Day in the story: 5th December (Friday)

When I – Elle, finally reemerged, I felt Alexandra was glad to take a backseat for a change, she hadn't felt that way the first time. I moved through security at the bottom of the building with ease now. The cold night air outside was a sharp contrast to the perfectly conditioned atmosphere inside. The lights had been dimmed for the late hours, in opposition to the full brightness I'd seen here during the day.

Adrian Brawn wasn't around tonight. Instead, I handled all the required paperwork under the watchful eyes of my immediate supervisor, Kate Maxwell. I was given a card pass and a floor plan on a small tablet mounted to my supply cart. The cart itself was fully stocked with every possible cleaning tool and detergent, plus trash bags to collect garbage. I was supposed to check the rooms I already cleaned on the tablet's only app.

Once the paperwork was finished, Kate walked me through the floors I'd be responsible for.

I was surprised to see how many people still slaved away at these late hours, seated in front of their computers, hammering their keyboards with equal parts passion and frustration. I was supposed to clean around them while doing my best not to disturb their work.

Overall, I'd be responsible for two floors, which included five large open spaces, six toilets and a dozen smaller offices. My pass card gave me access to those areas, plus the ground floor and the social floor for physical workers like me, where I could take a break in relative peace on one of the couches, bubbly armchairs, or even by playing any of the gaming systems installed there.

There were also three toilets on that floor, one for women, one for men and one for "others," which in this place could mean any letter of the alphabet, or even people from other worlds, I guess. There was also a bathroom with shower stalls for use after work, if needed.

All in all, it was just a small slice of one tower's structure, not to mention whatever was hidden beneath the ground. But it was a start.

Cleaning cart felt heavier than it looked. It rattled just a bit as I pushed it across the polished corridor, the faint scent of lemon disinfectant already following me around after few stops.

I moved from one workstation to another, weaving carefully between the rows of cubicles and open desks, where the white glow of monitors still lit up tired faces. The workers barely registered my presence, hunched over their keyboards, eyes glued to lines of text or numbers that I couldn't begin to decipher.

I wiped down a few vacant desks first, using measured, smooth strokes, then carefully edged around the ones still occupied. I swapped out a couple of full trash bins, replacing the liners, quiet as a shadow. I made sure to give a nod to the people still working, better to seem polite than intrusive.

After I finished with the desks, I moved on to the toilets. Six in total, pristine enough that they hardly seemed used, but protocol was protocol. I scrubbed the sinks, disinfected the toilet seats, cleaned around the mirrors and refilled the soap dispensers. The cleaning products stung my nose, but the routine was oddly calming, almost meditative.

While I worked, I couldn't help noticing the cameras. There were so many of them. Small, unobtrusive lenses built into corners, others disguised in ceiling domes, some even tucked behind decorative wall panels. Their coverage was near total, a mechanical eye on practically every square meter of these floors. The angles were smart, too. Nobody would be able to slip through unseen.

There hadn't been a single place in here where Alexandra could paint an anchor that wasn't under the watchful eye of a camera, a guard, or some passive sensor. Nowhere. Whoever designed the security here had made sure there were no blind spots, no little corners where magic, or even mundane sabotage, could hide.

It left me with an uncomfortable question: How was I supposed to infiltrate this place properly? There was no easy answer. The only places that offered a shred of privacy were the toilet stalls themselves and even then I couldn't be sure they weren't being listened to, even if not watched.

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I decided to let it rest for tonight. Best not to rush, or I'd mess up. So I followed the work-plan exactly as it had been given to me.

Wipe, polish, empty. Replace bags, disinfect, refill. Over and over. I rolled my cart between sectors, moving through rows of workstations like a quiet ghost, picking up faint trails of tired perfume, cold energy drinks, stale snack wrappers. My hands worked by muscle memory while my mind wandered.

Some part of me, deeper inside, stayed on edge, half-expecting someone to slip up, to show a sign of suspicious activity, to break the sterile calm that lay over this place like a thin blanket.

But nothing happened.

No alarms. No strange glances. Just the faint hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic clicking of keyboards late into the night.

Nothing ever happened.

**********

"You did very well, Elle," Kate said as I stepped into her office on the social floor, the one that belonged to Crystal Clean's own workspace.

"I've been monitoring your progress as you moved from place to place. You are either very clever, with good instincts on where to go, or extremely methodical. Which one is it?"

"Both," I answered honestly.

"Good. I expected you to say that." She allowed a thin smile. "Mr. Brawn was right to hire you. Keep working like this and you'll find yourself promoted soon."

"How does promotion work, exactly?"

"There are also laboratory floors here, not only the software areas. Those labs are harder to keep clean, with stricter security, but we pay more there. Naturally, that means higher demands and a tighter leash."

"That sounds right up my alley."

"I know." She nodded crisply. "I read your CV. Otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation. But don't expect a promotion tomorrow."

"What time frame is not tomorrow?"

She laughed, which was good, I wanted to keep her off-balance.

"A year, maybe two."

Perfectly normal for a civilian job. Completely unreasonable for an infiltration window. I'd need another plan if I wanted to reach upper management or the laboratories any time soon.

"Thank you," I told her, polite. "If that's all, I'd like to change and head home."

"Of course, Ms. Erikson. See you on Monday."

"Goodbye."

I left, headed down to the changing room. Alexandra, somewhere deep in the mirror of my mind, agreed, we'd have to rethink how to get closer to our target. Being a janitor here didn't unlock as many doors as We'd hoped.

After changing, I sat on a bench with a cold bottle of water, letting my head clear. A moment later, a group of other workers came in, chatting about the day's jobs, nothing unusual. There were four of them, all older than me, most in their thirties or forties, but one stood out: an older woman, mid-sixties at least, solidly built, still moving with a kind of worn-out grace. She wore plain black clothes and a headband to keep her hair from falling into her eyes.

She settled onto the opposite bench and stared straight through me, her eyes vague and glassy. Her body still looked strong, but her mind… not so much.

The others, still talking about what they'd had to clean today, headed off toward the shower stalls.

"Hello," I tried, to break the silence.

"Oh, hello dear." She blinked as if waking up. "I haven't seen you here…" She paused, fumbling for the word. "…before."

"I'm Elle Erikson. Started today."

"I'm Bobby Carpenter."

"You work these floors, Bobby?"

"I…" Her voice wavered, like it was swimming through mud. "…think so. I work in the basement, child."

"Is the work there difficult?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Bobby. Will you be working Monday?"

"Of course. I work almost every day. Not much to do otherwise." Her voice steadied as she spoke of herself, "My husband Mark, God rest him, died two years ago and left me behind to work these earthy grounds before I'm called to join him. So I work…" Her eyes tried to focus again, but the thought escaped her, like a fish sliding through her fingers.

Something was off about her, either mental damage or someone had messed with her memories. That was worth testing.

"Would you like to meet after work sometime? Coffee, tea, or just to talk or watch TV?"

Her eyes brightened, warm for a moment. "Yes, that would be splendid, dear. I don't have much company these days. We never had children, Mark and I, one of us couldn't, the doctors said. So it was just us and my cat, Milosh and so I work here a lot…" She faltered again, lost in thought, then focused on me with a puzzled look.

There it was, a hole in her memory. They'd done something to her. Or Reality had. Which meant the basement was definitely worth checking.

"Very nice, Bobby," I reassured her. "I'm busy this weekend, but maybe next Monday we can talk about it again, okay?"

"Wonderful. What was your name again, dear?"

"Elle," I reminded her with a kind smile.

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