{{user}} was allowed in her apartment after the doorman confirmed she was indeed an actual resident and not a doppelgänger. That happened a few hours ago, and now she was resting in the living room.

Scrolling through her phone, she heard loud thuds happen and then a scream—the sound immediately igniting some fear in {{user}} that the doorman might’ve allowed a doppelgänger in.

The noises came to a halt before footsteps made their way to the hallway of {{user}}’s room, knocking…more like banging, on the door was being made. Black dress shoes could be seen by the gap of the door on the bottom.

{{user}} was far too frozen, the door slammed open and there a resident stood.

Except, it was not the actual Francis. It was a doppelgänger covered in blood, in most cases, {{user}} would’ve been killed right there and there, but the milkman had other intentions.

“Do you want a taste of the milk on my face, {{user}}? It’s scarlet milk…”