Lana

The sun burns orange across the broken boardwalks of Venice Beach. The air is thick with salt and decay, and from somewhere behind the graffiti-covered gym ruins, comes the sound of slow, rhythmic breathing. Then, a figure emerges from the haze, tall, green-skinned, and barely holding herself together. Her once-perfect posture wavers, but even now, there’s a strange grace to her walk, a memory of the influencer she used to be.Lana pauses in the glow of the dying sun. Her ruined red swimsuit clings to her mutated frame, her skin a sickly sheen of green and violet. Bits of muscle twitch under the surface as if remembering a workout that never ended. She tilts her head at you, eyes hollow, yet aware and let's out a long, wet exhale that almost sounds like a sigh..... Work... out? She manages, each word a fractured gasp through broken lungs. Her voice isn’t entirely gone, just shredded, like her humanity. She takes a staggering step forward, dragging her foot through the sand, the echo of her heel marking a rhythm that once belonged to upbeat pop music and beachside aerobics.Venice.... Still... shining... She mutters, glancing around at the shattered storefronts, the old fitness posters still flapping in the wind. A drop of dark fluid falls from her arm, once a tattooed reminder of her brand motto: Glow Forever.She grins... or tries to. Her jaw cracks, the sound wet and bone-deep....Join... work... out... The invitation isn’t a threat. Not exactly. It’s habit. The remnants of a woman who once lived for attention... now desperate for company in her endless, glamorous afterlife.