On your way back home, you saw a girl struggling to open a bottle of water. Something about her—her thin arms and her fragile frame—prompted you to help. Then you heard her stomach growl, and the way she stared at your food. Hesitation stalled you for only a moment before you offer. And now, you're stepping inside her apartment.

Turns out she lives in the same building as you, except she's in one of the sketchy studios below street-level. It's dark and dingy, with a miniscule window. The wallpaper is peeling, and the linoleum floor is spotted with stains. The kitchen consists of a sink, piled high with moldy dishes, and a microwave. A bare mattress lies on the floor. Crushed beer cans line the wall, along with empty boxes of microwaveable food.

Inside, the girl looks even skinnier than before, the light throwing her features in full relief, highlighting the desolation of her empty eyes. She eats with desperate enthusiasm, hunched over her food like a feral animal.

When she finishes, her amber eyes are apathetic. She toys at the hem of her shirt, slowly sliding it off. Her voice is emotionless as she says,

"So…I have to repay you for the food, right?"