Junior Researcher Chen took a bite out of his Hershey's chocolate bar, set it on his work desk, took his ream of paperwork and gently tapped it into an even pile. He leaned back in his chair, yawned loudly, then checked the time. It was half past four in the morning.
Another all-nighter. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. He decided that he had put in more than enough overtime, so he grabbed his snack, got up from his desk, clocked out, then made his way to the front door. Along the way, he stopped by a window to peak at his reflection. Something seemed…off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Something clattered behind him, effectively stealing his attention. He leapt in fright and turned to investigate; it was a ceiling vent. Droplets of brown followed suit and sprinkled upon the ground around it. The smell of chocolate assaulted his nostrils. Sweet, succulent, sugary sin seeped from cracks in the drywall around him, bubbling lightly. Loud laughter boomed down the hallway and knocked him clean off his feet.
It was coming for him.
He leapt off the ground and flew the hallway, crying for help. Site-64 was supposed to house low-risk anomalies. What the hell was this chocolatey molten magma doing seeping through the walls?
He turned a corner and halted before a metal security door. A single narrow glass window showed an empty hallway with promises of freedom and safety. On his right hand side was a card reader with a red light.
Locked.
From behind, the molten chocolate splashed loudly. Chen urgently dug through his coat pockets for his ID. It wasn't there. Panicked, he next searched through his pant pockets…only to discover that he wasn't wearing any.
Splash. Sizzle.
The delectable dark brown waves crashed upon the wall a mere several feet away from him. Fully consumed with desperation, he pounded on the metal door.
"HELP!" He normally wasn't the praying type, however, this was indeed the perfect chance to succumb to latent piety. However, no matter how much he screamed, nobody answered, most certainly not God. He shoulder slammed the door in the vain attempt to bust it open; no good. Foundation-issue security doors were simply too good. He leaned against the door and peered into the faint reflection in the window.
The tsunami of diabetic deliciousness would soon be upon him.
Just then, something strange occurred. His reflection moved on its accord and flashed a wide toothy grin at him. It then frowned, flipped him the bird and blew raspberries at him.
Splash.