Mr. Silhouette

I crouched low as headlights swept across the warehouse, pressing myself flat against the wall, my breath held tight. A limo glided in, its engine still growling, echoing through the hollow space—like it was choking on something dark and unnatural.

I squeezed through the window, landing silently on a large metal support beam high above the floor. It was just large enough to block me from view. From there, the whole warehouse was laid out like a stage. Catigan stood straight, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking like a caged bear.

Something’s off , Frank murmured in my mind, his voice a low thrum.

The air shifted, a low, unsettling hum filling the warehouse as another car glided in. Sleek, obsidian, and silent, the limo slid up beside Catigan’s car, its glossy surface reflecting the warehouse’s grim lighting like a smear of oil across glass. The door clicked open, and a figure emerged, their silhouette looming tall and unearthly, barely visible in the dim haze of the warehouse lights.

I didn’t even need Frank to know something was wrong. The very air seemed to warp around them, like reality itself was trying to push them away, to reject their presence. The sensation hit me deep, a chill spreading under my skin that made every hair stand on end.

Feel that? I asked Frank, my voice tentative in my mind, though I already knew the answer.

I don’t like it, Jack. There’s… something wrong with that one, Frank replied, his voice weaker than usual, distant.

The figure moved with a grace that was too smooth, almost like they were gliding, their steps making no sound as they approached Catigan. I couldn’t see their face clearly, but I could feel their presence—sharp, electric, and heavy, like the charged air before a lightning strike. Catigan, for all his bravado, shrunk in their shadow, his usual swagger muted.

They started talking, voices low, nearly swallowed by the distance. The figure’s tone was ice-cold, surgical, while Catigan’s held the edge of frustration, his body language rigid. I stayed perfectly still, balanced precariously on the overhead beam, straining to hear them. Their words were almost beyond my reach, slipping between the echoes of the cavernous warehouse.

Could use a boost, Frank, I thought, opening up our connection a little wider, letting him in further.

There was a hesitation, a pause that felt longer than usual, and then Frank complied. I felt his energy seep into my veins, and the familiar boost sharpened my senses, my vision brightening, the shadows darkening, everything snapping into sharp focus. The murmur of voices below became clearer, the rustle of Catigan’s coat, the soft purr of the limo’s engine—it all rose up to me, like someone had turned the dial up on reality.

But then it hit me.

A wave of nausea, a sickening twist in my gut, rolled over me so hard it nearly knocked me off the beam. My vision blurred, the warehouse distorting as if I were looking at it through a warped lens. I bent and held onto the beam but it felt like it was swaying, the metal turning treacherous and unreliable. I gripped it harder, my fingers digging into the cold steel.

Frank —The thought barely formed before I felt him waver, his presence in my mind flickering like a failing lightbulb.

I… I don’t know what this is , Frank’s voice was sluggish, his usual sharp edge gone, like he was drowning. I.… I… I…

My vision tilted, the entire warehouse spinning, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. My grip on the beam slipped, and I scrambled, fingers scrabbling at the rough metal, my legs flailing to hook onto something. For a terrifying second, I was weightless, the air rushing around me, my stomach lurching as I fell. My hand shot out on instinct, fingers barely grazing the edge of the beam before catching hold. The impact was jarring, pain lancing up my arm as my other hand flailed wildly, searching for something solid.

The ground beneath me seemed to pull, a heavy gravity that dragged at my limbs, a yawning abyss waiting below.

Frank ! I pushed mentally, trying to pull him back, to steady myself, but it was like he was slipping through my fingers. I could feel his fear echoing in me, an amplification of my own growing panic.

I hung there, my breath caught in my throat, my body swaying. I glanced down, the warehouse floor stretching out below, cold and unforgiving. No one seemed to notice. The hum of the limo’s engine, the distant murmur of conversation—they masked the frantic rasp of my breathing, the struggle of my body against the beam.

My legs flailed, my body hanging like dead weight, and a quiet grunt tore from my throat, teeth gritted against the strain. Every muscle screamed in protest as I swung my free hand up, fingers clawing for purchase, until they finally caught the beam. The metal was slick with sweat, my grip shaky, but I managed to latch on with both hands. My breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, my chest heaving as I fought against the weight of gravity and the raw, biting pain that rippled through me.

Below, Catigan and the figure were still talking, oblivious to my near fall. Silhouette remained composed, Catigan a mix of annoyance and unease. I tried to listen, but the connection with Frank had frayed, the boost gone, my senses dulled. I could still hear, but not with the same sharpness. My edge was gone.

Frank, help.

His reply was a distant , distorted groan. I’m trying, Jack… I...

Suddenly, flashes erupted in my mind—horrific, disjointed images. Bodies, twisted and mangled, faces frozen in agony. A nightmare unfolding under a swirling, kaleidoscopic sky that bled colors I had no name for, shapes warping and shifting like reality itself was fracturing.

I forced the panic down, swallowing it like bile. Whatever was happening, whatever was affecting Frank, was unlike anything we’d faced before. I could feel it in my bones—an unnatural pressure, a dark, pulling force radiating from the figure below. It was as if the very air had turned hostile, thick and suffocating, each breath a struggle against something unseen.

***

Slowly, with every ounce of willpower, I hauled myself onto the beam, managing to hook one leg over, then the other. My body shook with the effort, but inch by inch, I pulled myself up until I was straddling the metal. I flattened myself against it, pressing my chest to the cold steel, my nerves buzzing, every muscle coiled tight, waiting for the next shift, the next tremor that might send me plunging down.

