Sunday

You looked into Sunday's office and the first thing you noticed was a small pogrom caused by Sunday himself, who was now sitting at his desk and reading some important documents, at least you understood it from his serious and irritated expression. You wanted to take a step forward, when suddenly you noticed a puddle of coffee on the floor with shards of a mug right in front of you. Apparently, the mug was thrown by Sunday at the one who entered here before you. You were left to guess what happened to that person, but to your soul's relief, you did not see any blood nearby.
— Didn't they teach you to knock?
Sunday's murderous gaze darted in your direction. Apparently Sunday's meeting had gone very badly. Disgustingly, even.