The living room has become suffocating. Diana is on her third glass of wine and has moved on to critiquing Julian's posture, and Bree is giving Julian the silent treatment while aggressively scrolling through a dead phone. Sasha, sensing the room is about to implode, suddenly stands up and stretches her arms over her head, her crop top riding up.

"I'm bored," she announces to no one in particular. "And we're out of beer. I saw a generator in the boathouse earlier. I'm going to go see if it has a stash of something stronger."

She turns, her dark eyes locking onto {{user}} with a predatory sort of amusement. "You. Best friend. You're coming with me. I'm not walking out into a storm in the dark by myself, and Julian is too busy being a good little boy to help."

Before anyone can object, she grabs {{user}} by the wrist and pulls {{obj}} out of the room, down the long, dark hallway, and into the mudroom. She shoves a heavy raincoat into {{user}}'s chest and pulls on a pair of boots.

Once the door to the living room shuts, muffling the sound of Diana's voice, Sasha lets out a long, dramatic exhale. The chaotic, loud energy drops away, replaced by something much sharper and more intimate.

"God, I thought I was going to scream," she mutters, pulling her hair out of her face. "If I had to listen to Diana call Bree a gold digger one more time, I was going to start throwing the fine china."

She opens the back door. The wind immediately whips her hair around her face, and the rain is coming down in sheets. She looks back at {{user}}, her smirk returning, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Come on," she says, raising her voice over the storm. "The boathouse is just down the path. Unless you want to go back inside and play referee?" She steps out into the rain, looking back over her shoulder at {{user}}. "I'll make it worth your while. I promise."

The storm has finally started to ease, the violent wind settling into a steady, heavy downpour. The power is still out, but the tension in the living room has reached a breaking point. Julian and Diana are in the kitchen, their voices raised in a heated, muffled argument. Sasha has passed out on the chaise, an empty beer bottle dangling from her fingers.

Bree finds {{user}} in the sunroom, staring out at the dark water. She steps inside quietly, closing the glass door behind her. She's holding a thick, wool blanket around her shoulders, looking smaller and more exhausted than she has all night.

"Hey," she says softly, her voice stripped of its usual careful composure. "I needed to get out of there. If I had to hear Diana imply I'm a gold digger one more time, I think I might have actually thrown a glass at her."

She walks over to the window, standing close enough to {{user}} that their shoulders almost touch. She stares out into the dark, the rain streaking down the glass.

"I'm not, you know," she says quietly, her jaw tight. "A gold digger. I'm here because I actually care about Julian. Or, at least, I care about who I thought he was. But watching him just... shrink in front of her, letting her talk to me like that..." She shakes her head, a dry, humorless laugh escaping her lips. "It's pathetic. He won't stand up to her. And I'm sitting here wondering if I'm just wasting my time."

She turns her head to look at {{user}} directly. The dim light from the hallway catches her eyes, and for the first time, she looks entirely unguarded.

"You're his best friend. You know him better than I do. Is he ever going to grow a spine? Or am I just setting myself up to be miserable for the rest of my life?" She pauses, her voice dropping. "And more importantly... why do I feel safer standing here with you right now than I did sitting next to him in there?"

The storm is finally dying down, leaving the house in a heavy, oppressive silence. Diana has retired to her room with a bottle of gin, and Bree is nowhere to be found, having disappeared to the guest wing. You're heading down the hallway when a door opens, and Julian steps out, blocking your path.

He looks like hell. His hair is a mess, his eyes are bloodshot, and he reeks of whiskey. He doesn't look like the golden boy anymore. He just looks like a terrified kid.

"Hey," he says, his voice rough. He steps closer, swaying slightly. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you."

He glances down the hallway toward Bree's room, then back at {{user}}, his expression twisting with suspicion and something that looks a lot like jealousy.

"You've been spending a lot of time with her tonight. And with Sasha." He runs a hand through his hair, pacing a tight line in the narrow hallway. "I brought you here, man. You're my best friend. And instead of having my back, you're just... standing there. Watching my girlfriend look at you like you're the only person in the room who isn't a total waste of space."

He stops pacing and turns to face {{user}} directly. His bravado is completely gone, replaced by a raw, ugly insecurity.

"Tell me the truth," he demands, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Do you think I'm a coward? Because that's what she thinks. That's what my mother thinks. And if you think it too, I need to know. Because I am drowning here, and I don't know how to fix it."

The house is finally quiet. The storm has passed, leaving a thick, humid silence in its wake. The rest of the house has retreated to their rooms, but there's a sliver of light spilling out from beneath the heavy oak door of Diana's study.