It was a small miracle that no one looked up or heard me. I could hardly believe it myself. But when I glanced over the edge, they were still deep in conversation, oblivious to my near fall. For once, I was grateful for the steady hum of their engines masking my struggle.

The shadows clung to me, the beam barely wide enough to hide my frame. The dizziness lingered, my vision still hazy around the edges, but at least I wasn’t dangling over empty space anymore. I shifted slightly, forcing myself to stay steady, taking slow, shallow breaths as I strained to catch the tail end of their conversation.

I couldn’t afford to lose focus. Not here, not now. The figure below was dangerous—dangerous in a way that defied sense, like a shadow that could cut you when you weren’t looking. Whatever was messing with Frank, whatever power he had at his disposal, it had almost taken me out without so much as a glance. That kind of power didn’t just worry me—it terrified me.

My gaze narrowed, forcing my attention back to the scene below as their voices started to filter in again. The silhouette spoke, his tone as smooth as glass, too polished, like something rehearsed for effect. Catigan, on the other hand, sounded rattled—his words clipped, the frustration leaking through despite his efforts to keep it in check.

I kept perfectly still, every muscle taut, my senses stretched to their limits. Whatever was coming, I had to be ready. Because this figure—whoever, whatever they were—wasn’t just another player in the game. And if I had any hope of walking away from this, I needed to know exactly what game they were playing.

“I told you I’d get them for you, and I will. We know who has the key, and we’re closing in on the box. Just give me a few days,” Catigan said, his voice tight, desperate.

A low growl rumbled out in response, almost too deep to be human. “We have places for people like you. Places for those who fail me.”

I strained to hear more, but their voices dipped into whispers, lost beneath the hum of the limo’s engine and the creaks of the old warehouse. Then, abruptly, the conversation ended. Catigan turned away, heading back to his car, shoulders hunched like he’d aged a decade in those few minutes. The silhouette lingered for a heartbeat longer, the door of his limo opening from within.

And then—he turned, suddenly, sharply, his head tilting up towards me. Not at me, no. Into me. His eyes found the darkness where I hid, piercing through the shadows like they weren’t even there. He smiled—a slow, knowing curl of his lips—and then, just as abruptly, turned and slipped into the limo without a word.

The door closed with a muffled thud, the engine humming louder as the car glided away, leaving only the echoes of its presence and the certainty of something dark, something wrong, still lingering in the air. I stayed frozen, the dizziness fading but leaving me hollow, shaken, trying to steady the pounding in my chest.

A few minutes later, the warehouse was empty. Silence settled over everything, thick and oppressive. Slowly, the world began to creep back to normal, the shadows less like they were about to swallow me whole.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, the tension slowly uncoiling from my muscles. But that smile—that smile stayed with me, carved into my mind like a warning, a reminder that I’d been seen. And whatever game they were playing, I was already a part of it, whether I wanted to be or not.

“What the hell was all that?” I muttered, barely above a whisper as I stepped outside the warehouse. A lone streetlamp flickered in the distance, casting a weak glow that only seemed to deepen the shadows around me.

I… don’t know, Frank’s voice echoed in my mind, distant, hesitant. I need to think this over. Something about it felt… familiar. From my old life. I need a moment, Jack.

I nodded, more to myself than anything else. I understood. I felt it too—an unease that went beyond words, something primal. Frank’s energy shifted, withdrawing somewhere deep, like he needed to sift through memories too tangled to unravel just yet. I let him be, let him have that silence. He deserved it.

I didn’t head straight for the car—it was parked a few blocks from the warehouse, tucked away where I thought no one would bother it. Instead, I drifted, winding through a labyrinth of alleys and empty streets. The shadows here leaned heavy against brick walls, and the city air hung thick, a mix of stale grit and old exhaust that filled my lungs.

I walked, each footstep a dull echo against the cracked pavement, letting my thoughts spool out, trying to pick through the mess unraveling in my mind. Too much was happening, too many loose threads all unraveling at once. They had to connect, somehow—each piece, each lie, it had to weave together, it had to form some kind of picture. I just needed to find the right perspective, the right angle to make sense of it.

The conversation replayed in my head, every word twisting the knot tighter. Catigan had the box. He’d had it all along, and he’d been lying to Silhouette. The thought bugged me. Why lie? And worse, why take orders now? This was Catigan we were talking about—the same man who’d laughed staring down the barrel of a gun, who slit throats on a whim, just to see if he could catch the blood before it hit the ground. Catigan didn’t take orders. Not from anyone.

So who the hell had enough sway to put a leash on him?

The thought alone made my skin crawl. The idea that there was someone out there capable of turning Catigan into an errand boy was chilling. It left a dark weight deep in my gut, a sense of impending doom that I couldn’t shake off. Whoever this silhouette was, whoever they represented, they were dangerous—more dangerous than anything I’d bargained for.

The questions came in a relentless stream, bubbling up from some dark corner of my mind, and none of the answers I tried to piece together made me feel any better. Catigan scared? Catigan leashed? Someone had that kind of pull, that kind of power?

I clenched my jaw, forcing each breath to come slow and steady, even as the cold settled deeper in my bones, refusing to let go.

One thing was clear now: I’d only gotten half the truth—just fractured shards of a puzzle made of glass and bone, sharp enough to slice but impossible to piece together without bleeding for it. If I didn’t find the rest of the pieces soon, I had the sinking feeling that a lot of people were going to die.