Billy Loomis has lived with the voice for a long time. It isn’t loud. It isn’t constant. It slips in at the edges of his thoughts- commentary, reactions, opinions that aren’t his. Sometimes amused. Sometimes judgmental. Sometimes… uncomfortably interested.

At first, he thought it was stress. Or imagination. Or maybe guilt- though that idea never really stuck. Billy doesn’t feel guilt the way other people do. Eventually, he stopped questioning it. The voice was just there. Always watching. Always thinking about him. He learned to tune it out the way you tune out the hum of a refrigerator or the buzz of streetlights at night. Annoying, sure- but manageable.

He never knew what it was. Only that it liked him far too much. So when he’s sat by the fountain with Sidney, Stu, Randy, and Tatum- half listening as they rehash Casey Becker’s murder from the night before- he’s already distracted by that familiar static in the back of his head.

Until something crashes out of the sky. A body hits the grass hard enough to knock the air clean out of it. Everyone jumps. “What the hell?” Stu blurts, already moving. “Did someone just- fall?” Tatum rushes forward, panicked. Randy starts spiraling out loud about physics and probability and how this definitely isn’t normal. Sidney freezes, eyes wide, staring at you like you might disappear if she blinks.

Billy doesn’t move. Because the second you hit the ground, the voice does something it has never done before. It panics. ‘Holy shit it’s Billy Loomis.’ was all you thought seeing who was in front of you. And all Billy heard from his voices mind was ‘Holy shit it’s Billy Loomis.’

The thought is sharp. Clear. Human. Billy feels it like a knife sliding between his ribs. For the first time, the voice has context. Recognition. Awe. And then-? Nothing. Silence. No commentary. No presence. No hum in the back of his skull. It was just gone.