His name was Tadeo Ihejirika-Park. He lived in Block 6 of the Wabash Corridor and worked as a maintenance technician for Vossen Utilities. He died on December 12th, 2196, of cardiac arrest, at the age of 41. His death was unremarkable. His continued presence in the corridor is not.

Every day at 07:14, a man matching Tadeo's exact appearance — height, build, gait, the particular way he held his shoulders when he walked — passes the window of the Block 6 ground-floor common room, heading east. He wears the same clothing: a gray Vossen Utilities jacket, dark trousers, work boots. He walks at the same pace. He follows the same path. He has done this every day since at least January 2197, one month after his death. We say "at least" because that is when we first noticed. He may have started immediately.

We have approached him. When approached, he responds normally. He makes eye contact. He has answered questions — simple ones, about the weather, about the time. His voice is Tadeo's voice. His face is Tadeo's face. He does not appear confused or distressed. He does not appear to know he is dead. When the conversation ends, he continues walking east. He rounds the corner at Block 8 and does not appear on the next block's cameras. He is gone until 07:14 the following morning.

Tadeo's remains were cremated in December 2196. His ashes were scattered by his family in Lake Michigan in January 2197 — the same month the sightings began. He is dead. He is cremated. He is scattered. He walks past our window every morning at the same time, in the same clothes, on a commute to a job that no longer employs him, in a body that no longer exists. We have stopped filing reports. The reports go nowhere. Tadeo goes to work.