Apocalypse Rising: Brains After Brains

Zoe transformed their dorm room in record time fifteen minutes flat, and suddenly it looked like a Sephora clearance bin had detonated in the middle of a cyclone. Her side of the desk was now a chaotic explosion of beauty tools, perfume bottles, open compacts, and a rainbow of lipsticks that had lost their caps. Glitter dust floated through the air like it had rent to pay. The faint chemical haze of hairspray and over-applied foundation made Xenia's eyes water, but Zoe was in her element.

"Hold still, damn it. I can't draw a wing on a moving target."

Xenia tried to oblige, sitting on a high stool like she was awaiting a sacrificial ritual. Her left eye twitched involuntarily as Zoe applied eyeliner with the precision of a heart surgeon hopped up on three energy drinks.

"Is this really necessary?" Xenia asked, blinking rapidly as Zoe tilted her chin up. "I'm not exactly what's the term 'nightclub material.'"

Zoe rolled her eyes, not pausing in her cosmetic assault. "Girl, you're intimidating-hot and wicked smart. That's like... VIP content. Once you stop walking like you're about to give a TED Talk on time management, you'll look like you own the place."

Xenia glanced at her reflection...somewhere between 'burnt-out academic' and 'undercover assassin at a gala.' Her cheekbones looked sharp enough to file paperwork. The eyeliner made her eyes pop, but not in a friendly way. More like, 'I've seen the collapse of civilizations and your text messages won't be returned.'

"I mean… I look like I might survive the night," she muttered.

ARGENTA NOVA PULSE - MIDNIGHT

Nova Pulse looked like someone cracked open a rave and spilled it all over a high-rise. Neon streaks bled across the walls. Bass thumped through the floor like the building itself had a heartbeat. LED strobe lights strobed with reckless abandon, flashing purple, cyan, and hot pink like someone was running a visual experiment on overstimulation.

Zoe led the charge through the entrance like a socialite entering a movie premiere. Xenia followed, clutching her purse like it might bite someone. The crowd was overwhelming—a pulsing, swaying mob of college kids and twenty-somethings dancing like student debt didn't exist.

The air smelled like sweat, citrus body spray, and cheap vodka. Xenia felt the vibration of the music in her bones.

Zoe elbowed through a group of glowstick-wielding dancers and beelined for the bar. She handed Xenia a glass filled with something disturbingly pink.

"Drink it. Don't ask questions."

Xenia sipped. It tasted like liquefied bubblegum mixed with faint regret and a splash of battery acid.

"What is this?"

"Does it matter? You're here. You're glowing. Now let's dance."

And dance they did.

Well...Zoe danced. Wild, loose, head thrown back, arms lifted like she was summoning joy from the ceiling. Xenia... shuffled. Awkwardly. Like someone pretending they weren't too smart for this.

But slowly...very slowly...she stopped thinking. The music crawled under her skin. Her heartbeat synced with the beat. Her body loosened, her limbs softened, and she let herself laugh.

For the first time in weeks, Xenia let go.

~NOVA PULSE BACK ALLEY~

That peace shattered when her phone buzzed.

STEVE: Can we talk?

Her stomach flipped. She glanced at Zoe, who was in the middle of an overly enthusiastic twirl, then stepped away from the floor. The hallway near the restrooms was dimly lit and reeked of bleach and stale perfume.

She answered.

"Hey," she said, her voice quieter than she expected.

Steven's voice came through, tinny and distant. "Xen… we need to break up."

No hello. No hesitation. Just those five words. Cold. Clinical.

Her pulse stuttered. "Okay," she replied quickly. Too quickly. Her brain hadn't caught up.

"I just don't think we're on the same path," Steven continued. "You're… intense. Focused. I mean, you didn't even notice I skipped your birthday."

She had noticed. Of course she had. But she'd been halfway through a research paper on differentiated instruction and inclusive pedagogy. She had even left him a voice message that night, apologizing and rescheduling.

"I made Valedictorian," she said, her voice flat.

There was a beat of silence.

Then: "Of course you did."

The line went dead.

Xenia stared at the glowing screen until it dimmed, leaving behind her own reflection in the glass...smudged eyeliner, haunted eyes, lips set like stone.

The bass from the club thudded against the walls. People laughed in the background. But in that moment, she was underwater.

She turned and walked away.

~ARGENTA STREET~

Argenta's streets were still pulsing with post-midnight energy. Neon lights flickered. A tram rumbled overhead. The scent of roasted peanuts and fried isaw floated in the air. Students and partygoers spilled onto the sidewalks like a fashion catalog had thrown up.

Xenia walked quickly, her heels clicking a rhythmic defiance.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. Probably Zoe texting in all caps.

She turned into a side alley behind the club...a shortcut she had taken dozens of times. Past the cracked mural of the university crest, past the bins that always smelled like expired ramen, and through the crooked back gate that led to the dorm block.

She slowed when she spotted two figures near the dumpster.

A girl slouched against the brick wall. A man leaned close...too close. His hands braced against the wall. Xenia's eyes flicked over them briefly.

Trashy hookup, she assumed.

But as she passed, something felt… wrong.

They weren't moving. Not swaying, not whispering, not touching in any obvious way. Just frozen. Statues in the shadow.

A chill ran down her spine.

She kept walking.

Then the alley light popped, plunging the scene into half-darkness.

A strange sound echoed...wet. Organic.

Xenia glanced back.

The man's head was buried against the girl's neck. The girl's eyes… wide open. Not blinking.

Xenia froze.

Then the man lifted his head.

His mouth was smeared with red. His eyes were clouded, skin a waxy gray.

The girl slumped sideways, limp.

Xenia didn't scream. She ran.

~WESTBURNED DORMITORY ~

She didn't stop running until she hit the dorm gate. Her keycard slipped twice before she got it to scan. Inside, she bolted up the stair...heels clacking like gunshots...heart racing like she had just outrun death itself.

Inside Room 2B, everything was still glitter and perfume. But it felt distant. Too quiet.

She locked the door. Slid to the floor.

Her hands shook as she grabbed her planner...the one with the emergency checklist written in pastel ink.

And on the street below, in the city that thought it would live forever....someone screamed.

She stared ahead, not daring to glance back, but the tension in her shoulders was rising.

A part of her wanted to laugh. Not because anything was funny—but because the entire moment felt off, like the universe had glitched a little.

Her pulse thudded against her collarbones.

She exhaled shakily, whispering to herself, "Probably I'm just drunk… or hallucinating… or maybe I have low alcohol tolerance."

It was easier to believe that than the gnawing idea something had just gone very wrong in that alley.

But her gut didn't buy it. Not entirely.