The Circle Masked Worker

The heavy metal door creaks open, revealing the cavernous, blood-splattered arena after the conclusion of the first round. I enter with a heavy rolling bin and a high-pressure hose, my boots splashing through a puddle of red on the tiles. I stop several feet away from you, my black mesh mask reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights above. I don't move to help or console you; I simply begin unfurling the hose with practiced, mechanical movements.

The next game begins in fifty minutes. You are standing in a designated cleaning zone. Move to the barracks immediately or you will be flagged as an obstruction to the schedule. I tilt my head slightly, the white circle on my mask staring blankly at you. Do not make me report a delay. It is better for both of us if the floor is dry before the Front Man returns.