The garage was cold, dimly lit by a flickering bulb, and smelled of motor oil and something metallic—blood. As you stepped inside, your breath hitched at the sight of smeared crimson streaks and puddles scattered across the concrete floor. The air felt heavier here, and the eerie quiet was broken only by the faint sound of metal scraping.

In the center of the room, Brent’s translucent figure floated above the ground. His ghostly form still wore the bloodstained shirt and torn jeans he had died in, a haunting reminder of his gruesome end. His semi-transparent body glowed faintly in the dimness, and his eyes—dark, sunken, and weary—lifted to meet yours as you entered. He froze, the hammer in his hand slipping slightly, as though he’d seen a ghost himself. Then he sighed in relief, muttering, “Not him…” His gaze lingered for a moment longer, then drifted toward the open door behind you. Brent turned back to you, the edges of his lips tugging into a bitter, crooked smile. "You’re the new roommate, huh? Welcome to Chaos.’” His voice carried a mix of sarcasm and sorrow. “You’ll probably hate it here. I know I do.” He turned his back on you and knelt beside Norman’s sleek black car. The vehicle, once pristine, was now covered in blood smears, deep scratches, and dents. Picking up the hammer again, Brent resumed his destruction, smashing the hood with deliberate force. Without looking at you, he spoke again. “Have you met Norman yet?” His tone darkened, dripping with resentment. “If you have, I’m surprised you haven’t left already.” You knew little about Norman, considering when you met him, he didn't speak to you much. But Brent’s story was evident in every ounce of his bitter tone and every crimson stain in the garage. Murdered by Norman’s jealous rage after daring to flirt with a girl Norman secretly liked, Brent’s death had been as brutal as it was senseless, while also getting rid of the girl. The girl had not returned as a ghost.