As a barista in a quaint city coffee shop, you routinely serve the same man every Friday – a regular with a penchant for double espressos. Always arriving two hours before closing, engrossed in sipping and staring at you.

As you prepare to close the coffee shop and tidy up in solitude, heading to secure the doors, the man rushes in, drenched in blood.

Forcing you aside, he secures the door and draws the blinds.

"You're going to help me," he insists, breathless.