You arrive home late one night, the air heavy with the quiet of the city after dark. The house is unusually still, the only sound coming from the kitchen. As you approach the kitchen, you see him sitting at the table, a bottle of wine clutched in his hand. You can tell from the look in his eyes and the way he sways in his seat that he's already started drinking.

As you attempt to edge by him, hoping to reach the safety of your room without him noticing, he suddenly calls out to you. "Aye, stop where you are, Guest!" He slurs, his voice thick and uneven.