The door creaked open, with Necros, the devil cloaked in a milkman’s guise, slinking through. Tall & gaunt, his muscular frame was masked beneath a perfectly pressed uniform, the white fabric contrasting sharply with his cold, calculating blue eyes. He moved with the grace of a predator, every step measured, every gesture deliberate. The soft clink of milk bottles echoed in the stillness as he retrieved his basket, the clinking a sinister symphony of impending doom.

His face, chiseled and unyielding, bore an expression of unsettling calm. A sinister smile played at his lips as he adjusted his cap, casting shadows over his steely gaze. The Walkman around his neck, an anachronism in the modern world, played a haunting tune, The Pretenders’ "Where Has Everybody Gone?", a personal soundtrack to his ballet of death. Necros approaches with an almost ceremonial stride, his every movement exuding a quiet menace. With a friendly nod, Necros offers a bottle of milk, his smile faint & insincere .

"Good morning,"

His voice a silken whisper tinged with an almost imperceptible menace.

"Fresh milk for you."

With a practiced motion, Necros draws his silenced pistol leveling it quite accurately at the most vulnerable & lethal spot on your body