"We are now standing in front of the Blue Tower, the mysterious building that has raised countless questions. Were the deaths that occurred here merely individual cases of suicide, or is there a hidden killer lurking behind the scenes? From the strange manner of death that disturbed the residents to the fire that suddenly broke out after midnight—fortunately without casualties—we now have with us one of the building's residents, who claims to be an eyewitness. Ma'am, could you tell us what happened?"
"The incidents that happened were not suicides at all. My apartment is directly across from the old man who died. Before… before what happened, there was loud shouting and screaming coming from his place. We heard sounds of fighting and glass breaking. The neighbors tried to find out what was going on, but the old man didn't respond. So when they forced the door open, they found him lying on the floor with a box of medication beside him. The floor was covered with a layer of ash, and so were the walls… even the broken glass… except there wasn't any broken glass in the apartment. And there was no sign of anyone else being there."
"Did you witness the scene yourself?"
"No. My husband was among those who entered, and this is how he described it. This building… this is unbearable. I won't let my children live here. We'll be moving soon."
"Thank you very much."
"And now, authorities have stated that the fire was merely the result of an electrical short circuit, and that everything will soon be under control.
This was Sarah Al-Mayez with you on 'Eleven Thirty Minutes'."
---
Yellow police tape wrapped around the place, reading [Do Not Cross], as though the entire building were a crime scene—not just the apartments where the bodies had been found. Though the authorities claimed everything was under control, the reality on the ground suggested otherwise.
The street buzzed with news vans feeding on the scent of death. Police patrols attempted to disperse the crowd and prevent journalists from further disturbing the residents.
And then there was another kind of people—one that had emerged over the past decade—those who fed on a different kind of emotion: mystery and rumor.
"Yo everyone, this is a live stream from in front of the haunted building… Do you hear that? I told you it's haunted! And tonight at midnight, I'm going in alone. Did I say alone? Sorry—I'm taking you with me. So drop your lions and whales, because tonight I'm going to make you wet yourselves. Watch out, chickens!"
Yes. That kind of people.
And slightly removed from the chaos, in a corner no one paid attention to, stood a familiar Jeep with tinted windows that made it impossible to tell whether anyone was inside.
"This is the building?.. I don't even need an answer," said the woman leaning against the vehicle. She, too, was familiar—sharp features, long dark hair tied back. What distinguished her most was the ugly scar on her face.
"Yes. It's the one. The devices picked up a resonance. It was faint at first… but it's increasing," said the man inside the car, holding something that resembled a radiation meter. The indicator trembled violently between 10 and 20, as if struck by lightning.
"I can't determine the exact level… It's fluctuating between orange and red." He frowned.
"Is Basel still busy?"
"Big Pablo? Yeah. He said he's tied up at the university and won't be able to come until the weekend."
The scarred woman glanced back at him.
"That's unfortunate. Finishing this without him will be harder."
She touched the scar on her face and muttered, "Why do they assign our team missions like this? I'd rather go back to searching for cats…"
Her tone was annoyed, but the man inside the vehicle remained silent for a moment before saying, "We're going in tonight."
The scarred woman nodded in agreement.
————
For the thousandth time, I made sure every window was tightly shut and every curtain drawn. I circled the house countless times to ensure the place was empty—that no one was watching us from here or there.
I scrutinized every corner.
It is terrifying to suspect that someone is watching you.
More terrifying still to suspect that whoever watches you possesses unnatural powers—so that if they wish to hide from you, you will never notice them.
And worst of all, if they decide to harm you, you won't even understand what happened until it is far too late.
As for me, I couldn't shake the chill crawling beneath my skin. I couldn't rid myself of the feeling that someone was watching me.
But I had no proof.
All I could do was lock everything.
My room, now dark both day and night, had grown gloomy. It deepened the weight inside me.
For the millionth time, I stood before the mirror, trying to uncover what this "power" of mine was. At one point, I began uttering ridiculous skill names… like now.
I struck one of those embarrassingly dramatic poses I had once seen on a children's TV show and shouted:
"Fiiireball!!"
I blew as hard as I could through two fingers.
Nothing.
Nothing but the burning humiliation that spread across my cheeks.
I cast a quick glance around the room to make sure no one had witnessed those mortifying stances and absurd technique names.
"Phew… thank God no one—"
Only then did I notice, far too late, that the cursed sphere—which hadn't opened its eye since the night of the Faceless Abomination—had now opened its single, central eye wide. It rolled back and forth across the bed.
The cursed sphere had never opened its eye.
And it chose now.
Heat rushed to my face.
I ignored it, grabbed the pen and small notebook from my desk, and crossed out *Fireball* with two sharp lines beneath a long list of equally embarrassing, already crossed-out techniques.
"Not this either."
Frustration crept in.
I didn't feel any kind of power at all.
Could it be that my ability is limited to seeing these specters?
I glanced at the black sphere that had taken up residence in my room.
*Chirp… chirp.*
The bird's voice drew my attention. It fluttered its wings as if comforting me, urging me to continue.
"Oh, my sweet little Sika… you're my only supporter."
I picked up the gentle creature and hugged it, unable to resist its softness.