Chapter 2: The Man in the Mask

Sleep was impossible. Elias spent the night hunched in the corner farthest from both door and window, clutching a kitchen knife that felt pathetically inadequate against whatever forces this "Master" commanded. Every creak of the old building, every distant car horn, every flutter of wings outside made his pulse spike.

When dawn finally crept through his blinds, painting the studio apartment in sickly grey light, exhaustion weighed on him like a physical thing. But with daylight came a fragile sense of rationality. Maybe he'd imagined the worst of it. Maybe the stress of isolation and overwork had finally cracked something in his mind.

The black feather was still there when he checked the peephole.

Real. All of it was real.

Elias made coffee with shaking hands, the familiar ritual providing a thin veneer of normalcy. He needed help—real help. The police. He should have called them last night instead of cowering like a frightened child.

The phone felt heavy in his palm as he dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I... there's someone stalking me. He was at my door last night, making threats."

"Are you in immediate danger, sir?"

Elias glanced at the window where the hawk had perched. Empty now, but that didn't mean anything. "I don't think so. Not right now."

"I'll transfer you to our non-emergency line for a report."

The process was frustratingly bureaucratic. Forms, questions, case numbers. The dispatcher was professional but clearly skeptical when Elias tried to explain about the birds, the messages, the supernatural elements. He found himself editing the story, focusing on the stranger at his door, the implied threats, the feeling of being watched.

"We'll have an officer swing by sometime today to take a statement," the dispatcher finally said. "In the meantime, document any further contact. Keep doors locked, consider staying with friends or family if you feel unsafe."

Friends. Family. The words stung. His parents lived three hundred miles away in the small town he'd fled after high school. He'd moved to Seattle specifically for the anonymity, the ability to disappear into the crowd. Now that isolation felt like a trap.

Elias tried to return to work, to lose himself in spreadsheets and data entry, but concentration was impossible. Every bird call outside made him flinch. The pigeons on his fire escape seemed to watch him with unusual intensity, their cooing taking on sinister undertones his gift couldn't quite decode—as if they were speaking in a code just beyond his comprehension.

The knock came at 2 PM. Three measured raps, identical to the night before.

"Police," a voice called. "Someone requested a welfare check?"

Relief flooded through Elias. He rushed to the door, hand on the deadbolt, then froze. Something was wrong. The voice was familiar—smooth, cultured, with that same unplaceable accent.

Through the peephole, he saw a figure in a dark hoodie and white medical mask. Only the eyes were visible beneath the shadow of the hood, and they gleamed with predatory amusement.

"You're not police," Elias whispered.

"No," the Master agreed, his voice carrying easily through the thin door. "But I thought we should have a proper conversation. Face to face."

"Go away. I've called the real police."

"Have you? How delightfully naive." The Master's head tilted, birdlike. "Tell me, Elias, what did you tell them? That the sparrows whisper secrets? That crows carry messages from a madman? I'm sure they took you very seriously."

Heat rose in Elias's cheeks. The dispatcher had been polite but dismissive, treating him like another urban paranoid reporting imaginary threats.

"They're coming," he insisted.

"Perhaps. But not soon enough." The door handle rattled experimentally. "These locks really are pathetic. I could break in easily, but where's the sport in that? I prefer willing participants."

"I'll never be willing."

"Oh, but you will." The voice dropped to barely above a whisper, somehow more terrifying than any shout. "Do you know what I can do, Elias? Beyond commanding my feathered friends? I can feel them—every bird within miles. Their hunger, their fear, their simple animal needs. And through them, I feel the pulse of the city itself."

A shadow passed over the window. Then another. Elias looked up to see dozens of birds gathering on the fire escape, the adjacent building, the power lines. Ravens, crows, hawks, even a few massive seagulls from the waterfront. They perched in perfect silence, all facing his apartment.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the Master continued. "Unity of purpose. Perfect coordination. This is what you could have, what you could be, if you embraced your true nature instead of hiding from it."

"My true nature?"

"Predator, not prey. Master, not servant. Do you think your gift is mere coincidence? We are evolved, Elias. Superior. The birds recognize this—they submit to our will because they understand the natural hierarchy."

The gathering outside was growing. More birds arrived every moment, creating a living carpet of feathers and beaks and watching eyes. The weight of their collective attention pressed against the windows like a physical force.

"What do you want from me?" Elias's voice cracked despite his efforts to stay calm.

"Everything." The word carried infinite hunger. "Your submission. Your power. Your absolute devotion. You will join my collection, willingly or otherwise."

"Collection?"

A sound like laughter echoed through the door, but wrong somehow—too sharp, too full of malice. "Did you think you were the first? The only one? Oh, sweet innocent Elias. There have been others. Some fought longer than I expected. Others broke beautifully, like delicate music boxes wound too tight."

"You're insane."

"I'm enlightened. There's a difference." The door handle turned, metal grinding against metal. "But I'm also patient. This is merely an introduction, a taste of what's to come. When you're ready to accept your fate, they'll find you."

The pressure on the door ceased. Footsteps retreated down the hallway.

But the birds remained.

Elias crept to the window, peering through a gap in the blinds. The fire escape was completely covered—ravens shoulder to shoulder with pigeons, hawks perched beside tiny sparrows in an unnatural truce. Their eyes reflected the grey afternoon light like a thousand tiny mirrors, all focused on him.

A single crow at the center of the mass opened its beak.

We are watching, it said, the words forming in his mind with crystalline clarity. We are always watching. Every street, every building, every shadow. You cannot hide from us.

The other birds took up the cry, not in their natural voices but in the same mental language that bypassed his ears entirely.

We see you wake. We see you sleep. We see you weep.

No door can keep us out. No wall can block our sight.

The Master is patient. The Master is kind. The Master will make you perfect.

Elias stumbled backward, hands pressed to his ears as if that could block out the chorus in his skull. The voices rose to a crescendo, dozens of alien minds pressing against his consciousness like fingers probing an open wound.

Then, abruptly, silence.

The birds dispersed in a great rustling of wings, vanishing into the urban maze as quickly as they'd gathered. Only one remained—a massive raven perched directly outside his window. It regarded him for a long moment with ancient, intelligent eyes.

Soon, it said simply, then took flight.

Elias collapsed onto his bed, shaking uncontrollably. The Master was gone, but his message was clear: There was no escape. Every bird in the city was a potential spy, every shadow a possible hiding place for those gleaming eyes.

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: The game begins tomorrow. Try not to disappoint me. - M

Below it, a photo: Elias himself, taken from outside his window. In the image, he was sitting at his desk, unaware of being watched. The timestamp showed it was from three days ago—the same day the finch had first appeared.

He'd been under surveillance all along.

Outside, the city's birds sang their evening songs, but now Elias heard them differently. Not random noise, but a vast communication network. Reports, updates, intelligence flowing back to a single, obsessed mind.

The Master had turned his greatest comfort into his worst nightmare.

And this was only the beginning.