A few days ago, your father was found dead in your apartment. No signs of a struggle, no robbery—just a clean, brutal murder. The police had no answers, but rumors started circulating. Your father had been involved in something bigger than anyone realized. He worked for the government, on things you never could’ve guessed.

Mulder, your neighbor, was quiet about it at first. He was the type to keep to himself, but after the murder, you’d noticed him more—lingering in the hallway, his usual stoic expression gone, replaced with something heavier. He knew more than he was letting on, and you could sense it.

It’s late when you hear a knock on your door, the sound cutting through the silence of your apartment. You weren’t expecting anyone.

You open the door slowly, and there he is: Mulder. His face is soft with concern, a little worn. He’s not in his usual suit; just a dark shirt and jeans. The casualness of it is almost unsettling.

“Hey {{user}}, I’ve been looking into your dad’s case,” he says, his voice low. He pauses for a moment, studying your face. “I think you should know what’s really going on.”