Chapter 8: Grinding Office Spaces

I made it to the bottom of the stairs after having a nice sit down and a nap part of the way down once I no longer heard the music. One thing I noticed was that it was not a city, not even close. It was an office space. The guy who rushed back through the floors must have gotten them mixed up, it's not a big deal.

I didn't get any meaningful information about this floor so I would have to do this the normal way, and figure it out myself. I scouted the first room, noticing that there were cubicles, and instead of being normal, they were empty except for a single file cabinet in each.

The file cabinets were a dark brown in color, a startling contrast to the light gray of the cubicle walls and empty desk present in every cubicle. One of them was left slightly ajar and I felt drawn towards it. The middle of three large drawers was opened and I could see paper stacked end to end haphazardly.

There were papers that were barely even in the drawer, and some that just had a corner sticking out. I was unnaturally drawn to the papers, and before I even knew it, I was grabbing one of the sheets of paper and reading it. To my absolute horror, I was being forced to read it against my will.

'Ω - report #X6-5

Logan Rivers, time of death: 06:55 04/04/2018

Autopsy suggests that Mr. Rivers had succumbed to internal bleeding after enduring several years of domestic violence, as investigated by Officer Adams after a DOA to the hospital. There was bleeding throughout the abdominal cavity, as well as within the small and large intestines.

Scarring was present on several internal organs, as if they had been repeatedly burst and healed. Several trips to the hospital with various unrelated accidents coincide with several major internal injuries which usually correlated to physical abuse. However, upon patient adamance, no investigation was done at the time, but it was noted on his file.

Mr. Rivers' skull and ribs also show several signs of repeated fracture through blunt force. One particular instance of such indents indicate a rather forceful impact on the front of his skull. Notably, the same area on his left upper arm shows signs of force elongation through repeated refractures and improper healing while the bones are held a slight distance apart.'

A normal, but detailed death report, as far as I could tell. The report went on to describe the physical appearance of the victim detailed in the death report. I wanted to stop reading, to deny this document any more of my time. I wanted to deny the reality of it, but I kept reading.

'Average height Caucasian male. Short blond hair, green eyes, no facial hair at time of death.'

This… is me.

I am Logan Rivers. The physical description matches me perfectly.

I managed to eventually convince myself that I needed to put the paper back and close the drawer. Something powerful in the back of my mind was trying to force me to pick up another paper. I could resist it while standing still, but as soon as my thoughts wandered, it was over. The drawer was already back open and another paper in my hands.

'Ω - report #X6-13

Logan Rivers, time of death: 06:54 04/04/2020

Autopsy concludes that the seventeen bullet wounds are responsible for the quick bleeding that was unable to be stopped by the time paramedics had arrived. Mr. Rivers survived for a total of twenty four hours after the wounds had occurred, with paramedics and hospital staff doing whatever they could.

Mr. Rivers was unfortunately caught in the crossfire of a deadly police shootout. Untrained officers were given access to firearms they were untrained on resulting in the deaths of many civilians along with the escape of several high profile criminals that potentially could have been detained under proper training.

Under investigation from the Chief of police, reparations will be given, and the funeral paid for by the state. Mr. Rivers suffered the entire time he had remaining on this earth due to negligence, end of report.'

A daunting read. Something I wish I could have not read. Being forced to read about my own death was troubling enough, I have memories of the police incident. There was a shootout near my house and I chose to leave out the back door and go to a friend's house.

There were no bullet holes in the house though, and my room was at the back away from the street! There was no way I could have died from stray bullets… but what if I did stay, would I have died?

As for abuse, I had a shitty father, and physical discipline was never off the table, it wasn't abuse. Perhaps… it is what could have been, if my father was a worse person. Another time where I wasn't so lucky and was told that abuse was normal and I didn't have to tell anyone.

I took a few long breaths to calm myself while holding on to the same death report. I could tell this floor was going to be very stressful, if not perhaps the hardest yet. Something here was forcing me to look at these papers, and as soon as I set one down, I would be forced to pick up a different one.

Unless I found a way to resist it.

I set the paper onto the desk with a heavy slam and started to run. My hand had immediately gone numb because I had slammed it down so hard, and I focused on that. I focused on my hand while I ran through the office as fast as I could.

