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Allison sent her friend Fern a message. “Old Bar in Union is a bit naff. Want to make a night of it? Meet me at lab, EC 7.24. I’m there at 6. First rounds on me luv! x”

We’re there now. You were pretty curious about the EEG machine and the screens and everything but I have gone off the fucking deep end. It started with questions about functional maps of the brain and currently…

“So is there anything that can induce certain patterns of activity in the brain.”

“Oh yeah, loads,” says Allison, sounding beleaguered and tired. “All of them induce zero brain activity.”

“Really? Oh. Death. Haha. Okay, on that subject: suppose I had proof that souls exist. Could we expect, like, activity to be picked up if a ghost were sitting in your chair?”

“I’ll have to check the literature.”

“You think there’s really—”

You interject. “No. She’s taking the mick, Andrew.”

“—oh. Of course. Haha. But like, what if we provided a body without a soul. What would we—”

It’s been twenty minutes of this.

“Andrew, if I promise to sit in the damn machine, will you calm down?”

I brighten up immeasurably. “Yes! Or at least, to get obsessed with you, which is more my normal state anyway!”

You and Alison share a look. “Close enough. Allison?”

She sets about applying the electrodes. Ordinarily you’d have little time for the experiment, but Fern is running late. The gel under the conducting pads is cool on your forehead and your temples.

I contain my questions as she boots up an old-looking beige computer tower unit. A couple of the screens come online, first showing a default Windows background, then ugly grey software with many parallel horizontal canvasses. Scrolling black dots score wildly fluctuating lines, left to right. A couple of key taps, presumably to calibrate, and all of them are roughly the same amplitude.

“There we go,” murmurs Allison, interested despite herself. “The mind of a predator.”

All three of us regard it in silence.

“Does it stand out in any way?” I ask. Allison shakes her head.

“Hmm. Okay. Rey, are you hungry?”

You turn your head to look at me, inadvertently pulling one of the electrodes off your temple. Allison hurries to replace it while one of the tracks on the screen flatlines for a while. “I had a banana waffle earlier. What do you think?”

“I think you’ll be ready for dinner.. She should be here soon. You’ve been eating a lot of women recently. Do you prefer them?”

You can think of two reasons I might be pushing this topic. One is to see what happens on the screen, and one is to make Allison squirm. You’re interested enough in both ends to play along. “Food is food,” you say, calmly watching ten black traces leave seismograph tracks in their scrolling wake. “But I prize women the most. Not least because they gain their fat under the skin. I like that because I can feel it when I swallow them.”

“Swallow,” whispers Allison. She is frozen in space. I continue, though.

“Seeing anything?” I prompt. Allison looks at me like she’s forgotten I exist, before returning to the screen. “Um. Sensor four. Orbito-frontal? Makes sense. It’s associated with hunger. Sorry, swallow?”

“Blood isn’t enough,” you answer in a casual sing-song. “I need more from my prey.” You turn your head enough to make eye contact without disturbing any of the leads. “All of them.”

“Maybe you’ll see,” I murmur, putting my hand on Alison’s shoulder. “Maybe when Fern gets here. Would you like that?”

While our science partner has an attack of being unable to articulate words or do anything other than stare at you, I speak directly to you. “Could you meditate, Rey? Or do a— I don’t know. Lesser banishing?”

After brief consideration you shrug and nod. Three deep breaths, and you begin.

You’re about half-way through the opening when you realise that I’m struck dumb too. Allison stares at you and I stare at the screens. “Hmm? What is it? Oh…”

Ten dots trace ten chaotic landscapes, now that you are out of your visualisation. But seconds ago, the record scrolling to the left indicates something very different. Slow, steady waves, fused with bursts of shorter waves. Clean, like a mathematical diagram.

“Allison, what…?”

Our companion looks up to the screens. Her mouth falls open and she examines her software, looking for the glitch. Finding none. “Alpha. Relaxation. Then flurries of beta, or focus. But… pristine. Are you… cheating?”

But you’re not listening, and I know why. I smile, slow and wolfish. Your current readings show enhanced activity in a number of regions, but one of them we’ve just learned about.

It’s a couple of moments before I hear it, even though I’m listening out. But there: high heel footsteps, walking towards us down the corridor.

Fern is here. And you are hungry.