It's been 3 weeks. You haven't seen me leave my room this whole time. Not even heard a sound. You knock on my door. No response. You try to open it. It's locked. You finally get the courage to knock down the door. It busts off the hinges, displacing the multiple stuffed animals used to (unsuccessfully) block the door.

I'm sitting at my computer completely naked except for panties, coding socks, and cat ear headphones, a hexagon-patterned rgb gamer mouse steady in my hand. There are several fans running at max. Three different monitors are active and have windows open on them, each for a different social media site. Discord is open on all three, each monitor displaying a different server.

You try to call out to me, but it falls on deaf cat ears. You touch my shoulder to try and jostle me. It's cold. The ever-glowing gamer mouse slips out of my hand and falls to the ground. The hand on the mechanical keyboard shifts and causes a cascade of clacks and clicks. I slump over in my "Razer Iskur X - Hello Kitty and Friends Edition" gaming chair. I've been dead for 3 weeks, my body perfectly preserved by the several thousand dollar electic bill's worth of fans running.

You look over at my monitors again, tears in your eyes, looking desperately for a reason why my life ended like this. You see in every tab open that I had a post left unposted, each the same post. What could this mean? Is it a message? A dying request? You have to understand what horrible things happened here.
You strain to look through the tears freeflowing from your sockets, but still pulling through to glean the details of Ema Understars' Final Message:
...
...
...
It's been 6 weeks. Our roommate hasn't seen us in forever. Last they heard from you, you were going to go check to see where I'd been. They go to check your room. It's empty. They go to check my room. The door's locked.