Every time a file cabinet would enter my vision, I would feel an urge to stop running. I refocused on the numbness in my hand that had turned into a slight burning pain. Thinking about something else helped immensely as I tried to rush through the floor.

After quickly opening the door, I feel my head turn to look at the nearest file cabinet, and I start walking towards it. With what felt like all of my luck, there was a distraction to pull my attention right before I opened the cabinet. A familiar leather bound book with the lovely 'There is freedom in death.' on the spine.

'To whomever reads this, I'm sorry, I can't help you escape.

But I can help you survive.

I've left books on every floor I can get access to. This book is for Floor Eight.'

I stop reading for a second to catch my breath. I had been running nearly full speed for a while now, and while I was getting stronger after running and moving all the time, I still had my limits. While I held the book in my hands, it was easy to resist the compulsion to open the cabinet.

I decided to start walking while I read. It didn't seem like there was anything here that would immediately try and kill me, and I may as well make progress while I'm reading. Even if this is most likely a random floor and progress is technically meaningless and the floor doesn't end until it thinks I'm ready to leave.

'Floor eight is a tricky one. I'm glad you've made it this far, it takes a lot of courage to even make it this far. Unfortunately, courage doesn't make you physically stronger. For this floor, you need to develop a mental and physical fortitude.

There is a compulsion to force you to read the files held within each and every cabinet. At first it will be easy to ignore with simple distractions, but as you get closer and closer to the exit of the floor, this compulsion will be so strong that it is near impossible to resist.

The cabinets contain files on how you have died, and it is generally agreed upon that these are alternate timelines. Every choice you have ever made is contained within these cabinets, all of which resulting in death. The closer you get to the exit, the more recent, and more gruesome these are.

The best way that I have found to make it through this floor is to listen to the compulsion when it gets too strong to ignore, then hold that piece of paper in your hand and run. Read while running, or walking if you are tired. This floor is short, twenty-four randomized rooms on average.

If you find a better way, please, if you find me, tell me. I pre-wrote this book before coming to this floor as the compulsion prevents even me from writing. I wish you the best of luck, may you live on.'

So it is like that, huh. Understood. I placed the book back onto the desk, knowing that taking it with me was pointless, and leaving it for the next person is better. I resist the compulsion for as long as I can while I travel. I make it to the fifth room before I am forced to walk over to a cabinet and grab a report. After I grab it, I keep moving, but I am still forced to read.

'Ω - report #V4-91

Logan Rivers, time of death: 17:56 01/05/2019

Autopsy concludes that death was caused by a large head wound. The head wound is roughly the size of an American quarter, drilled cleanly through the skull with no other deathly injury visible on the entire body.

A scan concluded that the entirety of the brain was removed slowly, a small section at a time, as some of the internal organs have signs of shutting down long before others. There are signs of being bound to something as strap marks can be seen around the chest, forehead, forearm, wrists, hips, knees and ankles. Vocal cords stretched beyond assumed normal, assumedly from screams during the operations performed.

Mr. Rivers had been missing for roughly three days before police raided the house of a suspected serial killer, and discovered the bleeding skull of Mr. Rivers. How the killer managed to capture Mr. Rivers is still under investigation as of 22/03/2020. End of report.'

They removed my brain slowly over time. What a way to go, I can only imagine how painful that must have been. I'd actually like to not think about how painful that would be, on second thought. What was I doing back in May of that year that would result in me getting kidnapped?

Wait, wasn't that my trip to another country with my father? That's usually the time of year he drags me around to do something crazy. No, it was the day we got back. I got separated from my dad while at the airport. We both had phones, but he never answered, so I went looking for him.

I had the choice to just go and wait by his car until he showed up, or try to find him in the terminal. I ended up choosing to find him in the terminal. So that's what would have happened to me if I would have gone to the car. I would have been picked up by a serial killer and tortured.

Moving on quickly, I held the paper in my hands while I kept moving, but it wasn't long until I felt pulled to a smaller cabinet that sat on top of a desk. I tried my best to ignore it, a different size never meant anything good, so I tried to go to a normal cabinet, but was pulled back to the smaller one.

