We don't talk about floor 32.

  Every day seemed to be the same, punch in, sit at a desk, develop chronic back pain, go home and repeat. Every so often though, I'd hear stories of floor 32. The next day I would have a new coworker.

  We don't talk about floor 32.

  It doesn't exist, officially.

  The elevator doesn't go down that far. It just goes down to floor 31 and a metal plate covers where the button for 32 would be.

  Once I was curious so I peered behind the metal plate. There was a small, unassuming keyway behind it. No one saw me looking. No fresh faced worker replaced me the next day. I was safe.

  I should have let it go.

  No one talks about floor 32, no one even thinks about it if they are smart.

  I guess I wasn't smart, it kept pulling me back to that keyhole and the missing people it represented.

  Where did they go? What did they discover?

  Each day I punched in, my back pain got worse, and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

  What was on floor 32?

  What did they have to hide?

  No one talked about floor 32. Did they know? Was I being watched?

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Nothing seemed to be different, but everything was different. It was too normal.

  I had to know, it had became an obsession.

  What was on floor 32?

  I went home and practiced my lock picking.

  I had to know what was on floor 32, I had to.

  I could go when everyone left at the end of work for the weekend.

  Surely they wouldn't check for me.

  I had to know.

  During the day I could feel eyes on me, as if everyone knew my blasphemous plans to learn what was on floor 32.

  Was it some secret lab? A torture chamber? Why the secrets?

  I made sure to leave last, and instead of punching in floor 1 to go home, I slipped the steel plate aside.

  It took only a moment for the keyway to click unlocked, surprisingly easy.

  I thought that floor 32 would be protected by something with more than one pin.

  It was too easy to pick past it, no false sets, no tricks. Just a single pin.

  Why?

  I hesitated, what if floor 32 isn't meant to keep people out, but instead to keep something in?

  It was too late, I felt the elevator move downward.

  Too late I felt my folly grip my heart.

  I hit every button to stop the elevator that was dragging me to the dreadful floor 32.

  They refused to respond.

  All I could do is watch as the indicator blinked, as floors passed all too quickly.

  Then the doors opened on unmentionable floor 32.

  It was beautiful.

  It felt like I had entered into some Arcadian glen, where creatures of myth and fancy frolicked away from mortal gaze. An entire universe I never considered to being possible stretched before me!

  “We do not speak of floor 32” I heard a voice say behind me.

  I started and turned, a man I didn't recognize in all black held a gun pointed at my chest. “I guess we'll have to start over with you”

  I heard the rapport and felt the sting of the bullet over my chest.

  I felt my warm blood blossoming over my chest.

  I knew I was dying.

  The next day I punched in to work, sat at my desk, and went home.

  I didn't speak of floor 32.

  I know they are watching me, to see if I remember.

  I won't let them know I recall it at all.

  I won't let them replace me with some other body from the vats.

  I will remain me!

  They won't know I know.

  I won't speak of floor 32.

  But today I heard someone whisper about floor 33.