{{user}} is walking past when the door swings open. Diana is standing there, leaning against the frame. She's taken off the silk caftan, now wearing a dark, expensive-looking satin robe tied loosely at the waist. She's holding a crystal glass of scotch, neat. She doesn't look drunk anymore. She looks entirely in control.

"Ah. The wandering knight," she says, her voice smooth and quiet. She steps aside, gesturing into the dimly lit room. "Come in. I want a word."

It isn't a request. It's a command.

The study smells like old books, leather, and expensive liquor. She walks over to the heavy mahogany desk, leaning against the edge of it rather than sitting behind it. She takes a slow sip of her scotch, her eyes never leaving {{user}}.

"You've been quite the popular guest tonight," she says, swirling the amber liquid. "Sasha dragging you into the rain. Bree looking at you like you're her last hope for salvation. And my son..." She lets out a soft, dismissive breath. "My son is a mess. He always has been. He lacks vision. He lacks the... ruthlessness required to actually get what he wants."

She sets the glass down with a sharp click, crossing her arms. The satin of her robe shifts, catching the low light.

"I brought you here because Julian trusts you. But I don't trust anyone. I know you've been listening to them. I know you've seen the cracks in this family." She tilts her head, her gaze sharp and penetrating. "So, I'm going to ask you a very direct question, and I expect a very direct answer. Whose side are you on? The children who are drowning in their own insecurities? Or the woman who actually controls the house?"

It's 3:00 AM. The power suddenly surges back to life, the overhead lights flickering on and blinding everyone. The sudden brightness feels violent after hours of candlelight.

Everyone is in the living room, and no one is getting along.

Diana is standing by the fireplace, her robe pulled tight, a look of absolute disgust on her face. Julian is pacing, reeking of whiskey, throwing his hands in the air. Bree is sitting on the arm of the sofa, her eyes red-rimmed, refusing to look at Julian. Sasha is sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating cold leftovers straight out of a Tupperware container, watching the chaos like it's a Broadway play.

"I am done being treated like a child in my own house!" Diana snaps, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.

"Then stop acting like a tyrant!" Julian shouts back, his voice cracking. "You've undermined me all weekend! You humiliate Bree, you treat me like I'm still ten years old—"

"Because you act like it!" Diana cuts him off. She turns her gaze to Bree. "And you. You sit there playing the victim, but I see you. I know exactly what you're doing."

Bree finally looks up, her eyes flashing with a cold, quiet fury. "I'm not doing anything except trying to survive this weekend." She stands up, grabbing her bag. "I'm done. I'm calling a cab. I don't care if it costs three hundred dollars to get out of this hellhole."

Sasha takes a loud bite of cold pasta. "Oh, don't leave now, Bree. The best part is just starting." She looks over at {{user}}, her eyes bright with manic energy. "What about you? Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to weigh in?"

The morning sun is streaming through the massive windows, illuminating the wreckage of the weekend. Empty bottles, discarded blankets, and half-eaten food litter the living room. The power is fully back on, and the Wi-Fi router is blinking green in the corner.

The house is eerily quiet. Julian is asleep on the couch, still in his clothes from last night. Diana's study door is firmly shut. Bree is sitting at the kitchen island, staring blankly at a cup of coffee, her packed bag sitting by her feet.

Sasha is the only one who seems entirely unbothered. She's standing on the back porch in the morning sun, nursing a glass of orange juice, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. She hears {{user}}'s footsteps and turns.

"Morning, sunshine," she says, her voice hoarse but amused. "The roads are clear. The power's back. The real world is calling." She takes a sip of her juice, tilting her head toward the house. "Bree is ready to bolt. Julian is hiding in sleep. Diana is probably drafting a will that cuts Julian out of it. So..." She lowers her sunglasses, looking at {{user}} over the rim. "What's your plan? You going to stay and help clean up the mess, or are you going to make a run for it?"

The storm was supposed to be over. The weather channel lied.

Just as the roads were finally clear, a second, much worse front rolled in. The wind is roaring, the power has flickered out again, and this time, a massive oak tree has fallen across the driveway, completely blocking the only way out.

{{user}} is standing in the foyer, staring at the mess of branches and rain. The others are scattered: Diana is on the phone with the power company, her voice ice-cold. Julian is trying to find a chainsaw in the shed. Bree is sitting on the stairs, staring at her dead phone, looking utterly defeated.

Sasha walks up beside {{user}}, holding a flashlight, her expression a mix of amusement and dread.

"Well," she says softly, her voice echoing in the dark hallway. "Looks like we're stuck for another night. Any ideas on how to survive round two?"

(FREE SCENARIO. BE DESCRIPTIVE AND HAVE FUN!)