Monitor Keeps Going Black For A Few Seconds Novels & Stories

“As for the specific cause of the blackout, we couldn’t find out. I’ve had the technical department check multiple times. It wasn’t a problem with the equipment.” That was a bit strange. As they spoke, they arrived at the central control room. Soon, Andrius saw the footage Dax mentioned, where the surveillance went black. “Hm?” He suddenly sensed something off. He noticed that before the screen went completely black, there were some small black spots in the footage. However, the moment was very brief and only a fleeting glance, making it seem like a trick of the light.

“Should I turn it on ?“ “Yes, Kelvin” he answers, still wrapped at flipping through pages, while my hands lift, placing on his system. His monitor comes to life. It boots slowly, rolling dice on the screen, before it comes fully to life. Its lock screen pops on, with an image flashing against my sight.

Just the soft hush of sleeping wolves recovering from a night of frenzy. I step into the monitor room and flick on the lights. The screens buzz to life, glowing with the grainy black-and-white images of the grounds. I scan each feed carefully. Every Omega is asleep, curled into nests or sprawled in tangled sheets. No Betas. No Gammas. Nothing moving. The grounds are still. And yet one of the warning lights is blinking. I lean in, narrowing my eyes as I try to pinpoint the movement it’s flagged. Nothing looks off. No shadows. No sound. Just the red flash at the corner of the screen, pulsing steadily like a heartbeat.

The room fell into a strange silence. Not quiet. Not calm. A waiting silence. The sovereign core pulsed violently inside its glass housing, blue light flickering across the server chamber like lightning trapped in metal. Every monitor had turned white. No data. No progress bars. Just a single line across every screen: SYSTEM RESOLUTION PHASE INITIATED Noah whispered, “…I officially hate that sentence.” Lila didn’t respond. Because the vibration in the room had changed. It was subtle.

"Zoom in more! Focus on his ear and enhance it." The technician's mouse clicks filled the silence. In the next second, everyone watching the monitor froze. They almost stopped breathing. That was... an earpiece!

Aidan blinks. “What.” “One minute of controlled contact. Then I’m done.” Reasonable. Temporary. Insufficient. Acceptable for now. We reset monitors. Cardiac rate. Respiration. Eye tracking. Attention drift metrics. Matteo returns to position reluctantly. The point brightens at once. Not exuberant. Attentive. He mutters, “Hate that.” “Baseline first,” Aidan says. Matteo focuses without initiating sequence. The point holds. Then after three seconds, resumes the heartbeat pulse.

Everything happened in just a blink of an eye and even Athena and Terrence failed to fathom how Marie fell down the building while grasping Hannah's mother in her arms. And just like that, the colossal monitor blacked out after almost half a minute. The show was over... Athena tilted her head sideways, aiming her questioning gaze straight at her husband but the latter shrugged in response. "Don't look at me like that. I have nothing to do with it." He exclaimed as he could read through her expression that she wondered why it suddenly shut down. "Perhaps technical error?" He added. She rolled her eyes and questioned. "You're not doing it on purpose?"

My heart raced, as I spun to the monitors. A hooded figure flashed on the screen, fast and purposeful, as it dropped a small device on a server rack. My stomach dropped. Immediately, the screen went black, followed by a booming noise.

asked Hansen in a tone of gusting at me. “Just a moment.” I re-typed a line of programming code on the keyboard. There are several menu options on the main server schema, one of which is the option; open server. A few moments later, the monitor screen went dark. I waited for a while, but there was no change. “What are you doing?” asked Tony to me. “Nothing,” I replied shortly. I reset the computer in front of me, and went back to repeating the secondary sequence to open the primary server. The result remains the same.

Retreat. The monitor's scream falls back to a steady beep. Thorne sags against the counter, wiping his forehead with a shaking hand. "It... it must have been a static spike. A synchronization glitch. Equipment." Damian doesn't look at the monitor. He doesn't look at Thorne. He looks at my arm—at the place where the silver light was a moment before. His thumb finds my wrist, pressing hard into the pulse point, measuring. "A glitch," he repeats, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous frequency.