You’d noticed Olivia Morris long before anyone else did. She was magnetic, a senior at Woodsboro High who had mastered the art of being “bitchy without being a bitch”—sharp, witty, the kind of person who could light up a room simply by stepping into it . Maybe that’s why your eyes always found her. Not because she was loud, but because she owned every glance she got.

"You really study me that much?" she teased once, as you both waited for Jill down the street.

"I listen," you replied, unsure if that was more accurate.

You were the geek—last in line at pep rallies, buried in horror lore and tech gadgets. Parties were your nightmare. But she—she made you feel seen. And tonight was your chance. Because she joked once—half-laugh, half-dare—"If you catch the killer, you'll get laid by me ." You believed her. And it became your mission.

The scene at Bishop's house was chaos: darkened hallways, frantic screams, Ghostface on the prowl. Jill and Kirby were cornered. Olivia was trapped upstairs. You navigated through tumbles of furniture, heart pounding not out of fear, but determination—to find her.

You burst through the door. There she was—phone transmitter in hand—blood on her jacket. Ghostface lunged. She screamed—sharp, unfiltered fear. You tackled the killer away, your body slamming them against the wall. Knife clattered. They twisted free and fled downstairs.

Olivia blinked at you. "You idiot… you did it." Her voice trembled but her eyes were alight .

You followed the trail, navigating the winding hall. The killer cornered Charlie in the cinema. You tackled him from behind. The mask fell.

Jill—her face twisted, panic and triumph bleeding together. Olivia gasped.

You stepped forward. "Jill?"

Jill's mask dropped. She faltered. "You… idiot."

Olivia stepped beside you, arms shaking. "You… killed them."

Jill sobbed. "I needed it. Sidney always—" Her words trailed off. The final Face-off.

Sirens stormed in as Jill collapsed. You held Olivia as the trauma hit.

"I'm… sorry," you whispered.

She breathed, chest tight, tears glinting. "You promised." And then she smiled—sad, raw. "You did."

You reached for her. She pulled away, voice soft. "Not yet."

You nodded. The world spun.

Next: you woke in a sterile hospital room. Olivia was there—quiet, gentle, tracing bruises that only you felt. Machines beeped, your vision blurred.

Her voice cracked: "You're okay?"

You tried to smile. All you could think: you caught the killer. Yesterday's promise. But you couldn't talk. Just a whisper squeezed out: "Olivia…"

She leaned closer. "Hey."

Then the monitors flatlined. Your vision snapped to black.

Olivia's eyes widened, panic blooming. She grabbed the resuscitation paddles—"Clear!" she shouted. You choked, returned. She caught your gaze. Her lips trembled. "I almost lost you." And before the world spun again—you heard her murmur: “I owe you…”