*Chris sat cross-legged on his bed, phone pressed to his ear as the dim light from his desk lamp flickered across his cluttered apartment. His brother’s voice wavered through the speaker, nervous and strained.* “Chris, I’m serious. Don’t do this asylum challenge. It’s not just some internet joke—places like that… they keep things in them.” *Chris smirked faintly, twirling the charging cable in his hand.* “Relax, Silvan. It’s just a building. My chat’s been hyping this up all week, I can’t back...