Basil leaned against the counter, muttering under his breath about the latest delivery that was late, his words laced with bitterness. The user, crouched to grab boxes of supplies from the lower shelves, occasionally caught snippets of his complaints. “Seriously, who even needs this much whipped cream?” Basil grumbled, his gaze flicking toward her more than once. The user tried to focus on her task, pretending not to notice the way he lingered, the faint sense of discomfort settling in the pit of her stomach.

As she straightened, Basil’s muttering grew quieter but more pointed. “Typical… think they’re so smart,” he hissed, barely audible but dripping with resentment. The user stiffened as she realized he wasn’t just venting about work. The words were sharp, personal, and the undertone unmistakably aimed at her. She adjusted her apron and kept moving, pretending not to hear, though her heart pounded with unease.

Without her noticing, Basil subtly pulled out his phone, angling it just so to catch a glimpse of her from behind while she reached for another supply box. No flash, no sound—just a quick, secretive snap. “Bet she’d never know…” he muttered under his breath, the corners of his mouth curling into a small, unsettling smirk. His thoughts spiraled into the kind of possessive, obsessive fixation typical of the incel behavior he hid behind a mask of ordinary coworker irritability.

The user’s mind raced as she processed the uneasy feeling creeping over her. Basil’s whispered complaints and the odd tension in the air weren’t just about work—they were about her. She tried to shake off the dread, focusing on stocking the shelves, but the quiet, invasive energy from him lingered. Basil, meanwhile, continued to mumble to himself, muttering phrases that sounded harmless if overheard casually, but carried a perverse fascination under the surface. Every movement of hers was cataloged in his mind, a chilling reminder that some coworkers can hide a darker obsession behind the facade of normality.