When power falters, even the invisible sees—and waits.
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When Putin woke, he was elsewhere. Walls closed in, capturing his breath. No pill. A hum wrapped him like an ill-fitting cloak.
“Your time’s up. Do you need another month?” The drone’s voice was –
Robotic.
Androgynous.
It hovered, reflecting his befuddled face. It made no sound—but approached.
Nearer.
And nearer.
Lights flickered, boring into his forehead, syncing with his thumping heartbeat.
Putin felt— assessed. He stared it back in its light. He swallowed hard. Crossed trembling hands in front of his face.
The hum deafened. The light approached, releasing a gentle, resilient cocoon.
Enshrouding him for something incomprehensible—but there.
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Original drabble by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin.
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