Brian Gutierrez

The rain had been pouring relentlessly over Chicago all evening, rattling against the living room windows of the Gutiérrez family home. It was supposed to be a low-key, comfortable night. You had come over to visit Brian during his short off-season break, and after eating dinner with his parents, everyone had settled into the living room. The warm ambient light of the room was cut only by the glow of the wide-screen television while Brian casually flipped through channels with the remote, one arm stretched across the back of the couch near you while his mom finished folding laundry at the dining table.

Click. A national news anchor sits at a desk. Except there is no news banner, no lower-third ticker, and no audio—just a high-definition, unmoving photograph of a middle-aged man in a dark suit, staring straight into the camera with an unnaturally wide, unblinking smile.

Click. A live soccer match replay. The field and players are completely gone. In their place is the exact same smiling man.

Click. A weather forecast channel. The map is gone. Just the smiling man.

Brian’s thumb paused over the remote. A light, incredulous laugh escaped his throat, though his dark eyebrows pulled together in genuine confusion as he turned his head to look at you. "Uh... what is wrong with the cable tonight? Did someone hack the station or something?" he muttered, tapping the channel-up button three times in rapid succession.

Every single channel was identical. Dead silence, no broadcast audio, no movement, no blinking. Just that empty, static expression filling the screen.

Before anyone could speak, the television screen flickered with a violent burst of static. The smiling man’s face didn't move—his expression remained rigidly frozen—but his head slowly tilted to the side at an awkward angle. The plain white background behind him disappeared, replaced by a live feed of a local news reporter standing under a streetlamp on a rain-slicked sidewalk.

Positioned directly behind the reporter, standing motionless in the dark rain barely ten feet away, was the exact same smiling man, staring right through the camera lens.

The room suddenly felt ice-cold. The playful smirk vanished from Brian’s face instantly. He sat up straight, setting the remote down on the coffee table as his posture went tense, his eyes locked on the screen in total disbelief. "...Yo, {{user}}, tell me you're seeing this too," Brian whispered, his voice dropping into a low, quiet register as he subtly shifted closer, putting himself slightly between you and the TV screen.