Inside, the bass was still thumping.
“So what? We go inside, we dance faster. We make out with strangers. We pretend.”
The countdown hit zero three hours ago. Not to the end of the world—but to the end of the party. Apocalypse Partys Over-HI2U
“Leo,” she slurred, handing him a bottle. “You look like a funeral. The party’s not over.”
A man in a tuxedo laughed, a hollow, breaking sound. “What do you want us to do? Cry? Pray?” Inside, the bass was still thumping
The room gasped. People froze mid-grind, mid-laugh, mid-kiss. The silence was absolute, save for the distant, low rumble of the shockwave still making its way across the continent.
Leo pushed through the crowd to the DJ booth. The DJ, a skeletal man named Viktor, was slumped over his decks, eyes closed, headphones still on. He wasn’t asleep. Leo gently lifted the needle off the record. We make out with strangers
It had caught them three days ago. They just refused to notice.