Before the Morning Shift

The CMT Fortress stood tall in the heart of Canvas Jungle Metropolis, black as night with blue windows that glowed like fireflies. Its two crayon towers and two marker towers stretched above the treetops, proud and permanent.

Inside, Crayon Marker Tiger was eating toast.

"You spread that like you're painting a wall," said Dara, his deer assistant, tapping her tablet from across the kitchen counter. Her amber eyes didn't look up.

CMT looked at his toast. "This is a work of art."

"It's bread."

He grinned, red cape draped over the chair behind him. Through the blue windows, Canvas Jungle Metropolis shimmered in the early light — every building painted bold and bright, every street alive with color. Tigers and deer moved along the sidewalks below, coats vivid in the morning sun.

Dara finally glanced up. Something outside caught her eye.

She blinked. Set her tablet down slowly.

Everything That Wasn't There

Dara — the slender humanoid deer with smooth brown fur and small rounded ears — pressed her nose almost to the blue window.

"CMT."

He was still looking at his toast. "Almost done."

"CMT."

Something in her voice made him set it down.

He crossed the kitchen in three steps and looked out.

The city was grey. Every building. Every street. Every tree. All of it — drained flat, like someone had washed the color out of everything and left only shadow and outline. The tigers and deer on the sidewalk below stood still, looking at their own hands.

CMT pushed through the fortress door and flew up above the rooftops.

It wasn't just their block. It wasn't just their district. As far as he could see in every direction, Canvas Jungle Metropolis had gone completely colorless.

He reached for the panel on his wrist — a small built-in communicator — and called the city's emergency channel.

Static.

He tried again.

Nothing.

Then a voice crackled through. Old. Calm. Unhurried.

"Oh good," it said. "I was wondering when you'd call."