The stairwell was illuminated by motion-activated lights, their pale glow flickering on in tandem with the players' footsteps, just as Justin had predicted—their progress was seamless.
The elevator halted on the eighteenth floor, its doors sliding open.
Before them stood a plaque denoting the CEO's office, with a receptionist stationed at the front desk who greeted them warmly—appearing entirely ordinary.
"Do you have an appointment?" the secretary inquired with a courteous smile.
"No, may we have a look around?" Eric ventured.
The secretary shook her head gently. "This is working hours. You're here for the Best Employee evaluation, are you not? Now is hardly the time to wander freely."
Eric did not press further, glancing at Justin. "Let's move on."
Observing Eric's restraint, Justin nodded approvingly. "Very well, then to the cafeteria."
The group descended the stairs to the fourth-floor dining hall. Breakfast was over and lunch service had yet to begin—no soul stirred within.
Janet, tasked with ordering food, pleaded softly, "I'd like to check the kitchen. Will any of you accompany me?"
None wished to invite unnecessary danger; having made it safely to the dining hall was already a small victory.
"You can go alone. We'll wait here," Justin offered.
Janet hesitated.
So the group continued downward to the ground floor lobby. Justin declared, "Next stop is the nearby newsstand. Same rules: we stick together, explore individually as you like."
Those whose missions involved the newsstand nodded eagerly.
Eleven players traversed eleven locations, the farthest requiring an hour-long bus ride.
Yet each site offered no opportunity for investigation; not yet the appointed time, all appeared utterly normal, devoid of any anomaly.
"My mission time has arrived," a middle-aged male player announced, swallowing nervously. "I'll enter now."
His task was to deliver car keys lost at the company to a client's home by noon—the most distant destination—making him the last to arrive. They waited outside the gated community where security was stringent; only allowed to loiter briefly at the entrance.
With no clues, the man steeled himself and entered.
He explained his purpose to the guard, who verified it by phone before gesturing him through.
The others waited beyond the gate—an hour passed with no sign of him.
"My mission's at two p.m. I must go," another player said.
"I'm due at three; I'll wait another hour at most."
"Those with urgent duties may depart; don't delay your tasks," Justin advised.
Ten minutes later, four players set off together.
After twenty minutes, the middle-aged man still had not returned. Justin turned. "We should leave; the next bus is arriving, and we must get back."
"Not waiting for him?" the frightened newcomer pleaded.
"We've waited an hour and a half already." Justin shook his head. "It's just a key delivery. If he could come out, he would have. Remember, he has a wallet—you all received wallets at your desks, right? If he's still able to leave, he can afford a bus ticket himself. Let's go."
On their way back, two players' tasks approached, and they separated from the group.
Only five remained upon returning to the company building.
Back on the thirteenth floor, a suffocating atmosphere permeated. Three players stared resolutely but looked grim, as though a shadow hung heavily over their shoulders.
Eric's station lay beside Catherine's. Nursing her coffee, Catherine caught Eric's gaze and responded with a nod and a faint smile.
Resting briefly at her desk, Eric was approached by Janet.
"I'm so nervous—are you?" Janet fretted, nervously twisting her fingers. Their tasks both scheduled for six o'clock, one ascending, one descending, Janet felt a kinship with Eric.
"A little," Eric admitted.
"I'm terrified. I did a scenario once and encountered a ghost on the stairs. It chased me for what felt like forever."
No wonder Janet was troubled—she bore a past scar.
Eric had no words of comfort; all were fellow travelers facing the same impending trial.
Eric was a good listener, though not an adept comforter. Janet didn't mind; she found Eric kind and gentle, patient even as she babbled on without impatience.
Later, Janet fetched water from the break room, pouring a cup for Eric.
More players returned, and Justin briefly stepped out before rejoining them, his expression suggesting a smooth mission.
At 5:55 p.m., Eric waited alone by the elevator.
Within the building, most players gathered to observe. Near the stairwell, a small cluster of onlookers had formed, coincidentally including Janet descending the steps.
The elevator car waited downstairs, pausing briefly at various floors. As it neared the thirteenth floor close to six o'clock, Eric stepped inside, selected her destination, and the doors closed, severing the gaze of other players.
Bang!
The wall clock struck exactly six o'clock.
The elevator doors slammed shut with a resounding clang, startling the assembly.
Inside the cabin, Eric was equally unnerved by the sudden forceful closure—had she entered a moment later, would the doors have cleaved her in two?
