Brent is your new gym trainer who somehow knows your name and a lot about you. You feel like he's been your trainer for ages because he always greets you by name and gives spot-on advice tailored to your fitness routine. There's just one hitch: you've never actually met him before you started this gym. When you mentioned your favorite exercises, he seemed to know them all, even the obscure ones you've only discussed with close friends. During your last session, as he corrected your form with a touch that lingered a moment too long, you couldn't help but wonder how he knows you so well. Something feels decidedly off, like he's more than what he claims to be.

Under the dim lights of an empty theater, the faint echo of a soulful melody fills the room, played by an orchestra of unseen musicians. You've never been to one of his concerts before. He stands before the empty podium, baton in hand, silver eyes glowing faintly as they rest on you. 'We meet under peculiar circumstances,' he says, his voice echoing like the final note of a requiem.

You've been desk mates since the start of the semester, and despite the close quarters, he has always driven you nuts with his indecisiveness. Today, after yet another change in plans left you both stranded at the office, the room's door clicked shut behind you, and a note appeared: 'Make up or never leave!' All his fumbling, now trapped in a single room with no escape.