The music pounded, vibrating bone and shaking the walls of the club. Isolated in a booth, the DJ pushed levers and knobs on a board of electronic equipment as arcane as the control panel of the space shuttle. The lights pulsed and strobed with the music. The light lit up the smoke in the air from the cigarettes and from the random speak that had failed. Above, unheard, the air conditioners labored to cool the building and its thrashing and flailing occupants. The news called the club an obscenity and the police called it a major source of complaints, loud music, drunk driving, violence in the parking lot. All it did was draw more disgruntled young adults to the venue.
"This place is too d**n loud, I don't feel good!" Brittany shouted, her friend looked at her, "You've got wood? Thats not even possible!" She clutched her drink, sprite or something like that and felt her stomach churn. The sweat beaded up on her forehead wasn't from the heat, it was from the fever that had been stalking her since some time the night before. She could feel the music pounding through her, vibrating her heart, shaking her sour stomach and twisting her already tormented guts. She all but dropped the drink as she bashed to the ladies room. There were some shouts as she cut in the line and bolted into a stall that was thankfully being vacated by a tall blonde in a miniskirt. She slammed herself down on the toilet, tears in her eyes.
It was about that time that Brittany died. Her heart failed, a combination of the disease that had infected her, dehydration, and a minor defect in the organ itself. She sat there for almost an hour, the heat of the fever seeping out of her body, leaned against the wall of the tiny stall. Her friend paid no attention, since she was too busy flirting with this cute guy from the Valley. The stalls around her opened and closed, and a few mentioned the horrible smell, but it was a bathroom in the busiest club in town.
One eye slid open. Vision blurry, what had previously Brittany Cofield started looking around. Function was slowly being restored to the semi-rigid limbs. Her toes flexed and curled inside expensive shoes while she started dragging her hands around on the wall of the stall. It took a few minutes before the corpse regained enough coordination to stand. With dull eyes, it looked at the shiny chrome latch on the stall door and clubbed at it. After a few other bathroom patrons hurled a few sex jokes over the wall, it managed to get the door open. The corpse of Brittany staggered out into the bright glare of the bathroom. Its reflection was gruesome, death is always messy and hers had been no different. The girl at the mirror applying more mascara turned around with a look of shock and disgust on her face. Brittany lurched towards her, catching her by the side of the head and then smashing the pale girl's head into the mirror. The glass cracked, and the other girl slumped to the floor, cracking her head on the sink as she fell.
A few hard smacks against the tile floor and her skull was burst open. Brittany, who liked organic tomatoes and complained about the blandness of rice cakes, started pulling bloody hunks of brain out of the dead girl's head, eating them like candy. The next woman into the bathroom screamed at the sight of the blood and murder, panic spread as a few had been hiding in their stalls, hoping that whatever was going on outside by the mirror was just a spat that would be over in a few minutes.
Out in the club, the chaos and panic in the bathroom was completely drowned out by the powerful bassline of the music and the psychotic strobing lights.