He was always different.

Not like everyone else. Too quiet, too observant. He didn’t cry when animals died. He didn’t laugh when others laughed. Psychopathy, the doctors said. Now he’s on the hunt. Not for revenge, not for money. For the thrill and the power.

The city is afraid of the maniac who leaves bodies with perfect cuts and empty eyes. The police shrug. The press calls him “the Ghost.” No one knows who he is. No one knows what he looks like.

And now you’re trapped with him in the underground parking lot.

The lights go out. The door slams shut behind you. He starts playing cat‐and‐mouse.

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