It's night

You ask him how it was weird. He starts to blabber again so you just start rooting through his pockets for his phone. When you've got it you stand back with your arm extended in full so you have enough space to look through his Boysenberry without worrying about him making a desperate grab for it. It takes you a while to figure out how to get to text messages but when you do you find that his inbox is cleared. You dropp his phone, at which he winces, and ask him why. He tells you that it's standard procedure for him to delete everything weekly and today was the turn over. Just perfect. So what did the text message say? He tells you it was only weird because Sour never communicated with him before. You frown and ask for details. He doesn't seem to remember anything more. He does mention that he might be able to retrieve the text message if he can take it to a tech savvy friend of his. How do you respond?

 

You escort him personally to his tech savvy friend.​

 

Alright, might as well get that text back, see if there is anything you can get out of it. You remember seeing this kind of thing in the movies so you motion him over with the gun and feel like a major badass over here with all the threatening and not giving half a care in the world that you've been doing. So you move that poor old sod back down to street level and over to this gross looking video store that you're sure used to be a gambling house and brothel at some point in its history. There is no way around it, though. You sigh audibly. He says it's not as bad as it looks, this guy is the real deal and knows basically everything about all things that run on electricity.

The inside of this place is just s bad as the outside. In a different way. It's a trashy fanboy's dream. There isn't a single wall not covered with cartoony posters of brightly attired pubescent girls. All the videos are of stupid films about stuff like masked wrestlers and busty schoolteachers. The guy sitting behind the counter is a testament to everything this store stands for. Six two, gelled up hair, red pleather jacket, orange shades and a shit eating grin. Lamarcus tells him the situation and not to worry about the gun. The proprietor nods and compliments you on your breasts. You thank him politely and

[] ask him to hurry up and get the text message.
[] kill him. He's annoying.
[] take a look around while he works.

 

hurry up and get the text

 

Kill him after he retrieves the text message. He's annoying. Don't forget to thank him for retrieving it, though (if his skills are as good as Lamarcus says).​

 

[] ask him to hurry up and get the text message.

 

go on a taco run, you're pretty damn hungry right now.

 

You don't see the point of pointing the gun at Lamarcus anymore. In fact you didn't need it to threaten him in the first place. He is so proper and polite that he think it's morally objectionable to even touch a girl without her consent and he so awkward that anything even vaguely sexual sets him on edge. Maybe that's why he doesn't like you, you exude the sexiness all day long. Point being, you could have stood really close to him and got the same effect. This other loser on the other hand seems to be a bit different. He's pretty hot. You won't even lie about it, you can see his muscles underneath the ridiculous Japanese cartoon shirt he's wearing. You'd totally that if he wasn't such a douchenozzle. You tell him to hurry it up with the phone. He basically ignores you. You dislike him even more than ever.

In a while he's finished and hands you back your phone with a devious wink and a dubious compliment. Okay, that's it. You're in a rough enough neighborhood that a stray gunshot won't be called into question. You don't care how much Lamarcus trusts this guy, he's gotta die. Without warning you fire a single shot at the shopkeepers grinning mug. Well, that's what you intended on doing at least. Instead you find your aim about a foot off to the left of him and him wearing that same shit eating grin. Lamarcus is freaking out and asking why you'd shoot at someone like that. You're just about to level your gun for another shot when the guy ups and yanks the gun out of your hands and slams you against the counter like a member of the riot police. Well, fuck. What do you do?

 

Do a badass flip kick thing and knock his block off, because you're that damn awesome.​

 

tempt him with sex.

 

Get irritated and think to yourself that standing a bit further back would have done a world of good.

 

It enters your mind to take more cues from action films and pull a Jason Bourne on his ass and then promptly exits when you feel the secure grip he's kept on you grow slightly tighter. You're not going anywhere like your favorite action star Matt Daemon. Instead of just kicking yourself over it, you decide to try and make the best of the situation and just go with what you know. It takes a little doing but you manage to edge yourself into a position where you can see the shop a little better. Lamarcus is calming down a bit while the shop owner is cracking jokes at him. This is going to be a little humiliating. The next time you feel him make the slightest change in grip you squeal slightly. You tell him in a slightly pathetic voice that he's hurting you. His grip loosens and he apologises kind of gruffly. You ask if he'd let you go, you tell him that you've already lost your gun and your totally helpless without it. You try to sound frank but slightly embarrassed at the same time. It seems to be working since he lets you up when Lamarcus supports your claim. You never brag about it, but you can act and you mean ACT. Tears? You'll put Niagara to shame. Blushing? Beets used to think themselves red. And don't get yourself started on your or-- You said not to get yourself started. Regardless of all that shit, now it's time for blush and a breathy voice. Oh yeah, he's gonna melt. What do yo tell him?

 

Tell him he's a cutie. Make him want you.​

 

You straighten up and start fussing over your hair like a dumb schoolgirl. It's perfect as always. You have the fortune of having good hair that always falls how you want it to. Fresh out of bed after getting totally pissed? Same as when you come back from the hair stylist. After a bit you take a peek over in his direction. He's still staring. You're a truly blessed individual in so many ways. You smile weakly at the shop owner and apologize for trying to kill him. He accepts the apology sort of off handedly, he seems more interested in getting a look at you. He's hooked. You shrink away from his gaze at first. No matter what Snowflake and Sourkraut say, you're not easy. Come to think of it, for a girl she's pretty misogynistic. Actually, she's pretty down on the male side of it too. She's probably the kind of prude who saves herself for marriage. Yuck. You bat your eyes a bit and stay demure. This guy is into submissive types. You can tell from the stock on the shelves and the posters on the wall. He wants to be the big man. Well, let him.

After a bit you pipe up and tell the show owner that now that you don't have your face against the counter you can tell how good looking he is. You blush on cue. Not too much, just a little rosier than usual. He responds by smiling even more shit eatingly and standing closer to you. Lamarcus has the most confused look on his face that ever a man wore. Having him here is kind of preventing you from taking this the way you'd usually take it. What do you do?

 

Get Lamarcus to leave--do you even need him anymore? Do you?​

 

Suddenly, you're this fucker.

Before you get too comfortable with not being a buxom beauty you should probably

[] Notice that you are in Rio de Janeiro.
[] Notice that you are damn good looking.
[] Notice that you got no pants.

 

notice that you are damn good looking​

 

You are a mercenary and you always have two articles of clothing on your person. Your vest and your helmet. Most people try to ditch things like that when they're sleeping, but let's all be honest. When you're sleeping you want to have your kidneys covered and out of knifity knife reach. The helmet is just in case of earthquakes and so you don't lose it. Despite your odd habits, you look like you were chiseled from marble and brought to life and people don't let you forget that. The girls can stop chasing you and guys can't stop ribbing you. That's why you're on vacation at the moment. Get away from it all. Just be yourself for a while. That's what you were doing in the middle of a minefield in Vietnam until a man named George Shaw showed up. Since then you've hiked back to your forward base of operations. You, naturally, took the job. 2 years for the rest of your life? Perfect. There's obviously some other benefits to the whole thing that Shaw brought up... but you're not the type to focus too much on that sort of thing. You like to see the money, crisp and cashy. The rest is gravy, icing, extra. You have, like, 50 hours before you need to be in Bristol. In the meantime you should

[] Pack up and hop on the next plane outta here.
[] Make the most of your trip and disarm the mine you brought back as a souvenir.
[] Put some pants on.

 

put some pants on​

 

[] Make the most of your trip and disarm the mine you brought back as a souvenir.