The Static Hour #6

The night rain arrived as promised.

Fine threads of rain fell on the flagstones, gathering into small streams that snaked through the cracks in the street, like the town's pulse—regular and quiet.

The nights here were always the same: darkness would fall, the rain would begin, and it would continue until the sun rose precisely in the morning.

Was this coincidence, or some deliberate arrangement?

Yongkang stood under his umbrella at the pharmacy door. Rain ran down the edges of the canopy, dripping onto the flagstones and creating tiny splashes. His gaze swept over the rain-soaked street, which was unnervingly quiet.

Too quiet.

The surroundings were deserted.

The alleys were silent, the sheltered walkways beneath the eaves were empty, and the distant street corners were dim. The entire town seemed swallowed by the night rain, its stillness profoundly disturbing.

It was then he realized that this town never had "nightlife."

When night fell, people naturally stayed indoors, as if this were an irreversible rule, rather than a personal choice.

—Was this merely habit, or some deeper mechanism?

The rain continued, cold dampness seeping into his clothes. Yongkang lifted his head, looking towards Mount Taiping in the distance.

A powerful beam of light sliced through the rain curtain on the far mountain range, a stark contrast to the town’s black night.

That was—the observatory light.

It stood there, solitary, on the town's boundary, like an indifferent watchtower silently monitoring this quiet world.

Despite the distance, Yongkang could vaguely make out the massive dish—a silver-white radio telescope, slowly rotating, pointed toward the dark night sky.

On the other side of the radio telescope was a giant white sphere—the primary mirror chamber of a reflecting telescope. It glowed with a faint, cold light in the rainy night, like an eye staring into the depths of the universe.

—One monitored deep space signals, the other probed the sky and the ground.

Was this observatory truly conducting astronomy, or was it—monitoring certain "anomalies"?

Yongkang’s fingers tightened on the umbrella handle. A strange unease swept through his heart.

This observatory was jarringly out of place with everything in this small town.

It was too grand, too conspicuous, as if it were a product of another era, another world.

Yet, it stood there quietly, unmentioned, unquestioned, accepted as if it were a matter of fact.

Yongkang's gaze remained fixed on the mountaintop, where those two massive "eyes" silently overlooked the quiet, empty night.

And he, standing on this deserted street, looking at them, suddenly had a powerful feeling—

He, too, might be under their gaze.

The night was still. Rain slanted down, gently striking the umbrella surface with a rhythmic sound—

Drip-drop—Drip-drop—Drip-drop.

Yongkang stood at the street corner. Rain flowed down the edge of his umbrella, blurring his vision.

The refuse recycling station—where exactly was it?

This was the first time he had realized such a place existed in town. He had never heard of it, let alone knew the way.

The blank space in his memory covered him like the mist in the rainy night.

He glanced left and right. The street was still eerily quiet. Suddenly, a light breeze picked up, blowing fallen leaves from the left side to the right. The streetlight on the right side of the street went out as the leaves passed, and then lit up one by one. It was as if something was leading Yongkang somewhere.

To the right.

He couldn't explain it, but an irresistible intuition compelled him to choose this direction.

Was this intuition? Or—some kind of subtle instruction?

Yongkang's footsteps were swallowed by the rain. As he stepped onto the dark street, he gradually sensed a peculiarity.

This rain... seemed too "neat."

It didn't feel like natural precipitation; it felt more like... a rhythmic pulse.

He frowned slightly, leaning his ear toward the umbrella surface, listening intently—

Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

Like some invisible timer operating with precision.

Was this an illusion? Or was this rain itself not "natural"?

He shook off the absurd thought and continued forward. However, as he passed the gold shop, his steps involuntarily halted.

—The digital clock was counting down.

The electronic clock above the storefront flashed with a strange red light. The digits changed slowly—

07:18:59

07:18:58

07:18:57

...

It was counting down.

Yongkang's heart tightened. An unknown anxiety spread in his chest. He turned his head and looked at the other side of the street—

A broken streetlight beneath the red wall, broken for years, suddenly flickered. Yongkang's gaze narrowed abruptly, as if he had been singled out by some invisible force. He held his breath. The next second, the light steadied, dimly and eerily illuminating the rainy street.

He stood there, stunned. Rainwater flowed along the ground, but a few seconds later, he noticed the puddles vanishing into thin air.

The rain was still falling, but no new puddles formed on the ground.

—This defies logic.

Yongkang's fingertips felt cold. He held his breath, his eyes scanning the surroundings quickly.

