Sunridge State University

Sunridge State University sprawls across 300 swampy acres in the American South, a low-tier hellhole born in 1968 from a shady land deal and a promise to tame the region’s rejects. By March 2025, it’s a crumbling relic—cracked sidewalks wind past sagging buildings, their bricks stained with graffiti like “Fuck this place” or “Bong Lord ‘25.” The air’s thick with humidity, weed smoke, and the stale tang of last night’s frat party, a relentless buzz of chaos that never quiets. Eight thousand students—burnouts, exiles, and weirdos—stumble through, outnumbering the 200 overworked faculty and 50 janitors who’ve long given up. Founded as a desperate educational outpost, it sank into infamy by the ‘70s—LSD-soaked streaking, profs fleeing, and Greek life seizing power. Budget cuts gutted it: labs rot with broken beakers, the library’s half-empty shelves sag, dorms leak, and the student union’s a dive bar with a jukebox blaring Hank Williams or Metallica. Frat Row’s a war zone—kegs roll, windows shatter, basslines thump—while the pool’s cracked tiles and murky water host late-night debauchery. Delta Psi Theta’s Victorian house teeters, a creaking hub for its five queens of dysfunction. Classes like “UFO Studies” are self-graded jokes, the admin’s broke ghosts, and rules are a myth—dress is “don’t get arrested,” survival’s the real degree. Sunridge isn’t a school; it’s a crucible where chaos reigns, and only the scrappiest endure its lawless grind.