His Dark Sanctuary

Symmetry Of The Beast

Mindy stepped out of the manager’s office, and the whole floor went quiet. It was the kind of silence people made when they had seen something cruel but were too scared to speak. A few coworkers looked at her with pity. Others looked away fast. Nobody wanted trouble.

Her hair was ruined. Jagged pieces hung around her face and neck. The back felt light and cold, like part of her had been torn off and left on that carpet.

Still, Mindy picked up her trolley and went back to work.

What else was she supposed to do?

The office workers moved around her like she was invisible. Shoes clicked past her mop bucket. Phones rang. Laughter floated through the halls. Men in suits gave orders without looking at the people cleaning their mess.

The cleaners were treated like tools. Use them. Ignore them. Replace them if they broke.

Nobody complained.

Complaining got you fired.

And getting fired meant no rent, no food, no lights at home.

Reporting the manager was useless. Everyone knew he had friends in high places. Rules bent for men like him. Doors opened for men like him. If someone spoke up, somehow the complaint vanished before lunch.

So people kept their heads down and swallowed their anger. By midday, it was break time. The cleaners gathered near the flower garden outside the building. It sat beside the side entrance, tucked away from the glass towers and shiny front doors.

Flowers bloomed in neat rows, bright and soft, like they belonged to another world.

For the cleaners, it was the only place that felt human.

They sat on benches, low walls, or patches of grass. Lunch boxes opened. Bread was shared. Someone cracked a joke. Someone laughed too hard because sometimes laughter was all you had.

Mindy sat with them but barely touched her food. She tore off a small piece of bread and chewed without tasting it. Her eyes stayed on the giant GRCB building rising above them. Glass shining in the sun.

Beautiful from far away.

Ugly on the inside.

“How bad is it?” one woman asked softly, looking at Mindy’s hair.

Mindy shrugged. “Hair grows back.”

The woman nodded, but both of them knew it was not about the hair.

Time moved slowly, then all at once.

The break ended.

Everyone returned inside, dragging tired feet and fake smiles. The last few hours of the shift always felt the longest. People watched clocks. Cleaners rushed to finish lists. Office workers packed bags and talked about dinner plans.

When evening finally came, relief moved through the building like wind.

People were ready to go home.

Mindy should have felt the same.

Instead, dread sat heavy in her stomach.

It was her turn to clean the manager’s office.

Every cleaner hated that room.

It smelled of expensive cigars, sharp cologne, and something worse—power. The kind of power that enjoyed making others small.

Mindy stood outside the office door with her trolley.

Then the manager came out.

He was on his phone, walking fast, speaking in a low, angry voice. He almost passed her, then stopped when their eyes met.

He knew exactly why she was there.

“Be quick,” he said. “I’m giving you ten minutes.”

He did not wait for an answer.

He kept walking.

Mindy swallowed hard, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The office was too large for one man. Dark wood shelves. Leather chairs. A wide desk polished so clean it reflected light. Art on the walls that probably cost more than her house.

She got to work right away.

Trash bin emptied.

The carpet was checked.

Dust was wiped from shelves.

The desk was cleaned last.

Every movement was fast and careful. She wanted out before he came back.

Her gloves slid over the smooth wood surface.

Then the silence broke. Ping. A sharp sound came from the laptop; the screen lit up with messages. She looked toward the door. Nobody.

Ping.

The sound kept coming, urgent and nasty, like someone hammering on a locked gate.

She told herself to ignore it.

Not your business.

Not your problem.

But the messages kept flashing.

Her feet moved before her mind agreed.

She leaned over the desk, heart pounding hard enough to hurt. The screen was unlocked. A chat window sat open with a contact named Smith.

Her eyes dropped to the latest messages.

Andrew: Why haven’t you moved the packages? Fang called me. They still haven’t received them.

Smith: Had to change locations. The boss’s men were scouting the area. I had to pull back.

Mindy’s mouth went dry.

Another message.

Andrew: Damn it. They were scouting because someone talked. We have a snitch. Find out who it is and bring them in alive.

Her fingers curled against the desk.

Another message appeared.

Smith: I found out who it was, but he got ahead of us. We need to stop. The boss knows.

Then another.

Smith: Are you hearing me? I don’t want to die. You saw what he did to James. I’m not ending like him.

Mindy stared at the words.

The manager.

Andrew.

He was not just cruel.

He was dangerous.

She quickly closed the chat window, breathing fast. Her mind screamed at her to step away.

Leave now.

Forget what you saw.

But fear and curiosity can look alike sometimes.

Her eyes landed on a folder sitting open near the bottom of the screen.

Videos.

Photos.

She clicked one before she could stop herself.

The clip opened.

A man tied to a chair.

Blood on the floor.

Andrew was standing beside him, smiling like he was at a party.

Mindy slammed the laptop shut halfway, then opened it again in panic. If she closed it fully, it might lock.

Her stomach turned.

She clicked through photos.

Different men.

Different rooms.

Faces twisted in pain.

Some of the men beside Andrew wore suits and expensive watches. Men who probably shook hands in public and smiled for cameras.

Monsters in clean clothes.

Then a notification slid across the top of the screen.

R80 million was paid to jeff-8234-991 from Gold Reef Central Bank.

Mindy stopped breathing for a second.

She clicked it.

A list of transfers opened.

Huge amounts of money moved to account after account after account.

This was not one dirty deal.

This was a machine.

Money, fear, murder, lies.

All running through the bank.

Her hands began to shake.

If anyone could prove it, maybe the cleaners could be free of him. Maybe everyone could.

Then she saw it.

A small hard drive plugged into the side of the laptop.

Her eyes darted to the door.

No sound.

No footsteps.

She reached out.

Her fingers trembled so badly she almost missed it.

She pulled the hard drive free and shoved it deep into her pocket.

Her chest pounded.

What had she just done?

If he caught her—

She thought of the man in the chair.

Thought of blood on the floor.

Thought of James.

The office door handle moved.

Click.

Mindy spun around.

The door began to open.

Andrew was back.

And she was standing over his laptop.