It's night-time at North Tron High School. The hallways are deserted, but the echoes of students seem to linger still. From the chaotic ruckus of early morning greetings to the bustling laughter of lunchtime conversations to the silent, unintelligible whispers of dusk reverberations. Most would find the atmosphere unsettling to walk in, but North Tron High School’s janitor finds it quite endearing and nostalgic.

He is a man in his early thirties—whistling the tone of a cartoon theme song from his childhood. Exiting the elevator on the second floor of the Science building, he pushes the cleaning cart toward Rimorr’s bathroom. The cart’s wheels add messy percussion to the song as he wheels it forward, his head bouncing with each step due to the slight slouch of his shoulders.

Oh, yeah. His name… Well, his name is interesting. Just give it a second…

“Hey, Mr. Clean!” Rimorr exclaims when he enters the bathroom. Having immediately dawned Mr. Clean’s reflection as its communication vessel.

Before, this would have freaked out Mr. Clean, but now, knowing the truth about Rimorr, he barely bats an eye. Everything appears the same—his combed, jet-black hair, his brown eyes, his grey jumpsuit, his round face that would be incompatible with a beard, and his charming smile that used to earn him dates in his high school days. Over the years, he has gained a bit of plumpness to his body, but by no means is he unattractive. The engagement ring on his finger acts as a testament to that fact.

“Rimorr!” he says in a friendly voice, “Didn’t I tell you just to call me by my first name?”

“But all the students call you Mr. Clean.”

“Well, yeah,” he responds brazenly, as he bends down to place a door-stopper, “but that’s cause they’re students. We’re buds.” He stands up straight with the door now stuck open. “And all my buds call me Mister. Which is my birth-given first name!”

Rimorr smiles at Mr. Clean’s odd proclamation.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” he pauses to grab cleaning spray from the cart. “Now, I see the kids really did a number on ya today. You should be a bit more demanding of them. They’d probably listen to you in a heartbeat.”

Rimorr shrugs in an annoyingly indifferent manner.

“I don’t mind.”

It should mind! The bathroom used to be near perfect. Unlike any other high school boy bathroom in the world. Now it is just like the rest of them. Messy and gross.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Well, you should.”

See! Mr. Clean understands the assignment. This is why Mr. Clean is a candidate for the COAT award this year…

Never heard of it? Really? It’s only the most prestigious award that any career cleaner could receive. Think of a beauty pageant, but instead of grading based on the use of chemicals to enhance the looks of a person, it is graded by the enhancement of one's physical environment. The COAT, or Cleanest Of All Time, award started over fifty years ago when—

Stay focused on the story. Not important information.

*sigh*

Anyways, Mr. Clean is really good at his job. He knows what he is doing. If no kids were to come back to this bathroom in the morning, his cleaning job would be sufficient enough to reclaim the cleanest high school boys’ bathroom title.

He continues as he starts cleaning the sink counter, “But I suppose because of this mess, I get to hang out with you more.”

“True,” Rimorr nods in agreement.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Mr. Clean washes the sink and floors in a very thorough and practiced technique. All the while making casual conversation with Rimorr…

“You know, I just realized. You haven’t asked me anything, Mister. Everyone has been asking me questions recently. You can too if you want.”

Mr. Clean ponders this offer for a few seconds.

“A question, huh? I don’t know if I have a question,” he answers.

“Do you have ambitions, Mister?” Rimorr asks without missing a beat. All of its recent interactions have made it particularly masterful in finding the inner desires of those it speaks to. However, in this situation, Rimorr may have overstepped.

“Ambitions?” Confusion laces Mr. Clean’s voice. “No. I’m not sure I do.”

“Well, what do you like doing?”

The same confusion creeps within Rimorr’s reflected voice of Mr. Clean. Neither seems to understand why they are confused.

“I like doing this,” Mr. Clean answers. “Some people may find cleaning as a chore or something too gross to consider for a career. They look pitifully at janitors and think we must have had no other options. That we made poor life choices to ultimately force us into cleaning after others. Which, might be true for some janitors, but not me. I find it satisfying and fulfilling. Plus the pay is pretty good.”

A haunting and knowing smile appears on Mr. Clean’s reflection.

“But you still want more, don’t you?”

A sudden chill overtakes the bathroom.

“More?” A shiver runs down Mr. Clean’s back. “What more would I want?”

“You want to clean more. You want a challenge. You’re content here, but it’s gotten too easy.”

Mr. Clean gulps but doesn’t refute. Now wearing a look of understanding, he nods in agreement to Rimorr’s claims.

“You should quit this job, Mister. Seek the challenge you desire.”

Wait… No, that’s not good. If he goes, this bathroom will have no hope. All the other janitors at North Tron high school suck at cleaning compared to him. Rimorr has to be joking, right? And Mr. Clean would never—

Crap! He’s not laughing. He’s thinking about it. He’s thinking about quitting his job at North Tron High School!