"Life is truly unfair," Hex whispered under his breath, his gaze following his colleagues as they clocked out for the evening. It was a scene he had come to dread. Hex wasn't in a position to enjoy the carefree evenings that others seemed to take for granted. This was the only job he had since dropping out of college to raise money for his mother's mounting hospital bills. As a janitor, his duties would start at 7 PM and end at midnight. There wasn't much for him to do during those hours—just a quiet, lonely office to clean.

The dim incandescent lights above flickered lazily, casting an almost tired glow over the empty desks as his boss gave the usual parting words.

"Hey, Hex, make sure you lock up before heading out," his boss called. Whilst heading out.

That sound—the click of the door—was a cue he had grown accustomed to. It was a cue for him to escape into his own little world.

Hex slid his headset on and pressed play on his favorite track. The bittersweet melody washed over him, a strangely perfect reflection of his life.

In the quiet of the empty office, he let go.

Spinning the mop handle like it was a microphone, Hex performed for an imaginary crowd of thousands, their cheers echoing in his mind. He felt like a star, alive with passion, invincible.

In moments like these, Hex felt like he could do anything and everything. The burdens he carried melted away, leaving him in a world filled with energy and light.

Hex approached every task with determination. One thing he carried from his days in the military was the mantra:

"A soldier never gives up."

Perhaps this was why the company hadn't replaced him with cleaning machines, despite their efficiency and low cost.

This was a typical day in Hex's life.

He always woke up with the hope that today would be different.

And unbeknownst to him, this day—July 16, 2025—was indeed going to be different.

He woke up, put on his glasses, freshened up, and prepared to visit his mother.

On the way, he stubbed his toe twice on a loose, tilted hinge in the pavement—a bad omen in his culture.

Hex winced and muttered under his breath, fully believing in what others would call superstition.

He was gullible.

But this time, he had no idea how right he was.