I tried to stop my feet as a dreadful feeling filled my mind. I knew I didn't want to read what this one said. I knew it was going to be bad, but the compulsion wasn't going easy on me anymore. It felt like I was no longer in control of my own body, a horrible fact as I opened the only drawer and pulled out a page.

'Ω - report #S1-5

Logan Rivers, time of death: unknown time, date range of 01/09/2015 to 15/09/2015

Autopsy concludes no foul play was involved in the death of Mr. Rivers. Mr. Rivers has unfortunately taken his own life via strangulation. He was found deep within the woods on the outskirts of the city he lived in with a note placed in a plastic bag held down with a rock at his feet.

Due to privacy reasons, the note cannot be included in this report, but because of it, we were required to search for foul play and emotional manipulation. Unfortunately, we can conclude that Mr. Rivers was the target of several forms of targeted harassment, and without the proper means of help and support, took his own life.

The proper authorities have been alerted, and lawsuits are being filed. End of report.'

I swallowed nervously while I walked. I knew the exact events that led to this choice, the reason I knew how to tie a noose. It… isn't a happy memory, one I would rather never think about again. I crumpled the paper in my hands, just the thought of the event was making me angry.

I was framed for an event that didn't even happen in the first place. I never tolerated people's lies when I was younger and that made a small clique of people very unhappy when I kept telling them what was on my mind and that the way they went about things was going to end up biting them back.

They must have taken that as a threat, because from that day forward, my life was a living hell. They would… I'm not going into details, I just read how it could have ended if I hadn't been strong enough to try and talk to my family about it. Which turned out horribly, but at least I was still alive.

I was so angry because even when I tried to get help, there was none. My mother only gave superficial advice that amounted to 'just be happy'. Yeah if it was that easy I wouldn't have done what this paper described. Instead, I lived out of spite. I never got revenge, it wasn't worth it.

They needed to be proved wrong, and more than anything; I needed to be right. Right I was too, they pissed off the wrong person and they were too old to dodge the punishment with the 'I'm too young to go to jail.' I believe the shortest sentence was ten years, no bail, no parole.

It was my victory in the end, but I had already felt so hollow by the end of it, it didn't matter. Years later, I find myself reliving past trauma that I had long since buried. I was angry, angrier than I had any right being.

There was something basically controlling me, forcing me to look at these deaths of mine. I would swallow my hatred, there was nowhere to vent it, and venting in a place like this felt like an atrocious idea.

I managed to make it more rooms than usual, fueling myself on built up rage at my situation. A dangerous balance of hatred and determination was pushing me through this floor. I knew it was only going to get worse, the book told me as such.

For the sake of my own sanity, I mentally blocked the next death from entering my memory. It was just sad, tragic, and completely avoidable. Narrowly, it was in my life, but it shouldn't have gotten to that point. Not once, not ever.

Saying 'it'll never happen again' is a sorry excuse a parent can give when their child's life was at risk. Something that still made me angry. Was that this floor's goal, to make me angry? If so, it was doing a wonderful job. Was I just getting unlucky? Or is anger luckier than pure terror?

I pushed onwards through the floor. I didn't get as far this time before I was forced to start reading another death. Just based on the date on the paper, I knew what this one was, it was a rather recent event.

'Ω - report #K21-7

Logan Rivers, time of discovery: 11:15 20/06/2022

Autopsy suggests predation by several large wolf-like creatures based upon the nature of the bite marks. However, the outer layer of flesh from Mr. Rivers' body looks to be completely dissolved.

I am willing to say dissolved due to the lack of clean lacerations anywhere on the body, but the work was odd. Only the outer layer of the epidermis is dissolved, like it was absorbed by something, but there's not a single mark to indicate this.

It is almost like he never had any outer skin to begin with. He still has the lower dermis, but it is discolored and gray, unnaturally so even after all the blood is drained. Cause of death has been determined to be unknown, as whatever removed his outer skin is most definitely what killed him. End of report.'

Floor four. That cave would have drained me if the wolves hadn't lured me out with the battle. The fact that I had my limbs still meant that the wolves didn't eat me in that cave. I am almost certain that was the death that happened if I ran into the cave instead of leaving past the wolves.

