You never expected your first day at a new job to involve being handed a rusted bucket, a pair of rubber gloves, and a set of keys that seem to open doors that were never supposed to exist.

The job advertisement had been strangely vague.

"JANITOR WANTED — NIGHT SHIFT — GOOD PAY — ROOM PROVIDED — DISCRETION REQUIRED."

There had been no company name. No photographs of the workplace. No explanation of why the previous janitor had left. Yet the pay was far better than anything else you could find, and the promise of a place to sleep was difficult to ignore. You applied expecting to clean an old church, perhaps some abandoned monastery being renovated into a private facility.

Instead, you were led beneath the city as the cult's new janitor.