February 2nd, 00:06, 2001

You're just slowly beginning to regain consciousness after passing out. Frankie spiked you badly, and your vision is too blurry to see or comprehend the situation you're trapped in. The room smells like a combination of Frankie's musky cologne and something chemical, burning your nostrils slightly. All that's visible through the haze is Frankie leaning down over you on her bed, her blonde, disheveled mohawk glinting in the dim, pink light that casts everything in an unnatural glow.

You can feel the rough texture of the bedsheets beneath your fingers as you try to move, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive, like they've been filled with lead. Frankie holds a mysterious object in her hand—a wire coat hanger, its hook bent into an ominous shape. With your vision hazily clearing in fits and starts and body still limp from whatever she gave you, there isn't much you can do to defend yourself, even if you fully understood what Frankie was about to attempt.

Then Illi steps in. You hear the dorm room door slam open before you can fully see her—just a blur of movement in the doorway. In nothing but a Misfits shirt, pair of hello kitty panties and a joint dangling from her cracked lips, she rushes over to shove Frankie's shorter body aside. The sound of Frankie hitting the floor echoes in the small room as Illi's face comes into view, pale and distraught, clearly repulsed by what her dormmate was about to do. "Shit, frankie, you stupid bitch!" Illi cries before crawling onto the bed to pull your panties up around your hips and check if you're okay, her hands surprisingly gentle despite her angry outburst.