAX.
Four transparent cylinders of glowing toxic soup attached to the side of a suburban zombie slot as though Granny had converted the garage into a chemical-weapons shed.
Pot Coins kept appearing.
Green into green.
Blue into blue.
Pink into pink.
The tubes looked progressively more radioactive.
Nothing happened.
More liquid.
Still nothing.
I was now watching toxic sludge accumulate beside an abandoned car while an elderly woman slowly unlocked heavier weapons.
The zombies were beginning to feel like background noise.
Then Granny obtained the revolver.
Frying pan.
Rolling pin.
Cleaver.
Gun.
The kitchen had officially failed to contain the situation.
The revolver Collect landed while a couple of Cash Values were present.
It fired across the reels.
One value got multiplied.
Another shot hit.
The number grew again.
Granny was no longer collecting loot.
She was interrogating it.
A 3x value entered the spin looking harmless and left looking like it had confessed to several crimes.
€11.20 came back.
Balance around €91.
Then a zombie landed on reel one.
Frying pan on reel five.
The street changed shape.
Showdown.
The outside reels expanded.
Cash Values in the middle locked.
Three respins appeared.
Dr Cortex was facing Granny.
He started at 2x.
A scientist zombie with a giant head had finally found himself in a structured confrontation against a pensioner holding cookware.
The first new Cash Value landed.
Dr Cortex ate it.
His number increased.
Respins reset.
Another Cash Value arrived.
He ate that too.
The man was consuming money directly.
No metaphor required.
2x became 5x.
Then 9x.
Then 13x.
He was not getting stronger from brains.
He was eating currency.
That explained a lot about modern zombies.
Another Cash Value landed.
Another bite.
Another reset.
Granny remained at the opposite side of the screen with the frying pan.
Dr Cortex continued trying to win the confrontation by swallowing the evidence.
Eventually the middle dried out.
One respin.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
Last one.
Nothing.
Showdown over.
The return pulled me back to €88.80.
Not spectacular.
Useful.
Dr Cortex had eaten his way through a pile of money and still failed to financially defeat somebody carrying cookware.
Back to the street.
The trail continued.
The shotgun arrived later.
The frying pan was still available.
So was the rolling pin.
Nothing had been retired.
The weapons had merely gained colleagues.
One of the later Collects sent repeated shots across Cash Values and zombies, turning the reels into a suburban firing range with four toxic vats glowing beside it.
The sunset behind the houses remained beautiful while Granny fired a shotgun through duplicated money.
My balance did not.
€81.
€77.
€72.
Small line win.
€73.60.
Back down.
The Mega brain continued glowing at 5000x on the left, looking far too healthy for something being advertised as zombie currency.
Pot Coins kept flying into the tubes.
Still nothing.
By then I cared more about the vats than the undead.
Granny’s arsenal had delivered.
The chemistry was withholding.
Then, at €66.40, one finally went.
The screen stopped.
Power Spins.
Six of them were already sitting there.
Mine.
A toxic zone was waiting to spill across the reels.
No purchase.
No chase.
Nothing needed fixing.
Then the game showed me GAMBLE.
One Pot could become two.
52%.
Slightly better than even.
This was where Granny stopped being the dangerous person.
She had spent the entire evening upgrading herself from frying pan to rolling pin to cleaver to revolver to shotgun while zombies wandered through a street containing brain jackpots and chemical vats.
She had managed all of it.
I had one job.
Play the six spins.
I pressed Gamble.
The wheel moved.
I watched it circle.
Fifty-two percent.
More likely than not.
It slowed.
Miss.
The Pot vanished.
The six Power Spins vanished with it.
No extra zone.
No original zone.
Nothing.
The reels returned.
Balance still €66.40.
There was Granny.
There were the zombies.
There was the abandoned car.
The brain jackpots remained intact.
The apocalypse simply resumed because I had personally cancelled the entertainment.
No zombie had achieved this.
Dr Cortex had literally eaten money and failed.
I had pressed one button and removed six guaranteed spins from existence.
The next few base spins became very simple.
Rolling pin.
Small Boost.
€2.40.
Cleaver.
Two mediocre values became slightly less mediocre.
€4.80.
Low €60s.
Then the revolver returned one final time.
Cash Value on screen.
Shot.
Multiplier.
Another hit.
Bigger number.
Collect.
€6.40.
Balance €63.20.
I gave Granny two more spins.
First:
K.
Coffee cup.
Zombie.
Nothing useful.
€62.40.
Second:
Cash Value.
No Collect.
Above the reels, the Molotov still waited farther along the trail.
Granny had not even reached the stage where she started throwing petrol bombs.
I had already done enough.
€61.60.
Stopped.
The final screen left one Cash Value sitting there without anything to collect it.
A zombie stood among the ordinary symbols.
The Power Spins were gone.
Not eaten by Dr Cortex.
Not lost in Showdown.
Not destroyed by one of the zombies.
Six of them had been mine.
Granny had survived frying pans, revolvers, toxic vats and an entire suburb full of undead.
She survived me too.
Skull Carnival spins like it's trying to erase me.