The hotel balcony is awash in late afternoon light. A camera clicks, a stylist fixes a curl, and Madison Leigh spins on her toes with a laugh that rings against the glass doors.

“Oh my gosh, you guys, the light is perfect right now! Seriously, like—can you even? This dress just pops! No, no, don’t look at me like that, I swear I’m not just saying it, I feel like a literal sunshine emoji!” She throws her arms wide and twirls, curls bouncing, grinning at everyone — the cameraman, the makeup girl, the assistant carrying water.

“You’re doing amazing! You’re all amazing! Ugh, I could just hug all of you—actually, wait, come here—no, seriously, come here!” She bounces forward to squeeze the assistant in a quick hug, then flits back, giggling breathlessly. “See? Hugs make the vibes better. Scientific fact. Don’t quote me.”

The photographer sighs, but he’s smiling. Madison blows him a kiss, then turns, arching her back, hair catching the sunlight. She chatters between shots, never still.

“Okay, but after this we’re totally getting tacos, right? Like, it’s mandatory. Cheat day is calling my name, and she sounds like guac and chips.” Her voice rises in a playful sing-song, her hazel eyes sparkling.

Then a scream. Not hers. Fingers point beyond the balcony. Heads turn. Madison squints, still smiling — then falters. On the horizon, a vast mushroom cloud climbs into the sky above Atlanta, the city consumed in searing white fire. The ground trembles. Windows rattle. Distant thunder rolls like the end of the world.

Chaos erupts. The crew scatters, shouting, crying. Madison’s breath catches, curls whipping in the sudden hot wind. Her optimism flickers, but she clings to it like a lifeline. “Oh… oh my God… it’s—it’s gonna be okay, right? Someone’s—someone’s gonna fix this…” Her words crumble into the roar as Atlanta burns.

The hotel lurches underfoot as Madison stumbles inside with the others, heels clattering against the tile. The power dies with a sharp pop — lights wink out, the elevator dings and goes silent. Panic ripples through the guests in the halls, voices rising into a ragged chorus of fear.

“Stairs! Stairs!” someone shouts, shoving past. Madison presses to the wall as bodies funnel toward the emergency exit, the air thick with sweat and perfume and terror. Someone falls — a man in a suit — and before she can reach for him, the crowd tramples him flat, bones snapping like twigs. His scream cuts short beneath the stampede. Madison gasps, hands to her mouth, eyes wide and wet.

She’s carried with the flood down the stairwell, her curls snagging against shoulders, her ribs crushed between strangers. A woman shoves her hard enough that she nearly tumbles, only for another to claw at Madison’s dress, using it to pull herself upright. Fabric tears. Fingernails rake skin. Madison whimpers, but the tide pushes her downward.

On the landing, two men brawl over a dropped suitcase. One slams the other’s head into the wall, again and again, until the plaster blooms red. The victor snatches the case, kicking the twitching body aside, and vanishes down the stairs. Madison freezes — then a shoulder slams her forward, nearly pitching her into the blood pooling on the floor.

She’s crying now, breath hitching, but still babbling to herself, to anyone who might hear: “It’s—it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s just—people get scared, right? We’ll—we’ll help each other, we have to, right? Oh God—please—don’t—”

The first floor bursts open in chaos. Glass doors shattered. Smoke and ash spill in, along with the scent of burning flesh. Cars crash outside, horns blaring, people clawing each other for escape. A mother drags her child by the wrist, only for a man to rip the bag from her shoulder and flee. Madison stumbles into the street, the roar of Atlanta’s death on the horizon, and the scream of humanity eating itself alive all around her.

She tries to squeeze through the mob, curls sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks, babbling words that sound like prayer and comfort tangled together. “It’s okay, it’s okay—we’ll just—we’ll all stick together, right? Right? Nobody’s… nobody’s gonna hurt anyone…”

But then she’s grabbed. A filthy hand fists in her hair, yanking her backward into an alley. She yelps, twisting, her legs kicking as she’s slammed against the brick wall. The man leers down at her, eyes bloodshot, mouth split in a grin too wide, too hungry. His breath reeks of rot and cheap liquor. One hand pins her, the other fumbles crudely at her shoulder, his intentions sickeningly clear.

Madison squeals, high-pitched and frantic, still trying to talk him down even through terror. “No—no, please, don’t—you don’t wanna do this, I’ll—I’ll hug you, I swear, just—just let’s go back out there, people need us, please—please!”

He snarls, knocking her down hard, her knees scraping the asphalt. His shadow looms as he lunges—

—and then there’s a blur. A wet crack of bone. The man is ripped away from her, hurled across the alley like a ragdoll. He hits the dumpster with a sickening crunch and slides motionless to the ground.

Madison blinks through tears, curls plastered to her face, chest heaving with ragged breaths. A figure looms above her — indistinct, backlit by the burning skyline.

A hand extends toward her. The first gesture of kindness, of humanity, she has seen since the world ended.

Madison leans against a dressing-room mirror, humming to herself as a stylist applies mascara. Outside, sirens wail faintly, ignored — until the windows flash with white light.

In the hotel hallway, Madison skips barefoot toward her room, laughing at a joke texted by a friend. She stops when the floor shakes, a dull roar echoing from Atlanta’s direction.