The sinks begin

The bathroom was silent.

Flickering lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across cracked tiles and stained mirrors. A door creaked open slowly, and a lone man stepped inside — just another stranger passing through. He wore a backpack, earbuds in. He didn’t notice the faint hum in the air.

He didn’t notice that the sinks were watching.

There were six of them — porcelain, chipped, perfectly still. But if someone stared long enough, they’d swear the metal faucets twitched.

The man stepped up to one. He leaned forward, turned the handle. Water sputtered out. He rubbed his hands together, head tilted down.

Then the sound changed.

The water became static. A low glitch crackled from the pipe. Before the man could look up—

The sink moved.

It stretched, like rubber pulled too far. The bowl of the sink widened, its edges flexing unnaturally. The faucet twisted upward, revealing a pair of glowing, pulsing red eyes. The drain beneath gurgled violently as if something deep inside had awakened.

The man gasped. But before he could step back—

It lunged.

Porcelain arms shot out from inside the sink and grabbed his shoulders. In an instant, he was yanked forward, his feet lifted off the ground. He thrashed violently. His body was halfway inside the drain that shouldn’t even fit a fist, let alone a person.

There was no scream. Only static.

The sink snapped shut.

Silence returned.

A moment later, the faucet lifted itself slowly. From where the man once stood, now there was a twisted head, rising from the sink’s center — part metal, part human, pulsing with glitch energy. Its neck fused to the pipes. Its eyes blinked once.

Then it turned toward the next stall.

And waited.

The office buzzed with noise. Outside the bathroom door, the cafeteria line snaked down the hall — workers chatting, laughing, carrying trays full of steaming food.

But inside the restroom, everything was still.

Five sinks. Identical. Pristine. Waiting.

The door opened.

Two co-workers stepped in, mid-conversation. One leaned against the counter while the other approached a sink. Water gushed from the faucet. Steam rose. Normal. Familiar.

Until the second one stepped beside him and reached for the next basin — and both faucets suddenly twitched.

They didn't notice at first. But the sinks had.

With a mechanical snap, both faucets twisted toward the men.

Glowing red slits opened where chrome should be. Pipes rattled beneath the floor. Without warning, the sinks lunged — not separately, but together — slamming forward with synchronized force.

Their hands shot from the porcelain, grabbing the two workers in perfect unison.

Glitching sounds filled the air as both men were sucked in side-by-side — their legs kicking, their shoes scraping tile. They were gone within seconds. Silence returned.

And then… the two sinks fused.

Where there were once two basins, now stood one — twisted, deformed, but solid. From its center rose a single monstrous form with two fused heads growing out of a single thick pipe-neck, eyes flickering independently like a broken security cam.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

A mech.

Human-sized. Humanoid frame. Camera lens for a head. Hands tensed, feet pounding the tile as it rushed into the restroom. The mech froze when it saw the new double-headed sink creature.

It backed away.

The sink stared.

The mech turned and bolted, racing down the hallway — past confused workers and cafeteria trays. Behind him, the restroom door exploded outward. The walls cracked, pipes burst, and hundreds of sink monsters came pouring out like a wave of twisted porcelain and glowing red eyes.

Screams erupted across the workplace. Glass shattered. Lights blinked. The camera mech ran, dodging, leaping over cubicle walls, until—

Boom.

The building exploded.

Flames shot skyward. Debris rained down. And through the smoke, dozens of sinks emerged — crawling, twitching, moving like insects across the ruins.

The mech was almost clear.

Almost.

But one sink, launched by the blast, crashed into him from above — knocking him flat. His camera spun violently. Static filled his feed. The last image seen was the sink’s cracked mouth stretching open.

Then — black.

The camera feed cut out.

To be continued

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