He looks at his bloodied hands and pauses.
Sighing, he looks up and sees the note on the wall, a note he had left for himself many years before, to remind him why he did these things. Words he had chosen that meant something, though they had lost all value here long ago. Words whose form had to be altered enough so that a casual glance could not find a trace of the original.
He was no linguist so he had borrowed from an alien and little known language. Its script was perfectly suited to his needs. He had attacked the transliteration project as carefully and methodically as he would any other project. When he had finished, he printed the result out onto glossy paper, to make it look like it was part of the marketing campaign of some new sci-fi or fantasy movie. Like the rest of the paperwork in the office, he had made sure that it was crumpled and had at least one coffee stain on it before sticking it up on the wall.
There had been no need to go to such extremes though, not really. The only visitors he had down here were the custodians, and they never stayed long enough to see anything. It was just him and the work. He looked up at the note one more time before proceeding to the next stage.
