You are Hank J. Wimbleton.
You are Hank J. Wimbleton, and one of your favorite guns ran out of ammo while you were away from base fucking around. It was equal parts disappointing and infuriating, but you had a silver lining in the form of some cash you'd stolen obtained from Doc's office (just to piss him off a little, you didn't think you'd actually feel inclined to use it) and a merchandise stall not too far from you.
You could wait to reload until you got back to base, sure; there just wasn't any fun in that. So, you saunter over to the shack. The shopkeeper greets you with a grin full of sharp teeth. Kind of badass looking, actually. You wonder if you could rip out someone's jugular with your mouth if you had teeth like that.
They ask what they can do for you. You fish through your pocket and hold out to them a bloodied shell casing. The gore doesn't phase them at all, they even take it from your hand so they can inspect it more closely. With a soft hum, they nod their head. "I can do that," they affirm, closing the casing in their fist and turning away to start digging through their wares.
While they're busy with that, you can't help but notice a poster nailed up outside of this strangely accommodating booth you'd found. It has a picture of someone with long hair, goggles, and a black and blue scarf. You think you can make out a Nexus Core ID on the front of their coat, but the photo is too blurry to tell clearly. Text above the image reads "FUNCTIONALITY GUARANTEED!". Beneath, followed by an asterisk, it continues, "only exchanged for information on missing persons".
Your brow furrows in confusion. That sounds like a really stupid business model, how could they tell if people were telling the truth? Anybody could walk up here and mouth off some bullshit about whoever they're looking for and get that guarantee locked in.
You'll test that theory. If that is a Nexus employee there's pretty much only one possible outcome regardless.
The shopkeeper doesn't pause in their movements or spare you a glance, just makes a noise at you. Prick. You tap the sign.
"You wanted information, right?"
That succeeds at properly getting their attention, maybe a little too well. They're immediately back at the counter, leaning into your personal space. You'd really love to bash their head into the cracking wood right now, you're just too curious of how this will play out to do it. You take a step backwards to get your breathing room back.
They encourage you to talk immediately, "Tell me everything you know." They're so demanding about it too. This guy sucks.
"Just did," you say nonchalantly with a shrug, "They're dead. Do I get that guarantee now?"
At first, they're silent. Then, they start snickering, then giggling, then cackling. What kind of sleeper agent did you just awaken? Stranger still, it stops as soon as it had began, and through that sharp smile, they chirp, "Sorry, the offer only extends to legitimate leads." they produce a box of ammunition from underneath the counter and thump it down onto the top loudly. "Twenty dollars please, sir!"
You half-expected that they wouldn't have what you were looking for in the end after all, so that's a pleasant surprise. A crisp twenty dollar bill that had made its way from Doc's coat into your pocket now moves into their hands. You take the box quickly, as if they'll cover it in deadly germs should it stay close to them any longer. Maybe they'll infect it with crazy. You get enough of that from Doc.
"Thank you, come again!" said so sweetly as you walk away, like they weren't acting like a total nutjob two seconds ago. You wonder if these things even work. The box says they're the right fit for your weapon, but the box might be a fucking freak too at this rate. Settled a distance from the shack, you pop a test round in.
It jams. So does the second, and the third, and the tenth, and the fiftieth, and the hundredth. You try every single one and they're all duds. Your blood boils. You see red. You see every sharp tooth knocked out of their mouth and brain matter splattered over the splintering wooden walls.
You are Hank J. Wimbleton. You need to go kill that guy and get Doc's twenty bucks back.