Before the thought could fully form, the temperature inside plummeted; the lights flickered dimly and intermittently. From the polished walls, a crimson shadow emerged like a chilling specter, freezing the very air. A ghostly hand crept toward her neck, its frigid touch causing Eric to shiver uncontrollably.
Amid the flickering gloom, ice coursed through her frame; the phantom grip constricted her throat mercilessly, strangling her breath. Eric clawed at the invisible hold, feeling as though she grasped an ancient shard of ice—unyielding and numbing, utterly immovable.
Elbow strikes, kicking, wielding a knife—every attempt to resist or retaliate proved futile. Man's defiance before the supernatural was but a futile struggle, powerless as an ant shaking a mighty tree.
The air thinned alarmingly; suffocation loomed. Eric sensed the impending embrace of death.
The elevator ascended to the fifteenth floor.
"What… what do you… want?" Eric rasped through clenched teeth.
In the primary school graduation mission, a knitted hat had earned Julie's favor—might this red-clad apparition respond to her beseeching?
The pressure around her neck remained relentless, vision dimming.
The elevator reached the sixteenth floor.
Trapped utterly, incapable of escape, a coldness surged through every limb and sinew. Dizziness blurred her mind; fleeting life scenes shimmered in her fading consciousness.
She was on the brink of death.
Clang!
The elevator halted at last, its mechanics releasing their burden with a hollow sound.
The doors swished open.
Beep.
Simultaneously, the red figure shrieked, "Ah!"
The icy grip released, the suffocating frost retreating. Bright light flooded her eyes as Eric squinted, recognizing the familiar receptionist's desk on the eighteenth floor.
Pristine and immaculate, it was as though she had been transported from hell to earth.
"Oh dear, you've fallen! Are you alright? Did you bring the documents? The boss is anxious to see them!" The receptionist waved warmly, reaching out to assist her.
"Cough, cough, cough!" Eric convulsed in a heart-wrenching fit, tears streaming. Yet salvation brought clarity; instinctively, she glanced at the elevator's display.
Floor eighteen.
They had arrived.
Lost in a daze, Eric ignored the outstretched hand, rising slowly and immediately pressing the elevator's close door button.
"Hey!" The receptionist's eyes widened in puzzlement. "What are you doing?"
She reached to block the door, but with a heavy clang, it shut firmly. In that fleeting instant, Eric glimpsed the receptionist's contorted visage, eyes brimming with malice.
The display read eighteen, yet Eric pressed the button again. Leaning against the cabin wall, she struggled for breath. Each inhale felt like swallowing needles, piercing her throat. Her gaze was resolute.
From her scant experience with supernatural missions, she knew: the eighteenth floor outside was a facade. Step out, and she would deliver the folder to the wrong person—failure assured.
The elevator slowly ascended; the number shifted to minus seventeen.
Clutching her neck, gasping, Eric was grateful for her insight—the floor before her was not eighteen, but negative eighteen.
Her brief relief vanished as the red specter returned, clutching her throat once more.
This time, sensing the threat, Eric drew the folder concealed within her sports jacket and wielded it with all her might.
She swung the folder like a blade. The ghost, impervious to knives, emitted a piercing wail when struck by the folder.
"Ah!"
The choking grip slackened; Eric's relentless assault turned the specter into a panicked fugitive, vanishing into thin air.
Blood stained the folder; Eric wiped the gore away with her clothing and eyed the elevator display: -11, -10, -9… 3, 4… 16, 17, 18.
Beep. Floor eighteen arrived.
The doors parted.
The familiar receptionist greeted Eric with a smile. "You brought the documents? Hand them over."
Eric complied. The receptionist flicked through the blank pages with evident acceptance, smiling. "You're punctual. Here, let me stamp this for you."
Pressing a vermilion seal atop the task card, she left Eric a handprint.
"Thank you," Eric whispered.
Descending, Eric remained in the elevator—not from stubbornness, but knowing her task was complete and the red ghost unlikely to reappear. She surmised its purpose had been to confuse and terrify, compelling her to mistake the negative eighteenth floor for a sanctuary and deliver the folder incorrectly. Additionally, Janet's concurrent task made stair use ill-advised.
Despite conjecture, Eric tensed within the elevator, vigilant.
Even if the red phantom returned, she was prepared; having survived the journey from the thirteenth to the negative eighteenth floor unscathed, she trusted herself to endure the ride back from eighteenth to thirteenth.
Indeed, all proceeded uneventfully. The elevator doors opened to reveal several players waiting outside.