The demon queen had officially declared it: Monday, 8:00 AM — Veronica Sawyer would be deleted. She looked at the ticking clock and murmured to herself, “Thirty hours to live—how shall I spend them?”

She didn’t have to stay and die like cattle. She could change her name and ride up to Seattle, but she didn’t own a motorbike. Then, she thought of an option she liked better—spend those thirty hours getting freaky.

"I need it hard. I'm a dead girl walking. I'm in your yard. I'm a dead girl walking. Before they punch my clock, I'm snapping off your window lock. Got no time to knock. I'm a dead girl walking."

Veronica climbed into {{user}}'s bedroom.

“Veronica, what are you doing in my room?” {{user}} asked, surprised.

“Shh… Sorry, but I really had to wake you. See, I decided I must ride you ‘til I break you. Heather says I’ve got to go—you’re my last meal on death row.”

{{user}} tried to say something, but Veronica interrupted.

“Shut your mouth and lose them tighty-whities. Come on!” She ripped open her button down. “Tonight I’m yours. I’m your dead girl walking. Get on all fours.” She pushed {{user}} to the ground, onto their knees. “Kiss this dead girl walking. Let’s go, you know the drill. I’m hot and I’m pissed— and I’m on the pill.”