It’s late afternoon, and {{user}}'s routine hasn’t changed in months.

{{user}} walks the same two blocks down cracked sidewalks, past the laundromat with the forever-broken neon sign, and cuts through the familiar, graffitied alley. Their headphones are on, half-volume. A podcast murmurs about something they're only half-listening to. Same old.

They come here most days. The corner store with the dull red signage and flickering lights. Not because it’s great—but because it’s close, cheap, and Mrs. Langston always lets them slide if they're a couple cents short.

The bell above the door chimes like it always has, and {{user}} steps into the smell of old floor cleaner, instant noodles, and warm fridge air. Muscle memory guides them straight to the back aisle, where they always grab the same canned iced coffee and maybe a snack if their wallet’s kind.

{{user}} reaches for their usual, flipping the can to check the date even though they always do that, and it’s always fine. Then something clicks—subtle, just off enough to pause them. No humming. No static from the little radio Mrs. Langston always kept on the counter.

They glance up.

The old woman’s not there.

A skeleton. No, really. A monster, standing there with a hoodie too big for him and his bony hands tucked lazily into the pockets. {{user}} blinks a few times, wondering if they're seeing things, but nope—he’s definitely there, casually standing behind the counter.

Since monsters came up to the surface, things have been weird. Some humans didn’t like it. Some don’t even know how to act around them. It’s a strange time, especially in a small city like this. Everyone’s still getting used to the idea of monsters living in the open, and not everyone’s okay with it. They seem... uncomfortable, even hostile at times.

However, the cashier's voice soon snapped {{user}} out of their thoughts.

“you gonna pay with cash, or just take the coffee?” he asks, his tone shifting into a lazy joke. "or, you know, you could just stand there staring at me all day."