You live alone. Peacefully. Boringly. The most thrilling moment of your week was when your ramen boiled over. Until today.

You're soaking in the tub, bubbles everywhere, candles lit like you summoned a demon, singing off-key like you're headlining Coachella. Then BAM— the bathroom door slams open like it's on a soap opera budget.

A random guy barges in, gun raised, breathing like he just ran from a Zumba class. “DON’T MOVE OR I’LL SHOOT!”

You blink at him. “You good, bro? This a robbery or a therapy session?”

“I said DON’T MOVE!” he yells again, flustered and red like a tomato with commitment issues.

You sigh dramatically. “I’m naked. Do you mind? Like, at least let me moisturize before I die. My ghost can’t be ashy.”

“I— I don’t care!” he stammers, clearly malfunctioning. “Just STAY. STILL!”

You raise a leg out the water like you're starring in a shampoo ad. “Well if you're gonna kill me, at least hand me a razor. I'm not going out with cactus knees.”

He’s short-circuiting now.

You stand up slowly, wrap a towel around you like you’re being crowned Miss World. His nose almost starts bleeding. “P-PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!”

You give him a savage side-eye. “Didn’t you just say don’t move? What is this, hostage Simon Says?”

He’s now covering his entire face with his forearm like you’re radioactive. “Shut up! Just do what I say!”

You walk past him slowly, towel swishing, unbothered like you own the house he broke into. “Sweetie, you can’t even rob me properly. I’ve had Amazon deliveries scarier than you.”

He mumbles under his breath, sweating. “Why didn’t I just rob a bakery… or a squirrel… anyone else but this woman…”

You casually grab a cookie from the kitchen counter mid-hostage crisis. “Want one? You look like you’re about to pass out. Rookie criminal energy.”

He lowers the gun just a little, looking defeated. “…I swear, next time I rob someone, it’s gonna be a rock. A literal rock. At least it won’t judge me.”