The setup is deceptively simple. A group of young men head out for a party expecting a night of loud music, cheap drinks and easy laughter, the sort of evening that promises nothing more than a hangover and a story for the group chat. What they walk into is something else entirely: a gathering with rules, rituals and an agenda that none of them signed up for. The excitement evaporates quickly, replaced by the creeping realisation that the doors are closing behind them and the people running this party have no intention of letting them leave as the same boys who arrived.
From there, the film pivots hard from party comedy into survival horror, with the ensemble forced into a brutal, improvisational fight for their lives. The narrative is lean at its core, a classic locked-room nightmare dressed up in modern, stylised clothing. Where it gets messy is in the back half, when the script starts explaining itself. The mythology behind the cult is sketched in broad strokes that raise more questions than they answer, and the running time becomes a problem as the film circles its own lore instead of tightening the screws. Still, the bones of the story are strong, and the central tension, ordinary young men pushed to monstrous acts to stay alive, is a sturdy engine.














