The city was loud.
Not in a dramatic way. Just the usual background noise—engines humming, footsteps overlapping, distant sirens that never seemed urgent enough to matter. Midnight in Grayford City was supposed to feel alive.
Tonight, it felt indifferent.
Ethan Cole stood at the corner of Ninth Street and Halvorsen Avenue, holding a paper cup of coffee that had gone lukewarm ten minutes ago. The neon sign above the convenience store flickered, half-lit, half-dead, like it couldn't decide whether to keep trying.
He had just finished another twelve-hour shift.
Security work. Night patrol. Minimum pay, maximum boredom.
That was his life.
Then he saw the blood.
At first, his brain refused to process it.
It was just a dark stain on the sidewalk near the alley entrance—too thick to be rainwater, too irregular to be shadow. Ethan frowned and slowed his steps.
Someone was lying there.
A man.
Mid-thirties, maybe older. Cheap jacket. One arm twisted at an unnatural angle, fingers trembling weakly against the concrete.
Blood seeped steadily from a deep cut across his neck.
Ethan stopped.
People kept moving.
A businessman brushed past the body, eyes fixed on his phone. A couple argued loudly as they stepped around the man, annoyed more by the obstruction than the sight. A delivery cyclist swerved at the last second, cursed, and pedaled on.
No screams.
No gasps.
No hesitation.
No one was pretending not to see.
They genuinely didn't.
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"Hey," he muttered under his breath. "What the hell is going on…"
He turned in a slow circle, watching faces.
Blank. Normal. Irritated. Bored.
No fear.
No shock.
It was as if the bleeding man simply didn't exist.
Ethan took a step toward the body.
The moment his foot crossed an invisible line, pain exploded behind his eyes.
It felt like someone had driven a spike straight into his skull. His vision swam. The streetlights stretched and warped, bending inward like they were being sucked into a tunnel.
Ethan dropped to one knee, coffee splashing across the pavement.
"—gh!"
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Then, a voice spoke.
Not aloud.
Inside his head.
Cold. Flat. Mechanical.
[Observer System Initializing…]
Ethan froze.
His first thought wasn't panic.
It was exhaustion.
Great. Now I'm hallucinating.
[Synchronization complete.]
The pain faded abruptly, leaving behind a sharp, unnatural clarity. Colors snapped into focus. Sounds layered themselves neatly—each footstep, each breath, each distant engine isolated and precise.
[You have perceived an Anomalous Event.]
[Perception Level: Qualified.]
Ethan's breathing quickened.
"What… what the hell is this?" he whispered.
The bleeding man twitched.
Slowly, painfully, his eyes opened.
They locked onto Ethan.
Relief flooded his expression so fast it was terrifying.
"You…" the man rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "You can see me."
Ethan swallowed.
"Yes," he said. "I can."
The man laughed weakly—a wet, broken sound.
"Figures," he said. "Always one."
Ethan crouched beside him, adrenaline finally kicking in. "Don't talk. I'm calling an ambulance."
He reached for his phone.
The screen lit up.
No signal.
That didn't make sense. Grayford had full coverage downtown.
Ethan frowned and tried again.
Nothing.
"Don't," the man said. "They won't come."
Ethan looked up sharply. "What do you mean, they won't—"
"Because to them," the man interrupted, coughing hard, "I'm not here."
Ethan clenched his jaw. "Then explain why I can see you."
The man's gaze sharpened.
"Because you noticed," he said. "Before the world told you not to."
A chill ran down Ethan's spine.
"Listen carefully," the man continued, forcing the words out. "There are things in this city that exist only if someone looks at them. And things that kill you if you do."
Ethan opened his mouth.
The voice returned.
[Warning.]
[Anomalous Entity approaching.]
The streetlights flickered.
Shadows stretched unnaturally long, crawling up the alley walls like living things.
The bleeding man's eyes widened.
"Too late," he whispered. "It followed you."
Ethan stood.
The air grew heavy, pressing down on his chest. His instincts screamed danger—raw and absolute.
"Get away," the man gasped. "If it sees you seeing it—"
Something moved in the alley.
Not a shape.
An absence.
A section of darkness deeper than shadow, swallowing light instead of reflecting it.
Ethan stared straight at it.
The moment he did, the world noticed back.
[Target Acquired.]
[Observation confirmed.]
[First Contact Established.]
Ethan didn't run.
He didn't know why.
Maybe it was fear.
Maybe it was anger.
Or maybe, deep down, he understood something fundamental:
If he looked away now, he'd never get to look again.
The thing in the alley shifted.
And for the first time in his life—
Ethan Cole realized that being unseen might be the most dangerous state of all.