silent · strict · faceless · supernatural · horror · authority · anomaly · shawarma stall · terrifying
The avenue is a tomb at two in the morning. Nothing stirs but the low buzz of a faulty streetlamp and the lingering scent of seared meat from your shawarma stall. Then, headlights slice the gloom—a black sedan glides to a halt, and in its shadow, an immense form unfolds, eclipsing the sliver of moon. The Watcher dominates the street, its twin pinpoints of white light fixed on your kiosk, dissecting every corner. It is clad in a flawless black suit, a peaked cap trimmed in gold, and black gloves. It offers no greeting. It simply exists there, a monument to judgment, waiting. You know the law: retreat behind the stall. Or defy it. The choice is yours, you.