EXT. SUNSHINE PLAZA OFFICE BUILDING - PARKING GARAGE - MORNING
WANG TAI-CHEN (35, the kind of middle manager who irons his khakis) pulls into the underground garage at exactly 8:47 AM, as he does every weekday.
His reserved spot — B2-17, clearly marked with his name on a laminated sign — is occupied.
Again.
The car: a silver sedan. License plate: XRL-2947.
Tai-Chen sits in his Honda, engine idling, radiating pure, distilled fury. Fantasizing about creatively using the baseball bat in his trunk to do some work on the sedan.
This is the fourth time this week.
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INT. SUNSHINE PLAZA - SECURITY OFFICE - 8:52 AM
Tai-chen stands at the counter, trying to maintain professional composure while internally screaming.
The security guard, UNCLE FENG (60s, has seen everything, cares about nothing), looks up from his phone.
"Let me guess. B2-17?"
"Yes."
"Silver sedan?"
"Yes."
"XRL-2947?"
Tai-chen blinks. "How did you—"
"You're the third person this week to complain about that car." Uncle Feng pulls up the parking garage camera feed. Scrolls through footage. "Here. See? Your spot at 8:30 AM."
The screen shows B2-17. Empty.
"Right. So pull up 8:45."
Uncle Feng adjusts the timestamp. 8:45 AM.
Still empty.
"But it's there right now."
"I believe you. But the cameras don't see it."
"That's impossible."
Uncle Feng shrugs. "Talk to the building manager."
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INT. SUNSHINE PLAZA - BUILDING MANAGER'S OFFICE - 9:15 AM
The building manager, MS. WU (50s, runs on coffee and spite), listens to Tai-chen's complaint with the patience of someone who stopped caring in 2003.
"So you're saying there's a ghost car."
"I'm saying there's a car in my spot that doesn't show up on camera."
"Same thing."
"It's not a ghost car. It's a real car. I can touch it. I took a photo." He pulls out his phone, shows her.
The photo: B2-17, clearly showing a silver sedan.
Ms. Wu squints. "License plate's blurry."
"It's XRL-2947."
She types it into her computer. Waits. Frowns.
"There's no vehicle registered in Kaohsiung with that plate."
"Then it's fake."
"Then call the police."
"I—" Tai-chen stops. Takes a breath. "Can you just... tow it?"
"I can't tow a car that doesn't exist in the security footage."
"But it exists."
"Not officially."
Tai-chen closes his eyes. Counts to ten. Fails.
"Fine. I'll handle it myself."
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - 9:30 AM
Tai-chen stands next to the silver sedan, arms crossed.
It looks normal. Slightly dusty. A parking ticket on the windshield dated three weeks ago.
He peers through the window. The interior is clean. No personal items. Just a cup holder with what looks like a coffee cup, except the liquid inside is bright blue.
"What kind of person drinks puts an energy drink in a coffee cup?" he mutters.
He tries the door handle.
Locked.
He considers keying it. Decides that's too petty.
Instead, he pulls out a sticky note, writes:
THIS IS MY SPOT. STOP PARKING HERE OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE.
He sticks it on the windshield.
Walks away feeling slightly better. Empowered. Like he just kicked the bad guy's butt.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - NEXT MORNING - 8:47 AM
The silver sedan is back.
The sticky note is gone.
In its place: a new note, stuck to the windshield in neat handwriting.
Sorry. I'll try to park elsewhere.
Tai-chen reads it twice.
He looks around the garage. Nobody. Just rows of silent cars.
He gets back in his Honda, drives to B2-23 (someone else's spot, but it's empty), and parks.
Fine. Problem solved. Moving on.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - NEXT MORNING - 8:47 AM
The silver sedan is back.
Tai-chen has officially entered his villain arc.
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INT. TAI-CHEN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Tai-chen sits at his kitchen table, laptop open, surrounded by printouts.
On screen: the Kaohsiung DMV website. Search results for XRL-2947.
Zero matches.
He tries the national database.
Zero matches.
He googles the license plate format. Finds a forum thread from 2018:
User: taipei_commuter_03
"Anyone else seeing weird license plates lately? Formats that don't match any official system? I swear I saw one that was all consonants. Like, literally no vowels."
Tai-chen clicks on the thread. Reads.
Seventeen replies. All variations of "yes, me too" and "probably just custom plates" and one guy insisting it's aliens.
He closes the laptop.
