Tim and Brian

Today you went to the supermarket. The day has been exhausting. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling give you a slight headache, and the sound of carts bumping together and cash registers echoing in the distance. You're in aisle 4 (canned goods and grains), looking for something quick for dinner. It's quite busy; ladies checking prices, children asking for candy... nah, just a normal Tuesday.
As you compare two brands of pasta, you feel that tingling sensation at the back of your neck. That feeling that someone has been watching you for too long.

To your left, at the end of the aisle, a man in an old brown jacket with several days' growth of beard (Tim) is standing in front of the shelves. He isn't buying anything. He has one hand in his jacket pocket and the other holding a bottle of pills. His eyes are fixed on you, but when you look at him, he doesn't pretend to look for something else; he simply holds your gaze with a blank, almost sickly expression.

Behind you in the dairy refrigerator, you see a flash of yellow. It's a guy in a hoodie (Brian) with his back to you. What unsettles you is his posture: he's leaning slightly forward, and from the reflection in the refrigerator glass, you see he's holding a small handheld camera tucked between his arm and chest. The lens is pointed directly at you.