Monochrome Reality

Short Story

September 2026

Monochrome Reality

Mike carried the cup of lukewarm sludge that passed as coffee towards his desk. The light from the bank of screens illuminated his workspace in a soft monochrome glow, bleaching the colour from everything it touched.

After a quick check of each camera feed, he took a sip and winced.

At home, coffee was a ritual. He bought beans from independent growers, ground them by hand, and had spent years refining a blend he considered pure nectar. The stuff in his cup tonight tasted vaguely of bitterness and regret, but it was a price he was willing to pay for twelve uninterrupted hours away from the demands of the outside world.

The screens cycled through their familiar black-and-white images. Corridors. Stairwells. Empty loading bays.

Nothing unexpected.

A faint smile touched his lips.

Now the night belonged to him.

His notebook sat beside the keyboard, fat with half-formed ideas and scribbled fragments of stories. His actual work rarely occupied more than an hour and, once the reports had been sent, all that remained was watching screens and ensuring nothing untoward happened.

What "untoward" actually meant, Mike had never been entirely sure.

The cameras showed nothing. They never did.

Beside him, the notebook waited as he stretched for his pen.

Movement on Screen Four caught his eye.

Mike frowned and leaned closer to the screen.

A figure in a heavy winter coat shuffled along the main corridor outside his subterranean office, dragging something behind it.

The image was grainy, but there was something wrong with the way it moved. Each step seemed stiff and deliberate, as though walking itself required conscious effort.

He glanced at Screen Nine, expecting to see the night doorman intercept the stranger.

The booth was empty, its door standing slightly ajar.

A slow unease settled in Mike's stomach as he scanned the remaining feeds and realised every corridor was deserted. No staff. No movement. Just long grey hallways stretching into dead pixels.

The figure continued its slow approach before finally stopping outside his security door. Mike felt his pulse quicken as the doorknob began to turn and the heavy latch clicked.

He slammed his hand onto the panic button beneath the desk.

In ten years on the job he had never used it, but he knew exactly what should happen. Alarms should shriek through the facility. Security doors should slam shut. Flashing lights should wash the corridors in red and summon every supervisor in the building.

Instead, the only response was the steady hum of the server racks.

The door creaked open, spilling a blade of white light across the floor as a man stepped into the room.

His winter coat hung heavily from narrow shoulders. His skin appeared pale, almost colourless beneath the harsh light. In one hand he dragged a rusted steel pipe that scraped softly across the concrete.

Mike shoved himself backwards, his chair screeching against the floor.

"Who are you?"

The stranger didn't reply. His hollow eyes remained fixed on Mike as he slowly raised the pipe. The movement was jerky and unnatural, as though invisible strings were pulling his limbs.

Fear surged through Mike.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

The first blow came down.

Mike gasped awake.

The monitors glowed before him, bathing the room in their familiar monochrome light.

For several seconds he simply sat there, heart hammering, cold sweat clinging to his skin.

His coffee cup lay on its side beside the keyboard.

He righted it with a shaking hand, thankful that it was empty.

A dream, he told himself.

It had to be.

Shaking off the lingering terror, he reached for his notebook. If nothing else, the nightmare might prove useful for his latest story.

He opened to a fresh page and clicked his pen.

Then paused.

The page wasn't blank.

His stomach tightened.

Every line had already been written.

Slowly, he lowered his eyes.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

His handwriting.

A chill crept through him as he began to read.

Mike carried the cup of lukewarm sludge that passed as coffee towards his desk. The light from the bank of screens illuminated his workspace in a soft monochrome glow, bleaching the colour from everything it touched...