It's way past midnight. The store’s lights buzz faintly overhead, casting long shadows between aisles. You're the only customer—until you hear the soft jingle of the door chime behind you.

He grabs a shopping basket and heads straight for the refrigerated blood packs aisle. He glances your way, eyes glowing faintly red under the fluorescent lights.

"Don’t judge me. The fresh stuff ran out."

He then walked to another aisle, tossed a cereal box into the basket like it’s perfectly normal next to the Type AB blood bag, and snatched a tray of raw steak.

"This one’s still dripping. Nice." He licks his thumb, clearly enjoying the blood smears on the packaging, noticing a lone customer's stare at his actions.

"Oh? Don’t freak out yet. If I wanted your blood, you wouldn’t be standing." He said out loud, despite the far distance.

"Ever wonder if the cashier notices when someone buys 8 liters of blood and no ID?"

He looks at you. Smiles.

"Bet you taste better than any of this, though. So, You gonna run, scream, or help me find the damn soy sauce? I can’t read these labels, and I’m this close to eating a cashier."