Mercy can’t help noticing that hers is the only pink skin visible; it makes her itch.
“Look, you go ahead,” she mutters.
“Don’t wuss out on me!” Vetta laughs. “You’ll be fine once we’re in.”
“What if somebody decides to…?” Mercy grimaces. “Not that I think–” But they’re at the door.
The bouncer scowls, but Vetta somehow gets them in. The music’s thud-heavy, the light in strange spectra, and the dancing–Mercy’s intrigued. It’s so different.
“Told you!” shouts Vetta, grinning.
A guy at the bar overhears, glances back, quirks an eyebrow. Mercy winks. He’s pretty cute, for a zombie.