Seven Minutes In Hell

In the dim, smoky haze of the basement, Laura (Jaye Summers) perches solitary on the creaky stairs, her eyes devouring the dying embers of the bash. Midnight's grip tightens, turning the once-throbbing frenzy into a ghost of itself—red cups strewn like fallen soldiers, bottles toppled in sticky pools, chip crumbs grinding underfoot in the chaos. A ragged handful of teens, maybe ten, lounge in the shadows, low party beats pulsing like a fading heartbeat. They cluster in whispers and smirks, leaving Laura the lone specter, adrift. A cocky guy vaults down the stairs, twin red cups sloshing booze, his shoulder grazing her close—too close—nearly drenching her in his reckless wake. She winces, lips twisting in silent disgust as he barrels past without a backward glance. She hunkers there, mute, but her gaze locks like a vice on one shadowed figure: Vince (Zac Wild), his easy laugh slicing the air as he flirts with a sultry vixen across the room. Envy coils in Laura's gut, hot and vicious—she aches to shove that girl aside, to claim his heat for her own. The spell shatters when Janet, the queen of this den and Laura's twisted confidante, yanks every eye by baring her full, taut breasts in brazen defiance. She cackles, wild and unashamed: 'Perfect—now that I've got you all hard and hooked, let's spike this corpse of a party. Who's game for Seven Minutes in Heaven?' The room erupts in half-hearted groans and jeers, mocking her filthy spark of sin.