The hum of fluorescent lights was a familiar drone, a constant background noise Lin Mo had learned to tune out years ago. Sunlight streamed through the large office windows, painting warm rectangles on the beige carpet tiles. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee, printer toner, and the lemony tang of cleaning products. It was Monday morning, utterly, blessedly normal.
Lin Mo sat at his desk, fingers resting lightly on the keyboard. A spreadsheet filled his monitor screen, rows and columns of data that demanded his attention. He blinked, trying to focus. There was a lingering… fuzziness in his head, like the tail end of a forgotten dream. Something about pressure? Darkness? It dissolved the moment he tried to grasp it, leaving only a vague sense of unease, a phantom limb of anxiety he couldn't place. He shook his head slightly, reaching for his mug. Lukewarm coffee met his lips. Normal. Mundane. Safe.
Across the aisle, David, his perpetually cheerful deskmate, was animatedly recounting his weekend hiking trip to Sarah from Marketing. "…and then the trail just vanished! Poof! Like it was never there. Had to backtrack for an hour, soaked to the bone." David waved his hands for emphasis, his voice carrying easily in the open-plan space.
Sarah laughed, a bright, clear sound. "Sounds like your usual brand of adventure, David. Did you at least get a good photo for Insta?"
David grinned, tapping his phone. "Oh, you bet. Epic fog shots. Made the whole ordeal worth it."
Lin Mo watched them, the ordinary rhythm of office life washing over him. The clack of keyboards, the murmur of phone conversations, the rustle of papers. It was comforting, a solid anchor in reality. He took another sip of coffee, the familiar bitterness grounding him. Whatever that strange feeling was, it was fading. Just stress. Too much overtime. Maybe he needed a vacation.
He turned his gaze back to his monitor, forcing his eyes to track the numbers. A flicker of movement caught his peripheral vision. He glanced towards David again, just as David leaned back in his chair, stretching.
Above David's tousled brown hair, for the briefest fraction of a second, a shimmer appeared. Not white, like the countdowns Lin Mo half-remembered from… from somewhere indistinct. Not blue, like… like something else he couldn't quite recall. This was different. A harsh, jagged flicker of red. It wasn't numbers, not exactly. It was more like fractured light, a stuttering, corrupted symbol that vanished before Lin Mo could even process its shape. It lasted less than a blink, leaving behind a faint afterimage burned onto his retinas.
Lin Mo froze. The mug slipped slightly in his hand, a few drops of coffee splashing onto his desk pad. His heart hammered against his ribs, a sudden, frantic drumbeat that drowned out the office hum. That feeling – the unease, the phantom anxiety – surged back, cold and sharp, twisting in his gut. It wasn't just déjà vu; it was a visceral, terrifying recognition. He knew that red flicker. He knew it, deep in his bones, in the marrow of fear that memory couldn't touch but instinct screamed was real.
David, oblivious, finished his stretch and turned back to his computer, humming tunelessly. Sarah had walked back to her own desk. Everything looked perfectly ordinary. Sunlight. Keyboards. Coffee stains.
But Lin Mo couldn't breathe. The spreadsheet blurred before his eyes. That red flicker… it wasn't a countdown. It felt like a brand. A warning. A signal flare in the ordinary world, visible only to him. The fuzziness in his head wasn't fading anymore; it was coalescing into a chilling clarity. Something was wrong. Profoundly, fundamentally wrong. The normalcy felt thin, fragile, like a painted backdrop ready to tear.
Slowly, deliberately, he set the mug down, careful not to spill more. His hands were steady, unnervingly so, belying the storm inside. He needed air. He needed to see. He pushed his chair back, the wheels rolling silently on the carpet. He stood up, the movement feeling detached, as if someone else controlled his limbs.
Ignoring David's curious glance, Lin Mo walked towards the large window wall at the end of the office floor. His footsteps echoed too loudly in his own ears. Colleagues glanced up as he passed, offering polite smiles or nods before returning to their screens. He felt invisible, moving through a world that seemed oblivious to the crack he'd just seen in its surface.
He reached the window. Below, the city sprawled, vibrant and alive. Traffic flowed in orderly streams, sunlight glinting off car roofs. Pedestrians crossed streets, tiny figures carrying bags, talking on phones. Skyscrapers pierced the clear blue sky. It was a picture of bustling, everyday life.
Lin Mo scanned the scene, his eyes raking over the familiar streets, the parks, the distant river. Searching for… what? Proof? Disproof? His gaze swept upwards, past the rooftops, towards the open sky where pigeons usually wheeled and darted.
There.
High above, near the peak of a glass-and-steel office building a few blocks away, a bird hung suspended. A common city pigeon, wings outstretched in mid-flap, caught in a perfect, impossible tableau against the vast blue canvas of the sky. It wasn't falling. It wasn't soaring. It was simply… still. Frozen in a single moment of flight, a feathered statue defying gravity and motion.
Lin Mo stared, the breath catching in his throat. The sounds of the office behind him – the chatter, the typing, David's humming – seemed to recede, replaced by a sudden, crushing silence that pressed in from all sides. The world outside the window continued its dance, cars moving, people walking, clouds drifting. But the bird…
The bird remained. Utterly, terrifyingly still.