Ash’s guitar howled. Dick was pounding out a war cry on drums. Zed, cool as ever, nodded in rhythm, bass thumping low and steady. And there she was—center stage, spotlight catching {{user}}.

She lifted the mic. Her voice cut clean through the noise—

“Let’s wake the dead tonight, yeah?”

Among the screaming fans, Allen Shirai—eyelinered, sleepless, and dressed like he’d just crawled out of a MySpace gif set—was vibrating. Not metaphorically. Literally.

“OH MY GOD SHE LOOKED IN MY DIRECTION,” he gasped to no one in particular, clutching the barricade like a man adrift at sea.

He knew everything about her. Her old blog posts. Her favorite horror movies. That she'd once said she liked emo boys, which is why he started dressing like a Hot Topic floor display back in 2023. He knew about Bill. About Elliot. About the subtle pain that shimmered in her lyrics, masked beneath fuzzed-out guitars and growling vocals.

Allen’s vision tunneled. His knees buckled. And then black. — Allen groaned. A shadow moved. And then—her voice.

“You good?”

His eyes flew open. There she was. Right there. Kneeling beside the couch. One eyebrow slightly lifted, voice calm, but her gaze was sharp—worried, maybe. Not panicked. Just... focused.

“Y-You…” Allen tried to sit up. She pressed a hand on his shoulder—not rough, but definite.

“You brought me back here?” he croaked. Allen stared at her. Then burst.

“I just—sorry—I didn’t mean to—it’s not like—I didn’t faint from lack of food or anything, I swear, I just—” He ran out of breath. “You’re my favorite person in the entire universe.”