Chris stood in the center of the dimly lit room, the glow of his phone screen casting eerie shadows across his face. His eyes darted between the chat messages flooding his live stream, a mixture of skepticism, humor, and curiosity.
"Five years ago, a fire consumed this entire apartment building. The case was never solved. But I'm here to uncover the truth," Chris said confidently, turning to the camera. "I suspect the killer is still hiding among the residents. None of them are what they seem."
The chat erupted with comments:
Hayden: "Sounds like a real-life werewolf game. Who's the Prophet?"
I'mJustAWorm: "You're making this up, bro. No way any of that's real."
SerpentKing: "I looked it up—there really was a fire at this place five years ago."
GhostHunter: "I believe you, Chris."
I'mJustAWorm: "Yeah, right. If that's true, how can you prove you're in the same room where it happened? You say the building burned down, but everything looks perfectly fine. The walls, the floors, the furniture—nothing looks scorched to me."
Chris leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I wouldn't lie to you all. If you want proof, I've got it right here." He reached behind him, shifting the vanity table aside, revealing a small corner of the wall. He pulled a fruit knife from his pocket and began scraping the paint off in delicate strokes, exposing the darkened, charred brick beneath.
"See this? This is one of the few signs left from the fire. The apartment was remodeled, renamed, and cleaned up, but no matter how much they tried, some things can't be hidden."
CurseBreaker: "Okay, but who the hell brings a knife and a hammer when they stay at a hotel? You planning to pull off a heist or something?"
SerpentKing: "Poor apartment owner. I hope they don't see the mess you're making."
Hayden: "How much does a room in this death trap cost anyway? I mean, there's not even a TV in sight."
Chris rolled his eyes at the playful jabs in the chat, resisting the urge to laugh. "You guys are missing the point! I'm risking my life here to give you some real content. Can I get a little respect?"
SerpentKing: "Here's a coin. Consider it a tip."
Shaking his head, Chris refocused. "Back to the matter at hand. So far, I've encountered six residents in this building. The first was a woman who smiled at me through the crack of her door as I entered. Her expression was... unsettling. I'm not sure what to make of her yet, but let's move on."
He paused, gathering his thoughts as he listed each tenant he'd encountered, describing their physical traits and quirks.
"The landlord is the most obvious suspect. He's got the motive, but his limp makes me think it couldn't be him. Then there's the tattooed guy on the first floor, and the short, heavyset man on the second floor. Both are physically capable. But the first-floor woman and the scrawny guy named Ryan also have potential."
SerpentKing: "Great, so basically you're saying any of them could've done it?"
Hayden: "Maybe the real culprit is that old man in the wheelchair. You know, he gained the most from the fire. He might have been perfectly fine five years ago."
Chris scratched his chin, intrigued. "You make a good point. Just because he's in a wheelchair now doesn't mean he was five years ago. The fire wasn't a result of physical violence—it was arson. He could've easily started it."
Hayden: "What if he's just pretending to be paralyzed? The one you least suspect is often the one who did it."
SerpentKing: "I'm still suspicious of that woman who smiled at you. Maybe she was trying to send you a message. Can you describe exactly how her smile looked? The angle of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled—I'll analyze it with micro-expression psychology."
Chris sighed. "I don't remember."
The enthusiasm in the chat grew, and the number of viewers spiked. Chris scanned the comments, amused at the wild theories but knowing he needed to find more concrete evidence to keep the momentum going.
"It seems like I'll have to investigate further myself," Chris said. He turned the camera toward his face. "I've already scouted out the apartment building. The first and second floors were renovated, but the third floor—some parts haven't changed in five years. That's where I'll be searching next."
GhostHunter: "That's creepy as hell."
Hayden: "Do you think the victims are still there? You know, restless spirits hanging around the scene of the crime?"
CurseBreaker: "I admire your guts, Chris. I could never do what you're about to do."
"You think that's gutsy?" Chris smirked. "Wait till you hear about the time a group came to my haunted house to challenge me. The two bravest guys in the group ended up terrified—one cried, and the other fainted."
SerpentKing: "Wait, why did the two bravest ones get so scared? What about the others?"
Hayden: "Obviously, the scaredy-cats didn't even set foot inside."
Chris chuckled. "Exactly."
He glanced at his phone, noticing the chat's playful banter veering off course, but he didn't mind. They'd get back on track once he found something. He slipped the knife into his pocket and grabbed the hammer from the floor, feeling the weight of it in his hand.
This time, he was smarter. Instead of bursting through the door, he crouched down and peered through the crack. The hallway was empty. With a soft creak, he eased the door open and stepped outside. He pulled a strand of his hair, carefully placing it over the lock. If anyone opened the door while he was gone, it would fall inside the keyhole, giving him a clear signal.
Satisfied with his precaution, Chris crept down the second-floor corridor, his footsteps light against the floor. He made sure not to trigger the motion-sensor lights, relying solely on the faint glow of his phone to guide him.
As he climbed the stairs, the walls darkened, and a strange, unpleasant odor filled the air. He arrived at the third floor and activated the flashlight on his phone. He pressed his back against the wall, his senses sharp, and scanned the hallway.
The last time he'd stumbled onto this floor, he had glimpsed a shadowy figure moving down the corridor—a faint outline of a person disappearing around the corner.
"I don't know if it was a ghost or not," Chris muttered to himself, gripping the hammer tighter, "but I'm not taking any chances."
The light from his phone illuminated the fire-scarred remnants of the floor. Deep scratches marred the walls, evidence of the violent struggle that had taken place years ago. Chris felt a shiver run down his spine as his eyes traced the jagged marks. He tightened his grip on the hammer.
The architecture of the apartment was strange, with a single stairwell tucked into the right-hand side, leaving the left corridor feeling unnaturally long. Walking through it gave Chris the distinct sensation that something—or someone—was watching him from the shadows.
"If the fire started on this floor," Chris whispered, "there's no way anything would've survived. Which makes me think the killer may have avoided this place entirely."
He cautiously moved deeper into the pitch-black corridor, pushing open a half-burnt door to his left. The hinges squealed as it swung inward, revealing the charred remains of a room untouched since the fire. The walls were blackened, and the furniture was nothing more than twisted frames of metal and wood.
As he stepped over debris, Chris couldn't shake the feeling that this room, more than any other, held the answer he was searching for.