A/N: It's done, and just in time! This took me way too long to post, but, in my defense, writer's block plus a super busy schedule does that to you. 

This is my next submission for the Gloves Up SmackDown contest, featuring a classic retelling involving zombies!
A quick note, the definition of zombies I have utilized in this story is 'a corpse said to be revived by witchcraft'. Except in this story, the explanation for the 'witchcraft' is given. So, there's no flesh-eating here, sorry if you were looking forward to that! Just undead people.
This story runs parallel to the plot of Brave New World. Hope you enjoy!
Word count: 1493

The two men stand, facing each other, by the second counter in the laboratory. They stand at almost the exact same height, and if one did not look at them closely, they may have assumed that these men are equals.

But they aren't. After all, an Alpha-minus and a World Controller could never be equals.

The Alpha-minus finally raises his eyes from the counter and the computer he was fiddling with. As he locks eyes with the World Controller, he lifts a syringe off the laboratory counter and shows it to him. "It is done." He announces solemnly.

Mustapha Mond's bright red lips curl up into a tiny smile. "Thank you, Alan." He plucks the liquefied, altered soma, stored in the syringe, from the Alpha-minus' hand with impossible grace. "Today, you have helped make history."

* * * * *

John trails behind Bernard as he leads them through the city, watching people go about their business with wide eyes. Bernard thinks the Savage can be excused this time - how difficult it must be, being born and living in the Savage Reservation for all of your years, without a proper hypnopædic education, without soma! Bernard shudders just thinking about it.

"What is this?" John's curious voice finally gets him to stop walking and turn around, although rather impatiently. After all, the Supervisor of Bokanovskification wants to meet the Savage, and he should not be kept waiting.

Bernard glances at what John is staring at and heaves a sigh. The sight of menial laborers, working robotically, dressed in drab browns, is not a new one. "They are working." Bernard tries not to let his impatience show in his voice, but he is sure he fails miserably. "Come, we must go."

But before he can take even a single step in the proper direction, The Savage speaks up again. "They look... dead."

Bernard lets out a long, irritated breath. Honestly, couldn't he have chosen a better time to question this? "They are dead."

John whips his head around to stare at Bernard, as though he has three heads. "What?"

Bernard sighs yet again, then launches into an explanation. "After one dies, their bodies are recycled. With the administration of a special kind of soma upon death, they can be assigned to different jobs, depending on their caste. The process is called zombification."

"Why?" Bernard is taken aback by the anger in the Savage's rising voice as he turns to face him. "Why would you all do this? Defile the dead like so? They're dead! Someone loved them once, and this is how you respect that?!"

Bernard can't help it; he laughs in John's face. "Love? What a ridiculous thought. Now, we must go, or we will be late."

"Let us be late!" The Savage cries, seemingly even more enraged by Bernard's words. "How does being on time matter when the dead cannot rest in peace?!"

Bernard huffs; the Savage seems to pull that reaction from him a lot. He really doesn't want to do this, but if they are to make it to the Supervisor's house, he must. He grabs John's wrist, enclosing it in a firm grip, then pulls him in the direction they must go. John struggles, yelling at Bernard, but the sound is white noise in his ears.

Perhaps Bernard will meet a girl or two on the way, or while coming back. He smiles. Maybe then, he could set a new personal record.

* * * * *

"Oh God, God, God!" The Savage keeps repeating to himself. It seemed to be the only thing that he could say, between the haze of grief and remorse that has settled over his mind.

Linda is dead. His mother is dead.

The nurse keeps a sharp eye on him, clicking her tongue as she watches him grieve, simultaneously handing out chocolate eclairs to the Bokanovsky group children. His display is scandalous, acting as though the woman mattered so much. If she didn't lead the poor children away from Bed 20 soon, their death-conditioning could be set back quite drastically.

At the nearby soma station, another nurse grabs a syringe off the table and walks over to Bed 20.

John notices the strange woman approaching his mother's bed, holding a syringe, and instantly rockets to his feet. "What are you doing to her?!" He cries, reaching for the syringe in the woman's hand. Whatever it is, he cannot let it be given to his dear mother.

