You walk down the railing of what seems like a small residential area, only a story or two below yoru facility. Thankfully none of the lights flicker on this time, you don't particularly care for random dwellers of this Tower you're on to ask what the Administrator is doing here. Though you do notice one of the windows is broken.
Something towering stands at the broken window. It's at least ten feet tall, with razor sharp claws on its hands. You can't make out its face underneath the mask of a raven it has on. Somehow, it doesn't notice you. It's staring past you.
You decide not to bother with one of the weird, yet not anomalous, creeps that live here.
https://youtu.be/2CdtYefRxPc - SHOP THEMEIt doesn't take too long to arrive at the Salt Shop. You pass through the thick blankets hanging that's acting as a makeshift door and heat trapper. It's incredibly cozy and warm in here, in contrast to the outside world.
A single light bulb hangs over, lighting up the small shop. Behind the rusted metal counter are shelves on shelves of weird junk and an salt-encrusted oven that is probably older than you. It's currently cooking something.
Speaking about that oven, Mr. Salt gets up from the pile of rags and pillows he's been resting on. He flashes a welcoming smile (most of his teeth made of salt) before he pulls what he's been cooking in the oven.
"How ya feel about cookies, sir?"
"So so. Best with coffee, haven't eaten any in a while." You gulp your still piping hot coffee. <span class="mu-g">Your whole body shakes in relief. Finally, good coffee for once.</span>
A cookie is placed on the counter. Well, more like a hunk of salt shaped like a cookie. You take it regardless to be nice.
"First cookie to not leave crumbs. HA-HA-HA!" Mr. Salt wipes a tear from his eye. "Nice to see ya! Could've shown it was the wind that blew them sheets. Hardly recognized you're even here."
A long, metallic nose is barely poking out of the top. "SNIFF. SNIFF. I [Dealt it]. THAT. SWEET. KROMER."
Spamton's head pokes over the desk. You notice that his uniform is a freshly made bright red car salesman uniform. His wild eyes and smile have been restrained a little. "[Snow] TIME TO WASTE! OUR DEALS ARE SO GOOD, YOU'LL GO STRAIGHT [To the pits of h3ll!] TO [Secure, Contain, Protect] Y0UR WALLE5!"
"Before we do. I like to sell something." You slide over the watch towards the two salesmen. Mr. Salt grabs it and takes a quick peek.
"Hmmm. $30. I'll let my associate find a use for it." He tosses it towards Spamton. The robot puts it on his nose.
"WATCH. WATCH, [Space Condom]." A distorted cackle. "FOR YOUR [Free Spaghetti Leftovers]...AND FOR [Help! Oh God, help!]ING YOU...TIME FOR SOME EXCLUSIVE D3ALS!!!"
>Current energy count: 123 A, 43 C, 8 ICP, $530."Well, before I blink and you're somehow gone? Let's trade, Mr...I don't recall if I got a name." "Admin." "Admin! Alright, code names, I can dig that."
(Forgot my trip, whoops.)
