The rain in the city always felt like it was trying to wash away something that wouldn't come clean. I’m Leo, a private investigator with a degree in theoretical physics that I use mostly to figure out how to get the most out of a bottle of cheap bourbon.

I used to believe in the elegance of the universe. Then I saw the White Flash.

Twenty years ago, my parents vanished in a government-funded "energy breakthrough." The official report called it a catastrophic failure. I called it a kidnapping by the laws of physics. I spent a decade trying to find a way back to them, until I realized that the universe doesn't give back what it takes. It only asks for more.

A week ago, a woman walked into my office. She was shaking, her eyes wide with a terror that looked familiar. She told me her husband had disappeared in a burst of light in his own basement. She didn't want a detective; she wanted a miracle.

As I investigated the site, the old instincts flared. I found the residue—the same ozone scent, the same lingering, unnatural cold. But this time, I noticed something new. The "void" wasn't just a hole; it was a mouth.

I began to see the patterns. Every "disappearance" occurred near a point of high emotional distress or intense intellectual pursuit. The Macro-World wasn't a parallel dimension or a scientific frontier. It was a parasite. It fed on the peak frequencies of human consciousness—the highest highs of discovery and the lowest lows of grief.

The "white light" was the lure. It promised a doorway, a reunion, a secret. But once you stepped through, you weren't a guest; you were a meal.

I tried to warn the woman. I told her that her husband wasn't "somewhere else," but that he had been digested by a cosmic entity that viewed our entire reality as a buffet.

But the lure is strong. That night, I felt the hum in my own apartment. The air began to shimmer, and for a moment, I saw my father's face in the light. He looked happy. He looked like he was calling me home.

I knew it was a lie. I knew the hunger of the void. But as I looked at the empty chair across from me and the bottle of bourbon on the desk, the lie felt more welcoming than the truth.

I didn't fight it when the light filled the room. I just leaned back in my chair, lit one last cigarette, and waited for the teeth of the universe to close around me.

[OTMES-V2: V-05-D-T5-R(0.0)-theta(240)]