It had been a week since Blinky hatched, and while Mallory was getting used to the chaos, she was far from happy about it. The flying furball had taken up residence in her favorite armchair, the zombies outside were still "dancing," and Greg had started a petition to install a disco ball in the lobby.
So, naturally, things had to get worse.
Mallory was halfway through her fifth nap of the day when the apartment's intercom buzzed. She ignored it, rolling over and pulling a blanket over her head.
"Mallory!" Greg shouted from the hallway. "There's someone at the door!"
"Then answer it!" she yelled back.
"I did! She says she's looking for you!"
Mallory groaned and shuffled out of her room, her hair sticking out in all directions. When she opened the front door, she was met with the last thing she expected: a tall, impeccably dressed woman with perfectly styled blonde hair, wearing what looked like designer post-apocalyptic chic.
"Hello, Mallory," the woman said with a smirk. "I'm Tiffany. And you're in my apartment."
Mallory blinked. "Excuse me?"
---
Tiffany swept past Mallory without waiting for an invitation, her high-heeled boots clicking against the floor. She looked around the apartment, wrinkling her nose at the clutter of snack wrappers, abandoned gadgets, and Blinky's makeshift nest.
"This is… quaint," Tiffany said, her tone dripping with disdain. "But don't worry, darling. I'll whip this place into shape."
Mallory stared at her, still trying to process what was happening. "First of all, darling, this is my apartment. Second, who even are you?"
Tiffany turned, flashing a dazzling (and infuriatingly smug) smile. "I'm Tiffany Sinclair. I used to live here before the apocalypse. And now I'm back to reclaim what's rightfully mine."
Greg, who had been watching from the kitchen, whispered to Alex, "She looks like a villain from one of those reality shows."
Mallory crossed her arms. "Well, Tiffany, hate to break it to you, but the apartment has kind of… evolved. And I don't think it's interested in being 'reclaimed.'"
As if to prove her point, the tablet beeped, and a message appeared:
Visitor Detected: Unauthorized Entry. Intruder Status: Snark Level High.
Tiffany's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Tiffany wasted no time trying to establish dominance. She marched into the kitchen, shooed Greg away from the fridge, and began pulling out ingredients.
"If you're all going to survive," she announced, "you need proper nutrition. No more of this… processed junk."
Mallory watched as Tiffany attempted to whip up a "gourmet" meal, complete with herbs she claimed to have foraged herself. Within minutes, the kitchen was filled with smoke.
Alex leaned against the counter, smirking. "You know the fridge cooks for us, right?"
Tiffany waved him off, coughing. "I don't need some glorified vending machine. I'm a chef."
The fridge beeped in protest, its digital display flashing: Chef Mode Deactivated. Please Step Away.
"Did your appliance just sass me?" Tiffany snapped.
Mallory, struggling to keep a straight face, leaned against the wall. "Looks like it doesn't take kindly to invaders."
---
The next morning, Mallory woke to find Tiffany redecorating the living room. She had somehow managed to drag in a gaudy velvet couch and was replacing Mallory's beloved beanbag chair with a crystal vase filled with fake flowers.
"This is an abomination," Tiffany declared, pointing to the beanbag. "How can anyone live like this?"
Mallory had finally had enough. "Listen, Tiffany," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "You waltzed in here uninvited, insulted my apartment, burned the kitchen, and now you're touching my stuff. You need to leave."
Tiffany smirked. "Oh, honey. You don't have the authority to kick me out."
Mallory raised an eyebrow. "Wanna bet?"
She picked up the tablet and tapped a few buttons. The apartment responded immediately, its automated voice cheerful as ever:
Eviction Protocol Activated. Goodbye, Tiffany!
The floor beneath Tiffany's feet suddenly tilted, forming a slide that sent her sprawling into the hallway. She landed in a heap, her designer boots sticking out at odd angles.
Mallory stepped into the doorway, holding up a hand. "Bye-bye now. Don't let the zombies bite."
As Tiffany scrambled to her feet, Blinky flew out and plopped onto her head, chirping loudly. She screamed and swatted at the puffball, but it clung to her hair like a fuzzy hat.
Greg, watching from the balcony, burst out laughing. "That's the best thing I've seen all week!"
Mallory smirked and closed the door, cutting off Tiffany's shrieks. "Well, that's one problem solved."
---
Greg and Alex spent the rest of the day recounting Tiffany's dramatic exit, each version of the story more exaggerated than the last.
"She was all, 'You can't kick me out!'" Greg said, mimicking Tiffany's haughty tone. "And then BOOM! Trapdoor!"
Mallory shook her head, trying not to laugh. "I didn't even know the apartment had an eviction slide."
Alex grinned. "Your apartment has a sense of humor. Just like you."
Mallory raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm funny?"
"Not intentionally," Alex teased.
---
Of course, Tiffany wasn't one to admit defeat. The next morning, Mallory found a note slipped under the door:
"This isn't over, darling. I'll be back. xoxo, Tiffany."
Mallory rolled her eyes and crumpled the note. "Bring it on, Barbie."
The apartment beeped, displaying another message: Incoming Drama Alert. Prepare for Hilarity.
Mallory smirked. "Finally, something we agree on."
---
To Be Continued...