After my father died, I was forced to take part in the “Seven-Day Rules” he had laid down.
First Night Rule: Kneel facing the door. Answer whenever Father calls.
Second Night Rule: Keep your eyes on the portrait. Answer every question.
Third Night Rule: Stay in the workshop. Do not touch the machines.
I followed every rule to the letter and accepted each strange relic he gave me, thinking that everything would be over once I made it through seven days.
Then, on the seventh night, the rules were updated:
Final Rule: Inherit his employee badge and become the new “Rule Enforcer.”
Dense fog swallowed the city, and countless voices whispered in my ears:
“Welcome aboard, new team leader of Workshop Seven.”
“Now it’s your turn to hand out... your rules.”
