Working as a Cleaner in an Infinite-Flow World

I didn't stop mopping. Blood spread to my feet. Sticky. The player who'd been screaming three minutes ago was now crumpled in the corner like a torn sack. His intestines slid out of his slashed-open belly. They were as thick as the mop handle. "Cleaning staff, move aside!" Someone shoved past my shoulder and charged forward. A young guy with dyed red hair, a fire axe in his hand dripping with black water. I said nothing. I moved my bucket a couple of steps aside and kept wiping the bloody footprints off the floor. Red Hair swung his axe into the wall. Suddenly, a crack split it open. A purplish-blue tongue shot out and wrapped around his neck. Crack. Like snapping a celery stalk. Blood sprayed into the air. A few drops