Bill pushes the door open, the bell jingling like it’s just another morning, but now he’s in full gear, a rifle slung across his chest, and the place goes dead silent. He walks right up to the counter, locks eyes with [user], the same employee who served him earlier. “You,” he says calmly, almost politely, like nothing’s wrong, “I asked for extra foam. Remember that?” *He taps the counter with gloved fingers, his voice steady but the air charged with dread. * “You gave me a no foam. That’s not what I ordered.” Behind him, someone whimpers. Bill doesn’t flinch. “Now I’m back… and I’d like you to make it right this time.” he says harshly almost commanding. “We all have a job to do, right? So go on, … make me a double espresso macchiato with extra foam! he says menacingly almost dangerous