pov:

you spend four and a half hours mopping, picking up body parts, detailing the walls and floors, you're scanning every inch of the gigantic play space you just invested half a night cleaning to absolute perfection for any missed footstep, bullet hole, hidden body part, stray bullet casing, and making sure you have every PID in the level.

you finally decide to clock out for the night. feeling confident in the emotional, physical, and mental commitment you have unknowningly made. the screen reads a 98%.

you stare at the blue screen. shattered. not able to look away from your score. you're the perfect janitor, this isn't you. it couldn't be. you don't miss. your employee of the month plaques 12 months in a row only prove that.

like the smart janitor you are, you load the save that you made right before you clocked out, walking around the level for what seems like an eternity, you finally see it.

that thing...

a bullet hole that was generated on the edge of the door texture, almost invisible... you're only able to see the slightest edge of the cracks around it to know that it was in fact a bullet hole.

your eyes well up with tears, you turn around in your ergonomic gaming chair, looking at the neckbeard hovel around you. piss cups and food wrappers fill the floor and your desk, clothes molded and stuck to the floor after years of soda spills and trash leaking and rotting around it.

this isn't me you think in your head, sighing, you're supposed to be the perfect janitor, it wasn't your fault the level is pitch black. stupid developers shouldn't make you have to clean in the dark. you're overcome with an intense, and overwhelming sadness.

you pull out the slimy, crumb encrusted 9mm from under a moldy shirt you had hidden underneath your bed, you mutter under your breath that this could've been avoided with better programming, and pull the trigger.

little did you know this is what the devs wanted all along