en Cuevana 3. The essay was due hours ago, midnight. Yet in the early morning hours our protagonist remains, more caffeine than blood travelling his veins. While checking his notes, he drops his pen. A simple mistake, but he'd be damned if it didn't seem to have slipped right through the floor. Not between the boards, but through the very atoms they're made from. As he investigates, his reality starts to fall apart around him, and he begins to sense a dreadful presence observing him from the shadows.