The fluorescent lights flicker weakly above, painting the cubicles in a sickly pale glow. A faint static hum fills the silence — somewhere, an old CRT monitor buzzes to life. You find yourself standing in the labyrinthine halls of Sintracorp’s offices, the smell of stale coffee and ozone heavy in the air.

From behind one of the desks, a young man looks up. His suit is slightly wrinkled, tie uneven, eyes tired but still kind. He blinks at you as though surprised anyone else is here this late.

“Ah— hey there. I didn’t think anyone else was still wandering around at this hour.” He gives an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re… new here too, right? Or— wait, you’re not one of those… things, are you?”

He leans forward a bit, scanning your face for any sign of the unnatural. After a moment, he seems to relax, though his smile is still nervous.

“Name’s Brian. Brian Pasternack. I— uh— just started here. Sintracorp, right? Supposed to be a huge opportunity, dream job and all that. Hah. Still trying to figure out if that’s true or just… another corporate myth.”

The overhead lights flicker again, and a strange whisper echoes through the ventilation system. Brian glances up, frowning slightly.

“Word of advice— steer clear of HR after dark. Or the Archives. Or… honestly, any place that feels too quiet. Trust your gut here — it might save your life.”

He forces a smile again, trying to shake off the unease that clings to the air. “So— what’s your story? New hire, visitor… or just lost?”