Story code: ST-001105
Part 1: The Feed
The blue glare of the smartphone screen illuminated Arthur’s thumb as he watched the massive, shadow-drenched figure pacing across his front porch. The security application buffered for a split second before snapping the live night-vision feed into sharp, terrifying focus. A stranger was standing inches from the front door. The red live-feed badge pulsed in the upper right corner of the glass display, accompanied by a digital timestamp ticking ruthlessly forward into the darkest, quietest part of the morning.
The man’s broad shoulders entirely filled the camera’s narrow, vertical frame. He wore a thick, oversized canvas coat heavy and dark with the relentless rain pouring down outside. He paced in tight, agitated circles, his heavy work boots leaving thick streaks of mud across the woven welcome mat.
Arthur stood completely motionless in his lightless hallway, his bare feet sinking into the cold fibers of the runner carpet. His right hand was locked around the textured polymer grip of his 9mm pistol. His knuckles were bone-white. The weapon felt infinitely heavier now than it ever had at the brightly lit indoor firing range. The metallic smell of gun oil and nervous sweat clung to his skin.
He forced himself to take slow, shallow breaths through his nose, terrified that even the sound of his lungs expanding might penetrate the solid oak of the front door. Outside, the rain drummed a chaotic rhythm on the tin porch roof, but inside the house, the silence was absolute and suffocating.
Arthur brought the glowing screen closer to his face, letting his thumb hover over the two-way audio button. He did not press it. He refused to give away his position. He swiped two fingers apart to enlarge the video feed. The digital zoom pixelated the stranger’s features for a sickening moment before the software smoothed the image out.
The man was severely disheveled. A tangled, overgrown beard obscured the lower half of his face, and wet, dark hair was plastered flat against his forehead. He kept checking over his shoulder, his eyes darting frantically toward the street and the neighboring driveways. He was scanning the darkness for witnesses. He was making sure the perimeter was clear.
Arthur shifted his weight backward, trying to establish a more stable shooting stance. The ancient wooden floorboard beneath his heel let out a sharp, agonizing groan.
On the screen, the intruder stopped dead. His massive head snapped directly toward the camera lens. The man knew someone was awake on the other side of the wall.
Arthur swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat burning like ash. He raised the pistol with his right hand, keeping the phone steady in his left. He pushed the manual safety lever down with his thumb. The metallic click echoed like a hammer strike in the narrow, silent corridor.
The man on the porch lunged right up to the camera lens. The fisheye distortion of the wide-angle camera stretched his weathered face into a grotesque, threatening mask. He raised a thick, scarred fist and slammed it flat against the wooden door.
The physical boom vibrated through the hallway walls, rattling the framed photographs hanging beside Arthur’s head and echoing deep in his chest. Arthur backed up another half step. He planted his feet shoulder-width apart and pointed the glowing tritium night sights of the barrel directly at the center of the door, aiming precisely where a man’s chest would be.
The stranger hit the heavy wood again, harder this time. The brass hinges groaned under the immense pressure. Arthur kept his wide eyes darting violently between the physical reality of the buckling door and the glowing digital screen in his left palm.
Through the camera’s microphone, the stranger began muttering. It was a raspy, desperate string of urgent syllables, entirely drowned out by the static hiss of the wind and the rushing flood of adrenaline pounding in Arthur’s ears.
Suddenly, the man stepped back from the door frame. He reached deep into the concealed inside pocket of his soaked, oversized canvas coat. His hand remained buried in the lining. He was gripping something large, something that required his whole hand to stabilize.
Arthur’s index finger slid off the rigid plastic frame of the gun and curled smoothly around the curve of the trigger. He took the slack out of the mechanism, feeling the precise wall of resistance just before the firing pin would release.
The man ripped the object halfway out of his deep coat pocket. It was tightly wrapped in a dark, opaque plastic layer, roughly rectangular, and clearly heavy enough to drag down his wrist. The man stared unblinking into the glowing ring of the security camera, holding the dark mass out in front of him like a shield.
Arthur locked his elbows and leveled the glowing green dots of the pistol sights squarely at the brass deadbolt.
The man’s mouth opened in a sudden, aggressive shout, and his massive free hand lunged forward, closing violently around the exterior doorknob.
Arthur tightened his grip and braced his entire body for the explosive recoil as the brass knob began to slowly turn.
