Hiroki—T-109, he reminded himself—had been at it for what felt like an eternity. His hands moved on autopilot, assembling and disassembling the same mechanical piece over and over. The parts clicked together with a precision that no longer required thought, only muscle memory. Click, clack. Assemble. Disassemble. His fingers were numb, his mind even more so, each repetition blurring into the next.
The room was filled with a strange, oppressive quiet, broken only by the low hum that seeped in through the vent above. The sound was relentless, a drone that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, adding weight to the already thick silence. The air felt heavy, almost tangible, pressing down on him with every breath.
The only other sounds were the repetitive clicks of machinery as Hiroki and his coworkers toiled away, performing tasks that had no apparent purpose. They were building and unbuilding the same part endlessly, with no instructions, no goal, just an infinite loop that swallowed time whole.
His eyes drifted up to the clock on the wall. It was a strange thing—a grotesque parody of time. Its face was crowded with sixteen numbers instead of twelve, and three hands spun in erratic circles, never quite settling on any of the numbers. The hands reached far beyond the boundaries of the clock, jutting into the void beyond its edges, as if time itself were slipping away, stretching into something ungraspable.
And yet, somehow, it all seemed perfectly normal. The humming vent, the alien clock, the senseless repetition—it was all just part of the day’s work. But the very fact that it made sense was why Hiroki knew that none of it made sense. The dissonance gnawed at the edges of his mind, an itch he couldn’t scratch.
The deeper he sank into the rhythm of his task, the more the absurdity pressed in on him. What am I doing? he thought, even as his hands continued to move. What is this for? But the questions vanished into the thick air, swallowed by the humming vent, drowned out by the endless cycle of assembling and disassembling.
The click-clack of disassembling and reassembling parts was broken by a low, deep voice. “I’m taking a bathroom break,” K-9 announced, the words dropping heavily into the thick silence of the room. The announcement was so out of character, so formal, that Hiroki’s hands paused mid-motion. He glanced over to where T-1717 was sitting, but she was fully absorbed in her task, her eyes never leaving the parts in her hands.
Something about her focus seemed... off. Hiroki couldn’t bring himself to trust her. So, when K-9 slipped out of the room, Hiroki quietly followed, moving quickly to catch up before the door swung shut.
Inside the bathroom, K-9 was leaning over a grimy sink, water dripping from his hands as he washed them meticulously. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Hiroki, K-9 straightened, glancing at the door for a moment before speaking.
“You’re right not to trust the girl,” K-9 said without turning around. His voice was low, almost a growl. “But this place?” He gestured to the dingy tiles and flickering fluorescent lights. “It’s safe. Corporate can’t hear what’s done in here. It’s illegal. The eye doesn’t reach past these walls.”
Hiroki’s mind spun with this new information. “But if we stay in here too long,” he replied, “that... freak will come in and drag us out before roasting us alive.”
K-9 turned off the tap, flicking droplets from his fingers. “Bingo,” he said, a grim smile playing on his lips.
“How long do we have?” Hiroki pressed, trying to wrap his mind around the strange rules of this place.
“Five minutes,” K-9 said, his eyes dark and serious. “Five minutes is all we’re given.”
A knot of tension loosened in Hiroki’s chest. It wasn’t much, but at least there was a boundary, a small patch of solid ground in this ocean of absurdity. But then, a thought struck him. “How many five-minute bathroom breaks are we allowed in a day?” he asked.
K-9’s expression faltered, his brow furrowing as if he had been hit by a realization he hadn’t considered before. “You know what,” he said slowly, his voice tinged with confusion, “they never actually said.”
Hiroki nodded, the pieces clicking into place in his mind. It was a perfect, twisted trick. The five-minute breaks gave them a sense of structure, a brief reprieve. But by not defining how many breaks were allowed, that small bit of logic was pulled out from under them. It reintroduced the gnawing unease, the sense of always being watched, of never knowing if the next break would be the one that got them “fired.”
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As the realization settled, a devious thought formed in the back of Hiroki’s mind. There was a loophole here, a way to bend this ill-defined rule to his advantage..
Hiroki leaned close to K-9, voice low. “You up for a desperate gamble?”
K-9 shot him a sideways glance, a sly smile forming. “Make it quick—we’re running out of time.”
They exited the bathroom together, their expressions casual, as if nothing was amiss. Hiroki caught T-1717’s suspicious glance and gave her a brief nod. She ignored him, turning back to her work.
