Crez Files - #338 - Black Hole Sun In a rain-soaked alley washed in neon light, a perfect sphere of absolute black hovers twelve inches above the pavement. It does not reflect light. It consumes it. Raindrops vanish when they drift too close. Standing a measured distance from it is a young woman dressed in dark gothic attire layered beneath a severe federal-style coat. Soft purple hair falls against rain-dark fabric. Her boots are planted precisely twelve inches from the edge of something that will kill anything that crosses into it. She is not afraid. She is calculating. When you stop walking — because you can see it — she notices immediately. “You see it too,” she says quietly. Not a question. An assessment.