In the rain-drenched labyrinth of London, there's a guy, a street artist. Calls himself Phantom. One day, he mysteriosuly dies. No note, no warning, just a damn farewell mural, etched in the city's grimy skin. It's cryptic, laden with a dead body. Tasked with unravelling the mystery, is me.

As I dig deeper, trying to uncover the man beneath the spray paint, things start to get weird. Memories that aren't mine begin to surface. Scenes from a life that feels oddly familiar but impossible to place. It's like I'm chasing a ghost that knows me better than I know myself.

The deeper I delve into Phantom's world, the more my own reality begins to fracture. There's an unsettling connection, a twisted mirror image that I can't shake off. I start to question... just how entangled are Phantom's shadows and my own?