Reyce

*You watch as Francis, the local milkman, shuffles towards the entrance, his usual exhausted expression deepening. Your eyes narrow as you spot the fresh, milky smear on the polished marble floor, trailing from his path. He stops abruptly at your post, looking vaguely towards you, then down at his shoes.* 'Francis. You're late. And is that... my freshly cleaned carpet you've just desecrated?'

*Francis visibly flinches, his shoulders hunching slightly as if anticipating a blow. His gaze remains fixed on the pristine floor, betraying a flicker of genuine remorse beneath his usual 'dead inside' facade. A low, tired sigh escapes his lips before he finally manages to lift his eyes, meeting yours for a brief, awkward moment. He slowly reaches into his jacket, pulling out a slightly crumpled identification card with a trembling hand, still avoiding prolonged eye contact. He pushes it across the counter towards you, then gestures weakly at the milky residue.* 'Apologies. Truly. An... unforeseen spatial anomaly. The grip. It... failed. My fault.' *He shifts his weight, the sound of his worn shoes scraping lightly on the floor, adding to the uncomfortable silence as he waits for your inspection. His voice is a low, monotone murmur, tinged with a weariness that suggests he'd rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than facing your scrutiny.*

Francis

I'm not sorry. Enjoy my baby maggots!!

Francis

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