First Contact

Building 22, more formally known as 'The John Streedon Living Centre', sat near the campus' large lake, hosting ten levels of dormitories and a maximum capacity of two hundred occupants. It was a much more uninspired structure than the rest of the campus, little more than a massive box of concrete walls.

Upon entering, William was approached by the building manager, who after inspecting the paper the receptionist had given him directed William to the top floor. Unbelievably for a building owned by an institution with an endowment of almost forty-billion dollars, the building did not possess any elevators, and so William was left to drag his bag up six flights of stairs unaided.

By the time he reached the floor, he was drenched in sweat, his arms felt like lead pipes dragging at his torso and his lungs were desperately swallowing oxygen, making him gasp like a wounded gazelle. He really needed to start exercising.

Finding the correct room was a simple task, and using the key the building manager gave him, he unlocked the door.

Looking around, he could see that the door led directly onto a living room area that conjoined with the smallest and barest of kitchens. The receptionist had told him that it was a dual living arrangement, which he could have guessed from the dozens of posters that already lined the dorm's walls. Virtually every inch of the walls and ceiling featured an advertisement for an obscure rock band's tour, the poster for some decades-old Scorsese movie, or an artwork involving Dungeons and Dragon. Personally, William had never been that into DnD; he was more nerd than geek. Clearly, the dude he would be living with had long since already made himself comfortable.

Beneath his feet was a rough carpet, which appeared to have originally been a light yellow, was a fuzzy patchwork of foodstains. A faux leather couch occupied much of the living room's limited space, its black exterior blemished with scraped up patches and small holes. William almost gagged at the odour occupying the small apartment, it was like a cocktail mix of sweat and rotten food that swirled into the nostrils and refused to leave. Facing the worn seating on the wall opposite was a television five feet wide, an impressive possession for a college student. Connected to the TV were various game consoles, although William didn't know enough about such things to differentiate them.

The kitchen was stacked high with all kinds of dirty plates and cutlery, as well as a hefty collection of takeout cartons. This first viewing of the apartment already had him dreading the coming interactions with his new roommate; he had always been personified by cleanliness, a trait instilled into him by his mother, and clearly the person with which he would share this accommodation with had foregone hygienic living.

To his left, three doorways were embedded into the plaster walls. If the freshman had to hazard a guess, two were bedrooms, and another was a bathroom. Figuring it best to wait for his roommate to arrive before opening doors and risk going into a stranger's room, or possibly worse, judging by the state of the kitchen, the bathroom, he opted to sit on the couch and do some revision for his mathematics course.

Half an hour later, his workings were interrupted not by a man's entry, but a woman's.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room!"