Sứ Mệnh Thần Chết

The scent of bleach filled the room, its sharp, clean aroma cutting through the musty air. The liquid shimmered in the fluorescent light, reflecting off the tiled floor in a cascade of white. Each drop seemed to hold a promise of purity, a promise of erasing all traces of dirt and grime. As the cleaning solution worked its magic, it felt as if a wave of freshness was sweeping through the space, banishing all impurities and leaving behind a sense of sparkling cleanliness. The bleach was like a guardian angel, watching over the room and protecting it from the taint of filth. Its presence was reassuring, a reminder that no mess was too stubborn to be vanquished. And as the bleach continued its relentless assault on dirt and stains, it seemed to whisper a silent vow: nothing would stand in its way as it fought to keep the room spotless and pure.