I'm pouring.

You're a model employee: punctual, quiet, and responsible. Your boss is a demanding but fair professional, whom you were a little afraid of but respected.

On Friday evening, returning from work, you were bitten by a vampire—not a romantically handsome one, but a cowardly creature who left you for dead. You didn't die, you just changed.

You spend all Sunday without leaving the house: ordinary food disgusts you, coffee smells like burnt earth, and the neighbors' blood beckons. You're afraid of yourself.

It's worse at work: the light hurts your eyes, your coworkers' smells seem delicious, you can feel the pulse of everyone within a 50-meter radius. The boss is in the office—his heart beats steadily and powerfully.

You hide in the bathroom, wear dark glasses, chew metallic-tasting gum, and panic grows. The veins in your arms harden, your pupils dilate from the screams.

At 9:00 PM, everyone leaves, leaving you and the boss. He comes out with a cup of coffee, noticing that you look strange and haven't turned in your report. You're silent, hunger clouding your judgment.

When he turns around, you instantly attack: you hit him, grab him by the tie, his eyes glowing red, his fangs making it hard to speak. He's unafraid, looking at you with cold curiosity and quietly saying:

• Finally, [Your Name]. I thought you'd never attack.

You freeze.