Chapter Four: The Janitor
715 Words
She came to with a grunt and the smell of bleach.
Rubber gloves. A mop handle. The wheeze of an old man’s lungs.
Talia blinked rapidly as her vision swam into focus—flickering overhead lights, a yellow caution sign set awkwardly across the hallway. She was on the lower level of the townhouse, the basement corridor. The tile under her shoes was damp. Somewhere above, muffled voices filtered down through the vents, and she could just barely hear the beginning of the scream.
The loop is expanding, she realized. I’m being pushed farther back.
She was in the janitor now. Name: Jeremiah Booth, 63, quiet, observant. A man most people overlooked.
His body felt heavy. Stiff joints. But something was different. This body held memories longer—deeper. He wasn’t fully overwritten like the others. Talia could feel him there in the background, quietly watching.
“Where…?” she mumbled aloud, surprised to hear her voice functioning again. Raspy, but working.
The clock had already started ticking.
Seven seconds.
Or maybe longer now. It was getting harder to keep track.
She moved quickly, pushing the janitor’s cart to the wall and kneeling beside a rusted pipe that trembled slightly with each footstep from upstairs.
Think. Observe.
There was a narrow side door down the hallway, propped open an inch with a cleaning rag. Talia’s eyes sharpened. Through the c***k: movement.
A figure. Black boots. Carrying something in gloved hands.
A bag. Plastic. Heavy.
Talia inched closer and watched the man kneel near the trash incinerator slot. He looked both ways, then dumped the bag inside and closed the hatch. She caught a flash of something white inside the bag—a lab coat? A phone?
Evidence disposal.
She wanted to run. Confront. But her body couldn't move that fast. The arthritis in Jeremiah’s knees screamed at her.
Still, she stepped forward, leaning her weight on the mop handle.
Then the man turned—half his face visible.
A clean shave. Surgical scar under his left eye.
Talia's breath caught. She had seen him before—in another loop. Not as the killer, but in the lab.
One of the architects of the experiment.
He shouldn’t be here.
He looked straight at her.
And smiled.
“Hello again, Detective,” he said. “You're getting harder to contain.”
BANG.
The loop stuttered.
Talia hit the ground this time, disoriented.
Not dead.
The janitor’s body was still functional, but bleeding. Her left shoulder was hit.
She gritted her teeth and pulled herself behind the mop cart.
Footsteps approached. The sound was distorted. Slower than it should’ve been, like the world was glitching.
Her vision doubled, tripled.
Then she felt the echo of her own thoughts—pushed into her. Not memory. Not voice.
Message received.
Target iteration has exceeded breach threshold. Prepare for reset.
She shivered. That wasn’t coming from the body. That was from the system.
They’re aware I’m stabilizing.
She dragged herself toward the incinerator slot.
Blood smeared the tiles.
She reached the hatch and yanked it open—ignoring the pain. Inside, the plastic bag was still there. Just barely.
She tore it open.
A phone. A torn ID badge.
Name: Dr. Silas Weir.
The man who’d just smiled at her.
He was a senior systems engineer for Project FENIX. According to memory fragments, he had designed the neural stabilization loop.
Talia yanked the phone out and powered it on.
LOADING LOOP INSTANCE 174
Her mouth went dry.
She was a variable. A test.
Instance 174. That meant 173 times before, she’d died in different ways.
And remembered none of them—until now.
She collapsed backward, overwhelmed. Static rang in her ears.
Jeremiah’s memories flickered past like a slideshow:
Watching Dr. Weir sneak down here every Wednesday
Finding used syringes in the trash
Being paid to keep quiet
He knew something.
And he had been waiting.
You’re not alone, Talia thought. Some part of him wanted this.
She opened the phone again.
A final message appeared:
“Cross breach detected. Lockdown protocol initiated.”
A red countdown began: 00:00:07.00
And then—BANG.
Reset.
But this time, something stayed.
She woke again in Jeremiah’s body. The phone—still in her pocket.
Talia smiled.
I’m learning to cheat the loop.
- Writer