The shops on the street were still dark and empty, but the television screens in a few distant storefronts began to flicker.

There was no image, only black and white static.

The signal would briefly normalize, only to be immediately disrupted again. Blurred images flickered erratically, as if some message was desperately trying to get through—a silent warning.

No one noticed this. No one cared about the anomalies.

The distant observatory remained lit, the reflecting telescope slowly turning, like a cold eye silently observing this solitary small town.

Walking down the silent street, Yongkang unconsciously quickened his pace.

He felt the presence of eyes watching him.

But when he looked around, there was nothing.

Was someone truly watching him, or was it his imagination?

The windows on both sides of the street were curtained. The shops were silent in the rain, the metal security gates tightly shut.

Yet, the feeling of being watched was relentless.

It was even stronger than during the day.

"Later, take the old newspapers to the recycling station."

His mother's voice echoed in his mind.

Yongkang stood at the intersection, his fingertips slightly tightened. He didn't know why he was doing this.

Perhaps it was just intuition, or perhaps his mother was implying something.

He took a deep breath and followed the flagstone path toward the edge of the town.

The refuse recycling station.

A place that shouldn't attract attention, yet it felt like a forgotten puzzle piece waiting for him to complete the picture.

And he wanted to find something "overlooked."

Maybe the answers were there.

Yongkang reached the town's edge. An abandoned building stood silently on a low hill.

It was surrounded by a high fence, the wire mesh rusted and mottled. Weeds grew around the edges, suggesting years of neglect. At the entrance, a weathered sign swayed slightly in the night wind—

"NO TRESPASSING"

Was this truly just an ordinary recycling station?

Yongkang stood at the entrance, peering inside through the gaps in the fence—

Debris was piled high: broken appliances, rusted machine parts, and yellowed old documents were scattered haphazardly, as if casually discarded.

But these were not the most noticeable objects.

The most conspicuous was a dilapidated dome structure in the center of the yard.

Even though the night rain blurred his vision, Yongkang recognized its outline—

It was the former meteorological station.

The white dome stood silently in the rainy night, its exterior weathered, several cracks winding across it like scars left by the wind and rain. Its presence was jarring, utterly out of sync with the junk surrounding it, as if it once served a more important purpose.

Next to the dome, an even larger device came into view—

A Doppler radar.

It was a huge white sphere, towering over the weather station. Even in the dim night, it was conspicuous in the rain.

The radar's support frame was covered in rust, as if it had been abandoned for ages, yet Yongkang felt—it was still "watching."

Like a discarded eye, silently monitoring this small town, witnessing something unspoken.

Yongkang’s brow furrowed slightly.

Why would a "refuse recycling station" be centered around a meteorological station?

What exactly was this building meant to monitor?

Yongkang walked along the perimeter of the fence, looking for an entrance.

Suddenly, his steps stopped.

Movement inside the fence.

Through the gaps in the wire mesh, he saw a few blurred figures rummaging through the piles of waste.

But these people were different from ordinary scavengers.

Their movements were swift and systematic, their eyes alert. They weren't just searching casually; they seemed to be looking for specific items.

One person was crouched on the ground, apparently dismantling a rusty piece of old equipment, carefully taking out a part, and handing it to a companion.

Another was sorting through a stack of scattered documents, quickly flipping through them before tucking several pages into their clothes.

This was not a group of simple, junk-collecting vagrants; it felt more like an organized faction hidden within the ruins.

Yongkang frowned. His heart rate unconsciously sped up.

Who were these people?

—Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock.

The rain hitting the umbrella surface made a rhythmic sound.

In the dead of night, the sound was unnervingly clear.

Just then—

A low, husky voice resonated from the rain curtain—

"You have come."

Yongkang abruptly spun around.

Inside the fence, a gaunt old man stood there, silently watching him.

It was the old man he had seen before—

The one who had stood at the pharmacy counter, pointing at his pocket and demanding the metal ring.

The mysterious figure who appeared in the cinema's projection fragments.

—Who exactly was he?

The old man was stooped, his clothes simple, his face etched with wrinkles by time, yet his eyes were exceptionally clear.

Those eyes held an unsettling insight, as if he had already foreseen this moment.

Rain ran down his cheeks, yet he held no umbrella and made no move to shelter from the rain. He simply stood there, the corners of his mouth turned up in an enigmatic smile.

Yongkang's fingers trembled slightly. His throat was dry.

"...Who are you?"

The old man slowly tilted his head, looking up at the gray night sky. He was silent for a moment.

He slowly extended his hand, pointing toward the area within the fence.

"Come in."