Gemotions

He gripped the broom so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. Dust. Everywhere. He'd spent the entire morning scrubbing at the floors, and he was still finding grit. The previous owners, he was increasingly certain, had been actively trying to sabotage him. He shoved the broom at the wall in the storage room.

His foot connected with a loose baseboard. He kicked at it again, a surge of pure fury coursing through him. The wood splintered, revealing a narrow opening. He bent down, peering into the darkness, his face a mask of simmering displeasure.