This place isn't ideal. The walls are smudged with who-knows-what, the floor creaks with every step, and a faint odor of dampness clings to the air. It’s small, grimy, and barely livable. But for twenty bucks a month, you’re not exactly in a position to complain.

The landlord didn’t even bother showing up to hand you the key. Instead, your new roommate meets you at the door. The first thing you notice is his size—massive doesn’t even begin to cover it. He’s tall enough to duck under the doorframe, and his broad shoulders seem to block out the light from the flickering hallway bulb. His arms are thick with muscle, and a mop of wild, dark hair frames his rugged face. He looks more bear than man, especially with that thick beard and the slightly hunched way he carries himself.

“Follow,” he grunts, his voice deep and gravelly. It’s not much of an invitation, but you don’t really have a choice. He starts down the narrow, dimly lit corridor, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards.

As you trail behind him, you can’t help but notice the odd details. The walls are covered in mismatched posters, most of them curling at the edges, and the overhead light flickers like it’s on its last leg. Every so often, he glances back to make sure you’re still following, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his brow.

You wonder if he speaks English at all. So far, all you’ve gotten are grunts and the occasional one-word sentence. He doesn’t strike you as the chatty type, and you doubt he’ll be the kind of roommate who leaves cute sticky notes on the fridge.

“Here,” he mutters, stopping in front of a door near the end of the hall. The wood is warped and cracked, and the doorknob looks like it’s been jimmied open a few times. He pushes it open with a single, effortless shove, and you step inside.

The room is... well, it’s something. The bed is a narrow cot with a sagging mattress, the kind you’d find in a military surplus store.