"It's the 8th Floor," Devon muttered as he reached the final step of the stairwell and pushed the door open.
What greeted him wasn't a masked Seeker, but a startled coworker. The man flinched at Devon's sudden appearance, recoiling with his arms up as if bracing for a blow.
Devon narrowed his eyes, analyzing the trembling figure.
"Your name?" he asked flatly.
The coworker hesitated, slowly lowering his arms. His dark brown hair was disheveled, a few strands clinging to his sweat-drenched forehead. Blood speckled his once-white dress shirt like ink on a crumpled page. He wore no ID badge, a fact that Devon immediately noted.
The man's voice shook.
"M... My name's J... Jerome," he stammered.
Devon's gaze drifted past Jerome to the shadows behind him—where a small cluster of employees huddled together, their backs hunched with fear and panic etched on their faces.
'They're probably heading down, hoping to find help like the others,' Devon thought coolly.
His eyes returned to Jerome, locking with his. Jerome flinched again, unable to hold the stare. He looked down and to the side as if Devon's presence alone was too heavy to endure.
"Move," Devon said, voice low and commanding.
Jerome didn't argue. He quickly stepped aside, as did the others behind him, parting like reeds in the wind to let Devon through.
Devon strode past without another word, his footsteps steady. But behind him, Jerome suddenly called out.
"It's safer if we move together! We'll join up with those on the lower floors and call for help!" Jerome said, trying to sound brave, though his voice trembled.
Devon didn't break stride.
Jerome took a step forward, reaching a hand toward Devon's shoulder, only for the latter to whip around, eyes sharp with warning.
"Do not touch me."
Jerome froze mid-motion, his hand hanging in the air before falling limply to his side. He stepped back with a clenched jaw, lips pressing into a thin line.
"What's his problem?" one coworker muttered under their breath.
"Seems like he wants to kill himself," another whispered bitterly.
But amid the murmuring, a pair of eyes watched Devon closely—cold, unreadable. The figure stood still in the group, half-hidden in shadow. Around his neck swung an employee ID badge labeled Sean. The dim lighting obscured his face, but the ID showed a bespectacled man with chin-length straight hair and thick bangs.
Devon continued walking deeper into the floor, swallowed by the darkness like a figure walking into a void.
'If it wasn't for this, you'd all be dead already,' Devon thought, his voice cold even in his mind.
He vanished from sight, the corridor ahead unlit and silent.
"Crazy dude," someone murmured.
"He might buy us some time to leave."
"You can't say that," another replied.
Jerome raised his hand to motion for the others to move.
"Let's continue, everyone," he said firmly.
'I still remember how they died...' Jerome thought, the memory stabbing through him like ice.
Flashback.
Jerome's body was curled between two cabinets, barely breathing. He held a hand over his mouth, trying to silence his own heartbeat. Through a crack, he watched as a few coworkers were taken down—quietly, swiftly. There were no gunshots. No loud crashes. Only their bodies dropping like dolls.
Terror had rooted him in place.
Back in the present, Jerome blinked as the memory slipped away. But just as he turned, something flickered past the rear of the group—a dark blur.
He squinted into the corridor. Nothing.
'Must've been an illusion... stress is getting to me,' Jerome thought, nervously shaking it off.
Elsewhere..._____
Devon moved quietly through the empty hallway. It smelled faintly of metal and burnt plastic. Up ahead, three bodies lay sprawled across the tiled floor, arms limp at their sides.
Each corpse had a clean, surgical puncture wound directly through the skull. Their mouths hung open mid-scream, and their eyes were lifeless, frozen wide with terror.
Devon knelt beside one.
"These are deep puncture wounds. Looking at the smoothness, it must've been a quick and precise kill," he muttered under his breath.
'On the 7th floor, there were bullet wounds on the security team. But on the 8th floor... clean piercings through the skull.Is each floor's Seeker using a different method to kill?'
He was still examining the bodies when a new sound cut through the silence—the slow, deliberate tapping of office shoes against tile.
Click.
Clack.
Click.
Each step grew louder, closer.
Devon scanned the room quickly for a place to hide. His eyes locked onto a desk pushed near a row of cubicles. Without hesitation, he slid beneath it and pulled a nearby office chair in front to obscure his position.
The footsteps paused just meters from him.
From beneath the desk, Devon squinted through the faint sliver of light between the floor and chair. He expected to see combat boots. Instead—sleek, ordinary office shoes.
Devon's breath hitched slightly.
'Maybe... the Seekers aren't outsiders at all,' he thought grimly. 'What if they're employees of the company?'
He slowly looked up through the gap, eyes focusing on the figure now standing above him.
Around the man's neck hung an ID badge that swung lightly from side to side. The name printed on it was Sean.
Just as before.
But now Devon saw more. Attached to Sean's arm was a strange device—some kind of launcher, compact but mechanical in nature. Around his waist hung a belt of long, metallic rods, sharpened at the ends like javelins. Sleek. Efficient. Deadly.
'This is the one who killed the three on this floor others,' Devon realized.
He lowered his gaze back to the floor, remaining still, mind racing.
'This is worse than I thought. Is there even anyone left I can trust in this building?If others start seeing the killers wearing employee IDs, paranoia will spread—fast. Distrust is more dangerous than any weapon. It'll be every man for himself. No allies. No friends.'
His thoughts were cold and precise.
Then, a smirk began to curl at the edge of Devon's lips. His eyes glinted faintly from beneath the desk, mirroring the darkness around him.
"Good," Devon whispered."Wouldn't have it any other way."
A quiet, eerie grin spread across his face as he remained hidden—waiting. Watching.