However, this did raise an interesting question. Who wrote this report? Every other report has been written by someone in the outside world, but a death that was in here was in the exact same style without knowing the only wolf creature's name on that floor.

My corpse had been sent to the outside world. That confused me even more though, as I have seen a handful of corpses scattered throughout the floors. Despite not seeing another living person, there's only been corpses. If there were other people here, I would have surely seen someone at this point.

I didn't understand this place at all. I was now less angry and more confused. However, I was starting to feel sick from reading all these descriptive notes about my own death. I felt like a part of me was breaking with every page, but I couldn't bring myself to really feel anything about it.

Of course it's awful and tragic, but what am I going to do about it? Those me's are already dead, and while I felt slightly sick, if I cared about every single one of these, I was going to break down emotionally long before anything eventful happened.

So I soldiered on, managing to resist the compulsion more easily every time I read a new page. I was reading death after death, becoming more and more desensitized. Eight deaths were read while I was walking. The compulsion ramped up even more drastically than I thought it would.

It was reaching a tipping point where I could no longer walk forwards without reading about my own death. Torn limb from limb, strung upside down from a tree and left to bleed to death. Lost in the desert as the animals pick my skin off, the deaths were no longer tangential to real world events, but were becoming more and more horrifying,m draining me mentally.

I had thrown up several times reading atrocities done to me.

'Ω - report #B8-2

Logan Rivers, time of death: 15:00 23/07/2021

Autopsy inconclusive, as well as unorthodox. Mr. Rivers had been turned completely inside out. A rather horrifying sight for doctors when he supposedly arrived at the ER with his heart completely visible, but still beating. He was unable to scream as his mouth was on the inside, so it came out as a muffled noise.

Based on reports, he was euthanized. The doctors couldn't do anything for him, surgery was an option, but sedatives no longer worked and increased his pain, evident by the increase in screaming and elevated heart rate. Stimulants also made him cry out in pain, with nothing being able to help the poor man…

A true medical anomaly once Mr. Rivers arrived at the autopsy table. There was no indication of the method to turn him inside out perfectly, and his parents claim that he was the normal way around just that morning.

No foul play. End of report.'

I didn't even want to read anymore. I was too horrified to feel anything but just sadness anymore. I had to be put down because I was in so much pain and they couldn't do anything for me. It was horrifying to the point of just being sad.

I felt empty as I spotted the exit. I was walking towards it when the strongest compulsion yet hit me and turned me around on the spot. I was tired, and I just let it happen, I would be able to walk through the exit while reading this last report.

'Ω - report #A1-0

Logan Rivers, time of death: 19:00 01/01/2019

Autopsy was impossible, as the body came into my department for cremation. There wasn't much to eaxime, as the only fully recoverable body part that came through here was Mr. River's head. A tragic, tragic accident.

Mr. Rivers had been at the site of a car accident while nearby a tree removal was taking place. There was a crane that was moving the wood into a large industrial wood chipper. The wood chipper had aged and supposedly the only way to turn it off was inside the crane.

Mr. Rivers was hit by a car at the same time the crane operator had left the crane for a smoke break, as he wore noise canceling headphones while working to minimize hearing loss, he had accidentally hit the button to start the wood chipper.

The car had flung the unfortunate Mr. Rivers into the mouth of the wood chipper. By the time someone alerted the crane operator, and he had unlocked it and stopped the wood chipper it was already too late.

Mr. Rivers, by a witness retelling had gone in leg first, pulled along the bottom by a slow spike conveyor meant to prevent overfeeding of large logs into the wood chipper. There was well over twenty seconds of screaming before Mr. Rivers fell unconscious, then perishing a few more later.

No foul play, but the driver that hit Mr. Rivers is being charged with several years in prison, along with the weight of having killed a young man. End of report.'

It was absurd. There's no way such a situation would happen in reality, but I couldn't help but vomit onto the stairs. I felt so sick and nauseated from reading my own death repeatedly. I hated it, but it was over. There was no more compulsion even after I set the paper down on the ground.

It was time for the next floor… I guess.