THE NIGHT STEALER X VOIDFALL – A SHORT STORY... (A digital ghost. A glitch in reality. A city folding in on itself. Time running out.)

THE NIGHT STEALER.

Flicker.

A streetlight hums, its glow fading in and out like a dying heartbeat. The city is quiet, too quiet. The neon signs reflect in the puddles of a rain that never fell.

He sees it again.

A shape. Just outside his vision. Standing still between the flickers of light.

He doesn’t remember when he first saw it. Maybe a week ago. Maybe a lifetime ago. It never moves, never breathes. It only exists in the spaces between.

Every time he blinks, it’s closer.

TRANSMISSION RECEIVED.

"You’re running out of time."

He wakes up gasping, heart hammering against his ribs. His apartment is silent, the air thick with something heavy—like a presence. The clock by his bed flickers. 3:03 AM.

The same time every night.

The walls feel thinner. The room feels smaller. The static in his ears won’t go away. He wipes his eyes, but when he looks in the mirror, his reflection lags a second behind.

Something is wrong.

Something is watching.

VOIDFALL BEGINS

The city is rewriting itself.

He’s seen it happening. A street that should lead home now loops back on itself. A doorway that used to be his escape is now bricked over. Time is breaking. The Night Stealer is getting closer.

He runs.

Footsteps echo, but they’re not his.

The streetlights overhead blink one by one as he sprints past them. Each time the light goes out, the shadow in the distance gets nearer.

"Find the last exit."

The voice crackles through his earpiece. He doesn’t know whose voice it is. Maybe it’s his own.

Maybe it’s already too late.

THE FINAL CHASE

He turns a corner. The city warps.

Buildings stretch impossibly high, their windows twisting like distorted pixels. The air itself vibrates—reality failing to hold its shape.

And then he sees it.

A door.

The last exit.

He runs faster, lungs burning, legs aching—but the closer he gets, the more the world glitches around him.

The Night Stealer is right behind him.

The final streetlight flickers, casting one last, dim glow. His shadow stretches impossibly long. But it’s not his shadow anymore.

He reaches for the door. His fingers graze the handle—

"WARNING: SIGNAL LOST."

TRANSMISSION FAILED.

The city is silent. The streetlights hum. The neon signs reflect in the puddles of a rain that never fell.

A figure stands under the flickering light. Unmoving. Watching. Waiting.

The door is gone.

The loop begins again.

YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE.