The figure moved with deliberate silence through the manicured darkness of the suburban street, its form barely distinguishable from the shifting shadows cast by streetlights through swaying oak branches. It paused just at the edge of the Patterson's' property next door, studying the single-story ranch house that sat bathed in the dying amber glow of the sun.
From this vantage point, it could see everything. The house stretched wide and low, its brick facade interrupted by large windows that offered tantalizing glimpses into the life within. The living room window blazed with warm light as two figures moved inside, their voices carrying faintly through the glass, though their words remained indecipherable, especially at this distance.
The figure's head tilted, analyzing. The property was a typical suburban home in classic America. A well-maintained lawn, a driveway that connected to a semi-circular street, a small garden bed, a couple of mature trees providing natural cover. But it was the details that mattered. The motion sensor light above the garage that hadn't triggered as it approached from the side. The gap in the hedge line where the previous owners had removed a dying shrub. The side gate that hung slightly ajar, its latch clearly broken or otherwise imperfect.
Moving with fluid grace, it circled the perimeter, staying just beyond the reach of the street and house lights. The backyard revealed more opportunities with a sliding glass door, partially obscured by vertical blinds that hadn't been fully closed. A small deck with patio furniture that could provide cover. A light at the door that was off, controlled by a switch and not a sensor. The neighbor's dog three houses down started barking, and the shadowy figure stood up. It stared in that direction, and the backyard got eerily silent. Almost as soon as the dark started barking, it fell silent. Terrified.
The figure returned to the front and paused beneath the living room bay window, close enough now to hear fragments of conversation drifting through the glass."... Cameras. Hell, we need to upgrade everything..."
The faceless visage stared into the window before treating deeper into the shadows, having already catalogued the entire neighborhood for a third time that day. Mrs. Chen across the street always drew her curtains at exactly 9:15 PM. The college students in the blue house kept irregular hours, their porch light burning until well past midnight. The Rodriguezes had a new baby and their attention would be focused inward, not on the movements beyond their windows. The Patterson's were retired and normally stayed indoors, being most active in the morning and early evening, but having been caught once made the figure more aware of their predatory eyes.
As it melted back into the darkness, the figure allowed itself something that might have been satisfaction. Cassian and Selene thought they understood what they were dealing with. They thought cameras and alarms would protect them. That bullets and physical presence could harm the unknown.
They had no idea how wrong they were.
One pitch black eye stared toward the Patterson's house, when it saw him.
"Hey, what are you doing in the dark there?" Mr. Patterson's voice cut through the night air, confident and neighborly. He stood on his front steps, having just retrieved what looked like a forgotten package from his porch. His voice carried the authority of someone accustomed to looking out for his neighborhood.
The figure went completely still.
Patterson squinted into the shadows between the streetlights, "I can see you there. Everything alright?" Mr. Patterson said accusingly.
For a long moment, the only sound was the distant hum of air conditioning units and the soft whisper of wind through leaves. Then the figure stepped forward, just enough to be visible as a human silhouette, but not enough to reveal details.
"Sorry," came a voice that sounded perfectly normal, perfectly human. "Dropped my keys. Just looking for them."
Patterson relaxed visibly. "Oh! Cassian. Need a flashlight? I've got one right inside."
"That's very kind." The voice was warm now, grateful, but there was something about its quality, a slight mechanical undertone, like words filtered through old speakers. "Actually, could you help me look? I was using my phone as a light but it died. I think they might have landed near your hedge."
Mr. Patterson took a step closer, his head tilting slightly. "Yeah sure. You okay? Your voice sounds a little rough there, buddy."
A pause. When the voice came again, it was smoother, more natural. "Sorry, just getting over a cold. Throat's still a bit rough." The figure cleared its' throat.
The older man didn't hesitate. That was the thing about good neighbors, they helped without question. He set his package down and walked toward the hedge line, patting his pockets for the phone he left inside, his house slippers making soft scraping sounds against the concrete.
"So where did ya drop yo-"
The words died in the darkness.
Several minutes later, the porch light at the Patterson house began flickering. The package remained where it had been left, abandoned on the front steps. Somewhere in the distance, a cat yowled once before falling silent, and the neighbor dog started barking.
Nearly twenty minutes had passed when the front door of the Patterson house creaked open. Mrs. Patterson peered out into the darkness, her nightrobe pulled tight against the night air.
"Harold? Harold, what are you doing out there?"
Footsteps approached from the side yard, and Mr. Patterson emerged into the circle of the flickering porch light, the forgotten package tucked under his arm. He climbed the steps with his familiar, slightly arthritic gait.
"Sorry, hon," he said, his voice carrying that same warm timber she'd known for thirty-seven years. "Was out talking to a stranger. He lost his keys out there. Such a strange man."
Mrs. Patterson stepped aside to let him in, but something made her pause. "Strange how?"
"His voice." Harold shook his head as he crossed the threshold. "Sounded all mechanical at first, like he was playing back a recording or something. Then he said he had a cold." He chuckled, even though Mrs. Patterson didn't feel like this was amusing.
"Well, I hope you weren't out there too long. You know how your nose gets in the damp air."
"Of course, dear."
As the door closed behind them, the porch light remained on, casting its amber glow over the empty steps. Steady and bright.
And then off.