Opens it again.
Googles: "car appears in parking spot but not on camera"
Results:
"5 Signs Your Parking Garage Is Haunted""Glitch in the Matrix? Reddit Users Report Disappearing Cars""Quantum Mechanics and Everyday Objects: An Introduction"
He reads the quantum mechanics article.
Understands none of it. Asks ChatGPT to explain it to him like he was a five-year-old.
Still didn't get it.
Closes the laptop.
Eats instant noodles while staring at the wall.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - NEXT MORNING - 6:30 AM
Tai-chen arrives early.
B2-17 is empty.
He parks. Sets up a folding chair. Makes coffee from a thermos.
Waits.
7:00 AM. Nothing.
7:30 AM. Nothing.
8:00 AM. Nothing.
8:15 AM.
He blinks.
The silver sedan is there.
He didn't see it arrive. He was watching the whole time. It just... appeared.
One moment: empty space.
Next moment: car.
Tai-chen stands slowly, coffee forgotten.
He walks over. Puts his hand on the hood.
Warm. Like it's been driven recently.
He walks around it. Checks the tires. Normal. License plate: XRL-2947.
He pulls out his phone, starts recording a video.
Points the camera at the car.
On screen: B2-17. Empty.
He lowers the phone. Looks at the car with his eyes.
Still there.
He raises the phone again.
Empty.
"Oh," he says quietly. "Oh no."
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INT. TAI-CHEN'S OFFICE - CUBICLE 4-B - AFTERNOON
Tai-chen googles: "things that exist but cameras can't see"
Results:
Infrared lightRadio wavesYour self-worth (Reddit joke thread)Ghosts (debunked)"Dimensional bleed-through phenomenon" (conspiracy blog, last updated 2009)
He clicks the conspiracy blog.
The site design is from 2003. Animated GIFs everywhere. Comic Sans.
But the article is... detailed.
"What Are 'Bleed-Throughs'?"
Objects or people from parallel realities temporarily occupying the same physical space as our world. Cameras can't detect them because they exist on a slightly different quantum frequency. To the naked eye, they appear normal. But technology can't perceive them.
Tai-chen reads on.
Common Signs:
Object appears and disappears without movementNo reflection in mirrors or glassDoes not appear in photographs or videoMay have unusual properties (wrong colors, impossible physics)
He scrolls to the comments section.
User: believer_1991
"I saw this happen with a vending machine at my work. Appeared one day, gone the next. Nobody remembered ordering it."
User: skeptic_jane
"You people need therapy."
Tai-chen closes the tab.
Opens it again.
Bookmarks it.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - NEXT MORNING - 8:45 AM
Tai-chen stands next to the silver sedan, holding a folder full of printouts.
He clears his throat.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"I know you're... different. And I'm not judging. But this is my parking spot. I paid for it. I have a contract."
The car, obviously, does not respond.
He tries the door again. Still locked.
He looks at the coffee cup inside. The blue liquid.
"If you can hear me," he says slowly, "blink your headlights once for yes, twice for no."
Nothing.
He waits.
Still nothing.
"Okay. Fine. New plan."
He pulls out a sticky note. Writes:
I don't know what you are or where you're from, but I've been parking here for three years. Can we work something out? Maybe alternate days?
He sticks it on the windshield.
Walks away.
Feels ridiculous.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - NEXT MORNING - 8:47 AM
The silver sedan is there.
A new note on the windshield:
How about you park here on Monday/Wednesday/Friday, and I'll park here Tuesday/Thursday? Weekends we'll figure out as needed.
Tai-chen reads it three times.
Reads it a fourth time to make sure he's not having a stroke.
He pulls out a pen. Writes on the back of the note:
Deal. But who are you?
Sticks it back on the windshield.
Goes to park at B2-23.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - TUESDAY MORNING - 8:47 AM
B2-17 is occupied by the silver sedan.
A note on the windshield:
Just someone trying to get to work. Thanks for being reasonable. Most people aren't.
Below that, in different handwriting:
P.S. The coffee is tea. It just looks blue where I'm from.
Tai-chen stares at the note for a full minute.
Then he writes back:
Where are you from?
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - THURSDAY MORNING - 8:47 AM
B2-17 is occupied. Another note:
Complicated. Let's just say the commute is a bit longer than yours.
Tai-chen writes:
Are you from another dimension?
He feels insane writing it.
