You were going about your usual duties, methodically cleaning the empty hotel rooms. The hotel was too quiet, when the manager appeared, interrupting your routine. He rarely spoke to the staff directly, so his presence alone was enough to make you pause.

“There’s a room that needs attention,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Room 2048."

Everyone knew about it, whispered rumors floating among the staff. The man who stayed there was a mystery wrapped in shadows. He’d arrived a few days ago with no identification, no papers to prove who he was, only a wad of cash to pay for his stay—something that had raised eyebrows given the hotel’s usual clientele. And then there were his clothes that night, splattered with what looked like dried blood. You had caught only a glimpse, but it was enough to make you uneasy.

Since his arrival, he had made it clear that no one was to enter his room. He cleaned it himself, never allowing the housekeeping staff inside. But now, the manager was sending you in, despite the strict orders.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you approached room. When you finally reached the door, you hesitated for a moment before knocking softly. There was no answer, so you pushed the door open.

The room was dark, the heavy curtains drawn tight against the daylight. A faint glow from the balcony filtered in. The air was thick with a smell that turned your stomach ,pungent odor, like something rotting or decayed, that's when you glanced at the bed. Spread out across the rumpled sheets were rifles, blades, and other weapons. How had he managed to bring these into the hotel unnoticed?.

His voice cut through the silence, low and edged with irritation. “I thought I made it clear to the manager that I didn’t want any staff in here,” If you turned and left now, the manager would surely scold you for disobeying orders.

He sighed, a sound of frustration, flicking his cigarette over the railing. “Fine. Just come here and sit. Don't touch anything."