Static in the Sky

Sketchpad City never quite slept.

Even at midnight, neon signs hummed along the boulevard, food carts steamed up the corners, and the deer-folk who lived alongside humans moved through the streets in easy, unhurried rhythms — antlers catching the light, hooves tapping the pavement.

High above it all, Pen Doe Tower stood straight and slender as its name — a sleek, dark-blue spire shaped exactly like a pen, its tip glowing faintly against the clouds.

Inside, near the top floor, Pen Doe sat cross-legged on the curved window ledge, her glowing retractable pen resting across her knees. Her big dark eyes swept the city below with the quiet patience of someone who loved it enough to watch over it every single night.

Nothing looked wrong.

Nothing felt wrong.

But when she glanced at the small wall monitor behind her, the screen was showing something it absolutely should not have been showing.

Static and Shadows

The monitor — a small flat screen mounted above her desk on the curved interior wall — was showing a face.

Not a person's face. Not exactly.

It was a pale, featureless oval with two dark holes where eyes should have been, flickering like a bad signal. And it was moving. Slowly. Like it was breathing.

Pen Doe slid off the window ledge, her hooves quiet on the floor. She crossed the room and tapped the screen. Static. Then the face again.

"Override," she said firmly. The screen didn't respond.

She grabbed her console keyboard and typed fast — trying to cut the feed manually. Nothing happened.

Then every single screen in the tower switched on at once. The hallway monitors. The archive panels. Even the tiny screen on the coffee machine two floors down. All showing the same pale face.

And then — a voice. Low and crackled, like someone speaking through a tin can from very far away.

*"Pen Doe."*

Her hand froze over the keyboard.

*"I have been trying to reach you for a very long time."*