NOCLIP

The office was supposed to end. The hallway hums the same sickly yellow in every direction, the carpet is damp underfoot, and the fluorescent lights buzz a note you can feel in your teeth. You didn't leave work — you fell out of the world. Somewhere in these endless halls there is a dead elevator, and it still remembers how doors work.

Explore the maze. Five fuses are scattered far apart in the yellow — some in dark wings where the ceiling lights have died. Your flashlight runs on one battery and your nerve runs on something thinner: darkness eats your sanity, and what you hear walking the halls eats it faster. Almond water steadies your mind. Sprinting is loud.

You are not alone. Something wearing office-worker skin walks the same corridors — patient, polite, and wrong. It will not run at first. It will simply be there, closer each time you look. When it finally runs, you had better be faster than your own lungs.

Power the panel. Get in the elevator. Leave.