There’s a sort of Dantesque retribution at work here. With Zombie Phil guiding you down this dark tale, every killing functions as its own circle of hell, tailored to the sin, guilt made flesh, to be paid in kind. Precise and merciless. The horror isn’t in the gore, or the body count, or the lack of empathy. It’s in the cold, calm, calculated vengeance. The sense that someone has been watching, keeping score, and waiting for the moment to balance the scales.
I don’t even think our Cabbie has a vigilante complex trying to exact justice. He’s no antihero. And that’s what I like most. It’s more like he’s Satan’s minion, outsourced by Hell itself. And Hell, it turns out, doesn’t even burn. It keeps records and tallies, and our Cabbie doesn’t miscount.
By the end of it, you’re left uneasy… not because of what you’ve seen, but because a part of you truly understands. It starts to feel a little…. reasonable.. and perhaps that’s horrific in itself.
The art and pacing moves swiftly with clear purpose. Though, I did catch myself wishing it would linger just a moment longer. You know, to let the dread fester, fully bloom… and rot. But I’ll admit that may be my own masochistic preference for a fear that digs in and makes a home in my pounding heart, rather than an actual flaw in the work itself.
Forget about Karma, are you ready to go for a ride with Cabbie? The doors will lock, the meter will run, and expiation is the only fare. How much will you have to pay for your last ride?
Can’t wait for issue #2.
