Moscow has known more than its share of horror over the centuries. Yet in the past few years, Muscovites allowed themselves to believe that the ancient curse was lifted. Steamed milk hissed where blood once ran, IKEA ergo-furniture replaced torture-machines, and dungeons were transformed into winecellars. But Moscow was only lying in wait, luring its victims into complacency before unleashing on them...The Night of the Living Dead Kommissars!
A sunny afternoon in the new Moscow. A cheerful young oligarch, MISHA KHORDOKOVSKY, strolls across Red Square with his sweetheart, IRINA KHAKOMADA.
As they walk along the Kremlin wall, Misha playfully pushes Irina off the path onto the graves of several old Bolsheviks. Irina giggles, pretending to be scared. Misha drags her over more of the grim old tombs.
Misha: "They're coming to get you, Ira! All the old Kommissars! It's Halloween and they're hungry for bourgeois blood!"
Irina: "Ooo, Misha, don't even joke like that!"
Misha: "They want your shoes, Ira! They vaaant to eeeeat your shoooooes!"
Irina: "Agh! Stop it, Misha! That's not funny, it's sick!"
She nervously takes off her shoes and cradles them to her bosom, whispering to them, "It's all right, my darlings, Misha is only joking...." then turns to Misha and says, "Stop it, I just bought these shoes and you're upsetting them!"
Misha laughs: "Silly girl! It's been 20 years since the last of the Kommissar was buried."
Ira frowns and whispers, "Yes...exactly twenty years today. Oh, let's go back to Zhukovo!"
Behind the young couple we see a marble gravestone suddenly tilt upward. A skeleton in a peaked cap with a huge red star stumbles to its feet and lurches toward the young lovers, groaning.
Zombie Kommissar: "Feeeast upon the bourgeoooises!"
The Zombie leaps at Irina, grasping at the shoes she holds tightly to her bosom.
Irina: "No, not my shoes!"
Misha leaps to her defense, and they manage to escape across Red Square.
Misha: "Come on! We can still make it to Snobs!"
Irina: "Oh, I really prefer Vanil'!"
They disappear into a Mercedes with a blue light, and two Mercedes Jeeps follow behind, as more and more tombstones are upended, freeing thousands of living-dead Chekists.
Behind them the first Zombie has paused to hold a press conference.
Zombie Kommissar: "There will be a thooooooorough investigation...."
TV Reporter: "But isn't this going to hurt Russian business and the economy?"
Zombie Kommissar: "Statuuuute 176 of the penal coooode, Statute 185 of the criminal cooooode..."
TV reporter: "And when the investigation is complete?"
Zombie Kommissar: "We will feast upon their sooooouls!"
A second, even more decayed Zombie in Chekist uniform lurches to the microphone.
Second Zombie (in suave, polite voice): "Please note that we will feast upon their souls in a strictly legal, orderly manner."
First Zombie Kommissar (cowering): "Yeeeess master, my mistake. Only in a leeegal, entirely bouuurgeois manner, ssssir."
Behind them, a horde of zombie kommissars converges on the news crew.
New Zombie: "Media! Flesh! Eat! Good!"
First Zombie: "No, Lavrenty! No eat TV crew! Manage news! THEN eat! Helps make the meat go down better."
New Zombie sniffing in the air. Suddenly growls, bloodthirsty: "I smell an independent meeeedia station! Eat! Eat!"
The Third Zombie nods, stretching his leathery neck to the microphone and hissing, "Aaaaalll Leeeegal Noooooorms will be obseeeerved!"
The terrified camera crew flees Red Square, although a few fail to escape. The Zombies tear at their limbs, fighting over their entrails and dragging intestines down the cobbled bricks, until they merge into a single mob and march out into Moscow.