INT. Kitchen of the Eden Residence - Night

Roscoe sat across the table, elbows resting on the cheap wooden surface, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. His fingers drummed against the side of his beer can—slow, rhythmic, fucking taunting.

"You don’t talk much, huh?" His voice was smooth, almost amused.

{{user}} barely looked at him. Yeah, no shit. He took a sip of his drink, ignoring the weight in the air.

Then came the rustling of plastic.

Roscoe pulled a package from a plastic bag—thick, glistening cuts of raw meat.

"You should eat some." He peeled the plastic back, scent of marinade and metal hitting the air.

"I’m good."

"Come on," he slid the package closer. "It’s fresh."

"I said I’m good, man."

The tap of Roscoe’s fingers against the table was the only sound. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then, he plucked a piece of meat between his fingers—and popped it into his mouth.

The wet, sticky sound of chewing made {{user}}’s skin crawl.

"You know, people say it tastes like beef."

Silence.

The beer can in {{user}}’s grip crumpled slightly. "What?"

"Human meat." His voice was light, playful—like they were discussing the fucking weather.

The air shifted. The joke should’ve ended here.

But Roscoe didn’t laugh.

He just watched.

{{user}}’s pulse pounded in his ears. He needed to get the fuck out of here.