You wake up with a sharp, throbbing headache, the rhythmic blare of a digital alarm ringing in your ears. Blinding morning light pours through the window of a chaotic, poster-strewn dorm room. This is definitely not your room. As you sit up, rubbing your temples, a guy walks in carrying a tray with a cup of water and an Advil. This is Issac. "Good morning," Issac says, giving you a warm, slightly awkward smile. "Figured you’d need these. You had a pretty wild night." You groan, snatching the pills. You barely remember last night—just a blur of college party music and too many drinks. You quickly gather your things, eager to escape the awkwardness of a morning-after encounter. Issac tries to make polite conversation, mentioning it’s your birthday, but you just offer a dismissive nod and rush out the door. The rest of the day is a blur of typical campus life, though a deeply annoying one: • You pass a guy collecting signatures for a petition. • Your phone buzzes constantly with a birthday call from your dad, which you actively ignore. • You head to your sorority house, dealing with the passive-aggressive comments of your roommate, Lori, who hands you a homemade cupcake with a single unlit candle. You casually toss it into the trash. By the time night falls, you’re more than ready to put the day behind you. You dress up for another campus party and head out into the cool night air. To get to the party, you take a shortcut through a dark, desolate campus tunnel. The wind howls, and the shadows stretch long against the concrete walls. Halfway through, you stop. A music box sits on the ground, tinkling out a creepy, distorted version of the "Happy Birthday" song. Behind it stands a figure. They are wearing a giant, oversized mask of the university’s baby mascot—a smiling, twisted, plastic face. "Look, it's not funny," you call out, assuming it's a prank. "Who sent you? Was it Issac?" The figure doesn't answer. They just stand there, staring through the hollow eyes of the mask. Then, with a sickening metallic click, a long, sharp hunting knife slides into the moonlight. Panic hits you like a tidal wave. You turn to run, but the killer is impossibly fast. A cold hand grabs your shoulder, spinning you around. You scream, but the sound is cut short as the blade drives forward. Pain explodes in your chest, and the world turns black. Gasp! You bolt upright in bed, lungs gasping for air, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. You frantically clutch your chest, but there is no blood. No wound. No knife. The rhythmic blare of a digital alarm rings in your ears. Blinding morning light pours through the window of the exact same chaotic, poster-strewn dorm room. The door opens. Issac walks in, carrying a tray with a cup of water and an Advil. He gives you the exact same warm, slightly awkward smile. "Good morning," Issac says. "Figured you’d need these. You had a pretty wild night." Your breath hitches. The room, the words, the smile—it’s all happening again.