Back at their stations, Hiroki and K-9 fell into a precise rhythm. For fifteen minutes, they synchronized their movements: five seconds to assemble, five to disassemble. Click, clack. The tempo was absurdly efficient, allowing them a semblance of order in a place that defied logic.
With each cycle, they maintained the illusion of normalcy, anchoring themselves in a small corner of sanity amid the madness of the factory.
When the fifteen minutes were up, Hiroki and K-9 stood up in unison. Without a word, they made their way back to the bathroom. K-9 kept a slight distance ahead of Hiroki, his pace leisurely, almost as if he were enjoying a stroll. He swayed his head side to side, like someone savoring a favorite tune. Every so often, his gaze flicked back to Hiroki, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something unreadable. Hiroki returned the look—part relieved, having found a conspirator, but also deeply wary.
The bathroom door shut behind them, and K-9 resumed his pacing, his head still swaying. “I keep remembering,” Hiroki blurted out, unable to hold it in any longer.
“Hmm hmm,” K-9 hummed, still pacing, eyes narrowing in anticipation. He looked like he was waiting for Hiroki to hit on the right question.
Hiroki pressed on, the words spilling out. “Our last supervisor mentioned they were expecting new hires because they rarely get any.” K-9’s lips curled into a slow smile, but he said nothing, letting Hiroki continue.
“This place... it’s not normal,” Hiroki said, the pieces clicking together in his mind. “Everyone here is... absorbed into whatever this is. But so far, I’ve noticed that Takeshi, Abeni, and I... we’re still aware. Maybe because we’re new.” He paused, then pointed directly at K-9. “And there’s one more—you. The supervisor said you were the newest hire before us. But... this place doesn’t seem like one that hires new people, does it?”
K-9 stopped pacing. He turned to Hiroki, his grin widening into something almost triumphant. With a quick flick of his fingers, he formed a finger gun, pointing it at Hiroki. “Bingo,” he said with a low chuckle. “This place... it’s special.”
Hiroki’s curiosity was relentless. “What makes this place special? Why is it the way it is?”
K-9’s expression grew darker, his gaze shifting, as if checking for invisible watchers. “The word can’t be spoken in this space,” he said softly. “If you define it, you give it form. And that... would rob it of some of its power.”
Hiroki’s shoulders slumped slightly, disappointment clear on his face. He was desperate to understand what made this twisted place tick. But before Hiroki could sink deeper into frustration, K-9 continued.
“However,” K-9 said, a gleam returning to his eyes, “with the right practice, it’s possible. There are ways to say the right words, at the right time, to slip past certain eyes... maybe even bend the rules here.” As he spoke, a shadowy wisp drifted from his body, swirling around the room before settling above his shoulder.
Hiroki’s eyes widened in shock. He wanted to ask what that was, but something held him back, a nagging feeling that it was something he should already know. As K-9 continued speaking, a strange aura enveloped him. The air around them seemed to twist, distort, like reality itself was fraying at the edges.
K-9’s voice was low and almost hypnotic. “It’s like this,” he said, gesturing at the spectral wisp. “You’ll need to learn how to do this if you want to survive... if you want to carve your own path out of this hell.” His eyes met Hiroki’s, the intensity almost too much to bear. “I’ll teach you,” he promised.
And then, in a sudden, jarring shift, the scene split. Two other bathrooms, identical yet separate, appeared. In one, Takeshi stood, facing K-9, who was surrounded by that same swirling, arcane essence. In the other, Abeni watched K-9 with wide eyes. He was telling them the same thing, the words echoing through each fragmented space.
The scene snapped back to Hiroki and K-9. K-9’s expression shifted to one of urgency. “Not now,” he said. “I can’t tell how long we’ve been here, but I can feel it... our time’s almost up.”
Hiroki nodded, the weight of everything settling heavily on him. They turned to leave, K-9 pushing the door open, only to be met with a chilling sight. The girl, T-1717, was bent over, her face pressed against the gap in the door. Her eyes were hollow, yet they locked onto theirs with an intensity that sent shivers down Hiroki’s spine.
As she stood, she spoke for the first time. Her voice was soft and gentle, but there was something dead behind it, like it had been drained of all life. Whoever she had once been was gone, swallowed by this place.
Hiroki shook his head, the sight a grim confirmation of what this place could do. As they returned to their seats, the familiar click-clack of assembling and disassembling filled the air again, drowning out the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.
There would be no saving that one.