Our world is sick.
Ghosts cannot be killed.
They are not innocent souls, but cracks in the rules and cancerous changes in logic. When your reflection smiles at you, when the furniture in your home moves on its own, when the phone rings late at night and it is your own voice on the other end - you have touched the sores of reality.
The only way to fight madness is to use another kind of madness.
We have no superpowers, just a bunch of madmen and a bunch of cursed "evil things."