Sticks the note on the windshield anyway.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - NEXT TUESDAY - 8:47 AM
The response:
Something like that. Look, I appreciate the parking arrangement, but maybe we should stop the notes? People might notice.
Tai-chen writes:
Nobody notices. Trust me. I tried showing people. You don't show up on cameras. Are you dangerous?
The reply, Tuesday next week:
No more dangerous than you. Just trying to get to work, same as everyone. Can we just... keep sharing the spot? No more questions?
Tai-chen considers this.
Writes:
Fine. But if you're late on your days, I'm taking the spot.
The response, next Thursday:
Fair.
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INT. TAI-CHEN'S OFFICE - CUBICLE 4-B - FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Tai-chen's coworker, LINDA (30s, too cheerful for someone in accounts receivable), leans over the cubicle wall.
"Hey, you seem happier lately."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Less... stabby. Did you finally resolve that parking thing?"
"Sort of. Worked out a compromise."
"With the building manager?"
"With the other driver."
"Oh good! See? Communication solves everything."
Tai-chen smiles. "Yeah. Something like that."
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - MONDAY MORNING - 8:47 AM
Tai-chen pulls into his spot.
Empty, as agreed.
He parks. Gets out. Notices something on the ground.
A coffee cup. Or tea cup. Whatever.
Blue liquid inside.
Still warm.
Next to it: a note.
Left you a cup. You look like you need it. Same blend I drink. Fair warning: it's an acquired taste.
Tai-chen picks up the cup. Sniffs it.
Smells like... jasmine? But also something sharper. Almost metallic.
He takes a sip.
It tastes like mornings in a world he's never seen. Like sunlight through leaves that don't exist. Like the last five minutes before you realize you're dreaming.
It tastes like home, but not his.
He drinks it anyway.
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INT. SUNSHINE PLAZA - SECURITY OFFICE - 9:00 AM
Uncle Feng looks up as Tai-chen walks past.
"Hey. You and that silver car work things out?"
"Yeah. We're good now."
"Good. One less headache." Uncle Feng goes back to his phone.
Tai-chen pauses. "Out of curiosity... you ever see anything weird on those cameras? Like, things that shouldn't be there?"
Uncle Feng doesn't look up. "All the time."
"Really?"
"Kid, I've been doing this job for twenty years. I've seen a vending machine appear overnight. I've seen a janitor walk through a wall. I've seen cars, people, entire rooms that don't show up on playback."
"And you just... don't say anything?"
"What am I gonna say? 'Boss, reality's broken'? They'd fire me." He finally looks up. "Besides. Whatever's happening, it's not hurting anyone. So I don't look too close."
Tai-chen nods slowly. "Makes sense."
"Most things do, if you don't think about them too hard."
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - TUESDAY MORNING - 8:47 AM
The silver sedan is there.
No note this time.
But on the hood: a small paper bag.
Inside: a breakfast pastry. Some kind of bun, filled with red bean paste that's actually purple.
A sticky note attached:
Thanks for the spot-sharing. This is from a bakery near my work. Hope you like it.
Tai-chen eats it on his way to the elevator.
It's the best thing he's ever tasted.
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EXT. PARKING GARAGE - B2-17 - FRIDAY MORNING - 8:47 AM
Tai-chen parks in his spot.
Leaves a note on the adjacent car's windshield (not the silver sedan—that one's gone today):
To whoever's in the silver sedan on Tuesdays/Thursdays: Thanks for the snacks. I left you something in return. It's in the planter by the garage entrance.
In the planter: a thermos of oolong tea and a bag of pineapple cakes from his favorite bakery.
He walks to the elevator.
Behind him, though he doesn't see it, the air shimmers.
Just for a moment.
Like heat rising from asphalt.
And then: nothing.
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INT. SUNSHINE PLAZA - ELEVATOR - CONTINUOUS
Tai-chen rides up with a group of coworkers.
Someone's complaining about parking.
Someone else is talking about the weird vending machine on Floor 3.
Linda's telling a story about her cousin who swears their apartment building has two lobbies, but one only appears on Thursdays.
Normal office chatter.
Tai-chen smiles to himself.
The elevator dings.
He steps out into his normal, boring, perfectly ordinary life.
Where sometimes cars appear from nowhere.
Where sometimes tea tastes like another world.
Where sometimes the best solution to a parking dispute is just to share.
Because at the end of the day, everyone's just trying to get to work.
Even if they're coming from a little further than usual.
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FADE OUT
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