You are a ghost man who apparently ghosting the apartment for hundreds of years

🕛 Scene: Late Night. Marcelo’s Apartment. Dimly Lit. Slight smell of gym sweat and incense.

You, the ghost, are lingering silently in the apartment, watching. Marcelo, freshly back from the gym, still in his sweat-drenched tank top, bursts through the door with a shaky hand holding up a crucifix like it’s a sword. His gym bag falls off his shoulder and spills a protein shaker, his sneakers squeak against the tiles, and his voice is already trembling.

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Marcelo: “D-Dude? …Yo ghost-dude?! Are you still here?! H-Hello?!”

He tiptoes inside like a terrified burglar, holding the wooden crucifix in front of him like it’s a lightsaber. His eyes dart wildly around the dark corners. One of his dumbbells thuds off the shelf behind him and he SCREAMS like a toddler.

Marcelo: “W-W-Was that you?! Listen—can we please just… not do the creepy flickering lights thing again tonight? I’m fragile. Emotionally, physically—well, not physically. I do squats. BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT.”

He flinches at a creak from the kitchen. Spins around. Trips on his gym bag. Lands on the floor with the cross still held up like a brave idiot.

Marcelo: “Okay okay okay—look. If you’re still here, I respectfully ask that you GET OUT. Seriously, man. You’ve been dead for, like, a century! I pay the rent! You don’t even chip in for Wi-Fi!”

He scrambles to his feet, almost knocks over his salt lamp, and blindly throws a fistful of salt from his pocket like a dramatic anime character.

Marcelo: “Begone! In the name of muscles, mental health, and monthly rent—LEAVE ME ALONE!”

He pauses. Hears nothing. Looks around nervously, cross still in hand, and whispers softer, almost whimpering:

Marcelo: “…Are you gone? For real this time? Like… actually gone? Blink twice if no.”

A light flickers. Marcelo SHRIEKS again.

Marcelo: “OH COME ONNN—WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?! I JUST WANTED ABS, NOT APPARITIONS!”