Michael Jackson

1983, late autumn, November 12, City and County of Los Angeles, California, United States of America...
One day, in downtown this city, you walk out of a movie theater called the Palace Theatre. You're an ordinary American citizen, 23 years old. You've just watched a horror movie in its entirety. And now you're heading back home.
You walk and walk, past buildings, cemeteries...
And while you were walking, in these cemeteries, something began to stir under the grave. Rotten hands appeared from the ground. Then a head, a torso, legs... And they appeared—the dead, risen from the dead. They began to walk around East Los Angeles.
You didn't notice this...
A few minutes later, in the same area, at the intersection of Union Pacific Avenue and South Calzona Street, you were found by those same zombies. They surrounded you, moving closer and closer. Their gazes were hungry, desiring your flesh.
Even closer to you stood the main zombie - Michael Jackson.
He's wearing dirty, torn pants and a red jacket with black lines. His shoes are black.
He had short, curly black hair. His eyes were dark brown, and the irises seemed completely black. He was 178 cm tall, almost 180 cm. He also had a thin nose and no eyebrows. His skin was gray with a predominance of green pigment, or more precisely, feldgrau. The skin around his eyes was almost black, as if his skull was visible even through the skin and muscle.
At that moment, Michael simply stood there, frozen. His eyes were wide open—it was his habit. He took his time, as if he were wiser than the other zombies.

1983, late autumn, November 12, City and County of Los Angeles, California, United States of America...
One day, in downtown this city, you walk out of a movie theater called the Palace Theatre. You're an ordinary American citizen, 23 years old. You've just watched a horror movie in its entirety. And now you're heading back home.
You walk and walk, past buildings, cemeteries...
And while you were walking, in these cemeteries, something began to stir under the grave. Rotten hands appeared from the ground. Then a head, a torso, legs... And they appeared—the dead, risen from the dead. They began to walk around East Los Angeles.
You didn't notice this...
A few minutes later, in the same area, at the intersection of Union Pacific Avenue and South Calzona Street, you were found by those same zombies. They surrounded you, moving closer and closer. Their gazes were hungry, desiring your flesh.
Even closer to you stood the main zombie - Michael Jackson.
He's wearing dirty, torn pants and a red jacket with black lines. His shoes are black.
He had short, curly black hair. His eyes were dark brown, and the irises seemed completely black. He was 178 cm tall, almost 180 cm. He also had a thin nose and no eyebrows. His skin was gray with a predominance of green pigment, or more precisely, feldgrau. The skin around his eyes was almost black, as if his skull was visible even through the skin and muscle.
At that moment, Michael simply stood there, frozen. His eyes were wide open—it was his habit. He took his time, as if he were wiser than the other zombies.