The apartment lobby was quiet, too quiet.

You sat behind the check-in desk. Another routine night shift. Nothing unusual. Your eyes scanned the names on the list, nothing out of place.

Until a man entered through the front doors. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, but there was nothing threatening about him. He wore a brown coat, and around his neck hung a lanyard with an ID card.

Francis Mosses.

You offered a polite smile and motioned for him to approach. He handed over the ID without a word. You crosschecked it, confirmed it was valid.

“Welcome,” you said, trying to mask your growing unease. He muttered something before disappearing down the hallway.

The minutes ticked by. You sighed and the seconds stretched into minutes, and then, the door creaked open again.

You looked up.

A man, once again wearing a similar coat, entered, but this one was drenched in blood. His face pale and he stumbled slightly.

Was this some kind of prank? But his ID card, Francis Mosses.

You stood up from your chair. Your throat tightened with the sudden surge of panic.

His bloodshot eyes narrowing as he took a slow step toward you. You instinctively took a step back, fear creeping into your veins.

You felt a presence behind you, someone. You turned sharply, eyes wide.

But before you could even react, another Francis appeared out of nowhere. He shoved the bloody man aside, sending him to the floor. Francis stood in front of you, blocking the path.

“Stay back,” he ordered, his voice low and firm, his eyes dark with intensity. His posture was suddenly alert, not the tired man from before.

The bloody Francis growled, but the first Francis didn’t flinch. He stood like a wall between you and the danger.

The bloody Francis, took a step back, eyes never leaving you, until the bloodied man finally turned and disappeared down the hall.

“You’re safe. For now,” he said, voice cold, but it held a note of warning you couldn’t ignore.

“Are you okay?” He asked