City of Decay: The Cleaner | MxM

Chapter 9: A Place That Became Home

"You look awful, Mr. Moor!"

I squint my eyes the moment I hear Miss Amber's squeaky voice. It's the last thing I need right now.

"Tell me about it." How can a single human being be so energetically awake at...? My eyes twitch up to the small clock above her counter – Half past three in the morning? Or is this still considered night? I have a hard time telling, working during the night most of my days.

She smiles at me widely as I walk up to her reception booth, throwing a glance behind her just to see if anyone else is awake, working their lives away in the secretariat. There's Dorothy, but she seems to have nodded off at her desk. Not even Miss Amber's energy could wake her up at this ungodly hour.

"Mr. Ashworth reported you in, would you like to make a call?"

"Yes please." She tries to keep quiet, but at this point, I just believe it's not possible with a voice like hers. It's not so bad on most days, I got used to it, but at the moment I experience some kind of sensory overload.

I watch her dial the number she had noted down, then she hands me the headset and the speaker. Usually, it's fiddly, but this communicator has been designed to be easily accessible from my side of the booth, while only the desk clerk can handle the rotary dial.

I press one of the earmuffs at my ear, holding the speaker close to my mouth, just waiting for someone at the Lane mansion to pick up. It takes a moment, but after a while, Thomas answers.

"Ashworth at Lanes?"

"Thomas, it's me. I made it to the station."

"Good, thank you for the call. Miss Morell arrived five minutes ago and attended the crime scene. Or what's left of it."

"And the transporters?"

"They'll be here soon."

"Okay, I'll leave you to it."

"Get some rest, Eon. I'll see you around next week."

"You too." With that, the call ends, and all that remains is static noise. I hand Miss Amber the speaker and headset back.

"Mr. Ashworth has already instructed us to get the cleansing prepared for you. It's in room two."

I only nod and turn away from her, just to remember the report. I turn my head, merely enough to look back at her.

"Mr. Ashworth will file the report."

"Alright." She smiles again, and I turn for good. This place, it somehow feels like home. The dark wood, the low ceiling, the overall layout – it feels comforting, today more than ever. Gone are the big, empty hallways, the high ceilings, the opulent furniture, and the overly ornate decorations. Here I feel safe, at ease. The moment I entered through the heavy door I could feel how my displacement anxiety faded. It's not gone, it will take time till I feel normal again, but it's a good start. It goes to show that sometimes a change in environment is all it needs to get better.

I walk past the reception booth and head downstairs. One could think I had enough basements for the rest of the month, but it doesn't really feel like one.

Sure, there are no windows, but it's not like there's enough room for windows anyway.

Coming down the stairs, to the right is the door leading to the archives. Straight ahead are the toilets, the door to its left leads to the showers. Turning to the left is a corridor with 3 doors on each side and at the very end stands an old grandfather clock.

Nothing special, but accurate, with a potted plant right next to it. Pictures are hanging on the dark wooden wall panels depicting landscapes and sceneries.