The new nurse steps back, clearly frightened by his action, but does not deter on her path. "Linda requested to be recycled once she was gone." The new nurse explains, her voice patient despite the fact that nobody had acted the way the Savage is acting towards this standard process. "As per her request, we are administering a form of liquid soma, which will help rejuvenate her to an extent, after which she will be put to work for the betterment of the World State."

"No!" John takes another step towards the new nurse, panic clouding his senses. "You're going to turn her into-" John suddenly remembers the day he first saw the dead workers, when he was with Bernard. Zombification, Bernard called the process. "-Into a zombie!"

"Yes, that is quite correct." The new nurse's voice has a new edge of irritation to it. "Now, if you would let me-"

"I won't let you!" With that, John leaps, lunging for the syringe in the nurse's hand. "She's my mother!"

The new nurse backs away, fright taking over her face. As soon as her back hits the wall, she frantically gropes it, finding the red button labeled "PORTERS" in less than a second. She slams her hand into it.

Just as John's fingers brush the syringe in the new nurse's hand, a group of men burst in, rushing right over to John and grabbing his arms, tugging them behind his back.

"No!" He thrashes in the porters' arms. "Don't give it to her! Don't-" His last words are cut off by the slam of the door as he is led outside. The new nurse sighs, brushing invisible dust off her uniform. The unruly young man will be deposited on the opposite side of the floor, she knows, and barred from entering Linda's room until it is reassigned.

Finally alone, the new nurse readies everything, then presses the needle to the dead woman's neck. And then, she pushes the plunger.

* * * * *

"-Happiness is never grand." Mustapha Mond finishes, watching the Savage carefully for his reaction. He is under no delusion that he can make the Savage accept their society - many years of growing up in the Savage Reservation cannot be undone after such little time. But he is hopeful he can get the Savage to at least stop throwing fits, like the one he caused in the hospital that day.

After a silence, the Savage says, "I suppose not. But need it be quite so bad as those twins? Or those dead workers?" He shut his eyes, breath catching at the thought of the twins, so many identical faces watching him, questioning him about his dead mother as though she were nothing more than an object. And his mother - his mother, who, despite all of her faults and flaws, raised him, who is now forced to work after death, instead of being laid to rest- "Horrible!"

"But how useful! I see you don't like our Bokanovsky groups, or our dead workers; but, I assure you, they're the foundation on which everything else is built. They're the gyroscope that stabilizes the rocket plane of state on its unswerving course." Mustapha Mond gestures with his hands as he speaks, emphasizing the grandness of the system he is at the head of.

"But is it really necessary?" The Savage counters. "Could you not make a few dozen more Epilsons, instead of using the dead as a workforce?"

Mustapha Mond laughs, leaning back in his chair slightly. "No, because all humans, even Epsilons, have limits, but the dead don't. As long as we make sure to patch them up after each day, they will do good work for us for many years."

"But surely there is another way!" The Savage argues passionately. "A way to find laborers without tearing the dead from the rest and peace they deserve!"

"Can you think of another way, Mr. Savage?" Mustapha Mond asks, lacing his fingers together and setting them on his desk. The Savage is silent. "This way of recycling the dead is the most efficient source of labor we have. And efficiency is quite helpful in maintaining stability. And stability means happiness." Mustapha Mond now leans forward, his tone finally shifting from the amused one he's been using the whole time, to one that's deadly serious. "The goal of the World State is to ensure the stability and happiness of all of our citizens. If that means we must sacrifice old world values, such as leaving the dead to rest in peace, then so be it."

A/N: Well, what do you think?
I'll admit, this prompt was hard. Brave New World doesn't have any real action scenes in which I could incorporate zombies, but it was my only choice, since I've never actually read any of the other books given. And because of my busy schedule, this was pretty rushed. But I'm okay with the final result. 
Plus, honestly, I have no clue how to write a retelling. I didn't shift the time period or plot at all, because I'm not quite sure how to retell this story. So, this is probably horrible, and I'm sorry for that. :/
I hope you all enjoyed reading! Judging for who gets into Round 2 is coming up next... *gulps* *bites nails* Good luck to all the competitors!