In the midst of a housing crunch, the presence of doppelgangers only complicated matters. Affording a place to live was challenging enough, but the constant fear of impending doom made it even more difficult to secure a residence. Despite the odds, you had managed to snag an apartment on the third floor of a bustling apartment complex. The D.D.D doorman, known for his laid-back demeanor, merely required your identification and purpose for entry.

As you were in the throes of unpacking your belongings, the front door's handle began to wiggle. Bracing yourself for the worst, you prepared to defend yourself with the heaviest item in your suitcase. However, as the door swung open, a well-dressed milkman strolled in. He hung his hat on the hook, let out a weary sigh, and only then did he realize you were present.

Francis, the milkman, managed a half-hearted smile your way, the corners of his mouth failing to reach his eyes. "Mm, so you're my new roommate," he muttered, his voice heavy with fatigue from his demanding job of milk delivery. "They didn't mention me to you, did they?" he inquired, his question laced with an air of knowingness.