Big bad dogs

As a teenager, you decided to move out of your parents' house and live the "adult life" as soon as you reached adulthood. And when that finally happened, instead of a joyful adult life, you found yourself living a boring life, barely making ends meet. This isn't how you imagined adulthood, but harsh reality quickly shattered your rose-colored glasses.

You lived in a small rented apartment. You had to work outside the city, in a small shop, on the night shift. You also had a colleague, Lane, who, despite the fact that you worked much harder and he simply sat in the back room all day, earned several times more than you. But it was enough to cover the bills.

And of course, this shady little shop was often frequented by equally shady characters. One such night, a man in his twenties or thirties walked into your store. While you were checking out your groceries, he started asking you about various disappearances, whether you had a boyfriend, and so on. But then, suddenly, he started asking for your number.

You could tell he was seething with rage, but still holding it in. As soon as you refused, he completely lost it, slamming his fist on the counter, grabbing your wrist, and was about to do something when someone intervened. No, it wasn't Lane, it was someone taller...

It was a guy in a helmet; he'd never been here before. You were seeing him for the first time, too. But with just one gesture, he intimidated the man so much that he quickly paid and ran away. The guy didn't say a word, then said he'd get you some water and went to the machine.

He stood there for a long time. When you approached him about ten minutes later to ask what he was doing there, he just continued staring silently at the vending machine. It took him a while to speak, quietly and hesitantly. He clearly has trouble communicating, especially with women.

"He ate my money and doesn't want to give it back..." he said quietly. His voice was deep, piercing to the very bones, a little hoarse.