Zack sat in his dimly lit living room, the soft glow of the evening chandeliers casting long shadows on the walls. His eyes were fixed on the old, worn photograph he had retrieved from the Anderson Mansion earlier that day.

The image, faded with time, showed the young version of his friend Chris standing proudly beside him, their faces etched with smiles. Zack's gaze lingered on Chris's face, as if searching for answers.

Is he truly alive? If he was, then why was he playing mind games with him?

The silence in the room seemed oppressive, punctuated only by the occasional footsteps of the servants walking to and fro, probably...