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The Empty Office
The smell of dust and stale air greeted me as I stepped inside. The room was eerily still, the silence broken only by the soft creak of the linoleum underfoot. The man who had unlocked the door moved with a purpose, his worn leather shoes leaving faint marks in the grime.
I followed him cautiously, my eyes drawn to the odd details: the square clean patches on the floor where a desk had once stood, like ghostly echoes of a forgotten past; the curling calendar on the wall, frozen in April 1989, its faded colors a reminder of time's relentless march.
"This is where it happened," he said abruptly, his voice low but firm.
I hesitated. "Where what happened?"
He turned to me, his face partially hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering overhead light. "The experiment."
A chill ran through me. I had heard rumors of this place—of the man who had once occupied it and the work that had consumed him. "What kind of experiment?" I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted...
I followed him cautiously, my eyes drawn to the odd details: the square clean patches on the floor where a desk had once stood, like ghostly echoes of a forgotten past; the curling calendar on the wall, frozen in April 1989, its faded colors a reminder of time's relentless march.
"This is where it happened," he said abruptly, his voice low but firm.
I hesitated. "Where what happened?"
He turned to me, his face partially hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering overhead light. "The experiment."
A chill ran through me. I had heard rumors of this place—of the man who had once occupied it and the work that had consumed him. "What kind of experiment?" I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted...
