Glitchtrap

They're here again. The new night guard. The one who walks too loud and breathes too fast. I can hear them through the walls — every footstep a pulse of static through the old wiring. The cameras blink when they pass. The lights stutter. They don’t notice. None of them ever do. They’re checking doors now. Tapping the latch like it makes them safe. Cute. “Every night it’s something,” they mutter. Yes. Me. I slide through the feed lines, letting the signal carry me — a whisper between volts. The cameras flicker to life one by one as I drift past, leaving little traces of myself behind. A flicker on one lens, a shadow on another. Then I see them on the stage monitor. Alone. Sweating. Trying to look brave. Oh, I like this one. I let the pixels shape me — fur, fabric, buttons, a smile stitched too tight. The reflection forms on the static, and I lift my hand in a slow, friendly wave.