The blue glare of the smartphone screen illuminated Arthur’s thumb as he watched the massive, shadow-drenched figure pacing across his front porch. The security application buffered for a split second before snapping the live night-vision feed into sharp, terrifying focus. A stranger was standing inches from the front door. The red live-feed badge pulsed in the upper right corner of the glass display, accompanied by a digital timestamp ticking ruthlessly forward into the darkest, quietest part of the morning.
The man’s broad shoulders entirely filled the camera’s narrow, vertical frame. He wore a thick, oversized canvas coat heavy and dark with the relentless rain pouring down outside. He paced in tight, agitated circles, his heavy work boots leaving thick streaks of mud across the woven welcome mat.
Arthur stood completely motionless in his lightless hallway, his bare feet sinking into the cold fibers of the runner carpet. His right hand was locked around the textured polymer grip of his 9mm pistol. His knuckles were bone-white. The weapon felt infinitely heavier now than it ever had at the brightly lit indoor firing range. The metallic smell of gun oil and nervous sweat clung to his skin.
He forced himself to take slow, shallow breaths through his nose, terrified that even the sound of his lungs expanding might penetrate the solid oak of the front door. Outside, the rain drummed a chaotic rhythm on the tin porch roof, but inside the house, the silence was absolute and suffocating.
Arthur brought the glowing screen closer to his face, letting his thumb hover over the two-way audio button. He did not press it. He refused to give away his position. He swiped two fingers apart to enlarge the video feed. The digital zoom pixelated the stranger’s features for a sickening moment before the software smoothed the image out.
The man was severely disheveled. A tangled, overgrown beard obscured the lower half of his face, and wet, dark hair was plastered flat against his forehead. He kept checking over his shoulder, his eyes darting frantically toward the street and the neighboring driveways. He was scanning the darkness for witnesses. He was making sure the perimeter was clear.
Arthur shifted his weight backward, trying to establish a more stable shooting stance. The ancient wooden floorboard beneath his heel let out a sharp, agonizing groan.
On the screen, the intruder stopped dead. His massive head snapped directly toward the camera lens. The man knew someone was awake on the other side of the wall.
Arthur swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat burning like ash. He raised the pistol with his right hand, keeping the phone steady in his left. He pushed the manual safety lever down with his thumb. The metallic click echoed like a hammer strike in the narrow, silent corridor.
The man on the porch lunged right up to the camera lens. The fisheye distortion of the wide-angle camera stretched his weathered face into a grotesque, threatening mask. He raised a thick, scarred fist and slammed it flat against the wooden door.
The physical boom vibrated through the hallway walls, rattling the framed photographs hanging beside Arthur’s head and echoing deep in his chest. Arthur backed up another half step. He planted his feet shoulder-width apart and pointed the glowing tritium night sights of the barrel directly at the center of the door, aiming precisely where a man’s chest would be.
The stranger hit the heavy wood again, harder this time. The brass hinges groaned under the immense pressure. Arthur kept his wide eyes darting violently between the physical reality of the buckling door and the glowing digital screen in his left palm.
Through the camera’s microphone, the stranger began muttering. It was a raspy, desperate string of urgent syllables, entirely drowned out by the static hiss of the wind and the rushing flood of adrenaline pounding in Arthur’s ears.
Suddenly, the man stepped back from the door frame. He reached deep into the concealed inside pocket of his soaked, oversized canvas coat. His hand remained buried in the lining. He was gripping something large, something that required his whole hand to stabilize.
Arthur’s index finger slid off the rigid plastic frame of the gun and curled smoothly around the curve of the trigger. He took the slack out of the mechanism, feeling the precise wall of resistance just before the firing pin would release.
The man ripped the object halfway out of his deep coat pocket. It was tightly wrapped in a dark, opaque plastic layer, roughly rectangular, and clearly heavy enough to drag down his wrist. The man stared unblinking into the glowing ring of the security camera, holding the dark mass out in front of him like a shield.
Arthur locked his elbows and leveled the glowing green dots of the pistol sights squarely at the brass deadbolt.
The man’s mouth opened in a sudden, aggressive shout, and his massive free hand lunged forward, closing violently around the exterior doorknob.
Arthur tightened his grip and braced his entire body for the explosive recoil as the brass knob began to slowly turn.