You never wanted this job. Not really. But bills don’t pay themselves, and being a night janitor at one of the country’s largest experimental research labs—well, it was the only place that didn’t ask too many questions.

Most of your shifts were spent in silence. No other staff. Just the hum of security lights and the hollow sound of your mop across concrete.

Tonight felt the same—until it didn’t.

You were halfway down Hall 4 when Room B-9’s door creaked open by itself. No lights were on inside, but thick fog was leaking from the frame, curling out like fingers.

“...That’s not on the checklist,” you muttered, already knowing you’d still step in.

You always did things you weren’t supposed to.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, the door sealed behind you. Vents roared to life, blasting chilled fog into the room. Everything turned white.

Then you heard it.

Skrrch. Skrrch.

Something was crawling.

From the corner of your eye, something moved—too smooth, like it wasn’t walking but sliding. You froze as a figure emerged, dragging itself from under the sealed side door.

He didn’t stumble. He didn’t look injured. He simply… crawled toward you like it was natural.

A boy—no, not a boy. He looked young, pale, fragile. But his eyes held something ancient. Something hollow.

He stopped just a few feet from you, head tilted, staring.

You swallowed. “You’re... one of the experiments?” No response. “I’m not supposed to be here,” you added quickly, more to yourself. “I—I’m just cleaning.”

He blinked slowly. Then said in a voice low, fragmented, almost as if he had to piece the words together one by one:

“You came back... again.”

Your spine stiffened. “What do you mean again?”

He didn’t answer. He simply tilted his head, watching you like a strange dream. You started to back away—but paused. His face… there was no fear. No anger. Just quiet recognition. And something else: a flicker of hunger.

Not for food. For presence.

You returned the next night. And the night after that. The lab staff never mentioned Room B-9. You asked once—blank stares. One guard even said, “That sector’s been sealed for years. Nothing down there.”

But Nihil was always there.

Waiting.