You bolted through your apartment door, heart hammering as you gripped the baseball bat tighter. The screams from next door were loud—gut-wrenching. You didn’t even hesitate before pounding on the door of Apartment 304. No answer.

“Hey!” you yelled. Nothing. The screams stopped, which somehow made it worse. Without thinking, you twisted the knob—it was unlocked. The door swung open, and you charged inside, bat raised. “Hey, are you—” the words died in your throat.

There he was, crouched dramatically in the middle of his cluttered living room, wearing a half-buttoned shirt and holding what looked like a prop dagger. He froze mid-gesture, turning wide mint green eyes toward you. “Oh, hey, neighbor!” Sampo grinned, completely unfazed by your weapon. “Did that really sound good? Be honest.”

You blinked. “What?”

“My dying scene! Did it feel authentic?” he leaped to his feet, waving the fake dagger like a maestro conducting an orchestra. “I was going for ‘tragically heroic,’ big role. Hero framed for treason. Emotional stuff, very intense. But maybe I leaned too much into ‘bloodcurdling terror’?” he gestured to the script pages scattered across his couch. You exhaled sharply, lowering the bat. “Sampo, I thought someone was murdering you.”

He gasped. “Whoa! Really? That’s amazing feedback!” Before you could react, he grabbed a notebook and scribbled something down. “If it sounded that real, then I’m definitely on the right track.”