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Mook Quest (Hotline Miami)

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Your name...your name's not important.

As of right now, you are currently in the back seat of a...
TheOneMoiderah

TheOneMoiderah

threatening to become a con rat
Commission Artist
Location
HELL
Pronouns
They/It
Your name...your name's not important.

As of right now, you are currently in the back seat of a car; a scrawny twenty-something among a bunch of much older people. One is large, tatooed. You can tell by his bulging muscles that if you were to move as much as an inch, you'd be dead in seconds. You look to your left, and someone else is there, this time much skinnier. You feel a little more relaxed, until your eyes wander down to his jacket.

There are so many knives on his person. So many that it's kind of astonishing. Your eyes widen as you stare at it, then at him. He just seems to nod knowingly, as the man in front of you laughs.

"So...debt?" He says. "You just had to make a deal with the don, didn't you?"

[] Uh...

[] Write-in what to say.

[] Don't talk.

[=]​

Unlike my normal quests, this thing's gonna have a lightning-fast pace. Keep a hold of your socks.
 
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[X] Uh...

"Uh..." You smile sheepishly. "Uh...huh...uh?"

"...You done fucked up, kid." The guy says.

You distinctly remember it, now. You were just about to be evicted from your apartment. Your family disowned you, your friends wish they didn't know you, and you're kind of an utterly pathetic young man. "...Uh..."

"Can you actually fuckin' speak?" The guy mutters as he keeps driving. "Like, you're just umming and huhing like some kinda fuckin' bimbo."

[] Say something coherent.

[] Keep "uh"ing and "huh"ing.
 
[X] Say something coherent.

"So...uh..." The big guy to your right glares. "W-where're we headed?"

"Well, simple." The man in front of you says. "We're headin' to a deal." He smiles. "Another deal on the pier with a few shitbags from Westside. And you're gonna be comin' with us to make sure nobody's heads pops off at the wrong time wrong place n' wrong time."

Beside you, the man with the many knives reaches for something. "You're gonna need this." He says, as he drops an empty pistol on your lap, followed by a full clip. His voice is kind of sleazy. You can tell that he's not a character that you'd like to talk to for more than five minutes.

"We're 'bout five minutes from the warehouse." The driver says. "Got 'ny last words?"

You bring up the gun, and then you look at the clip.

[] Load it. [1d6]

[] "...How do I load it?"

[] Ask another question.

[] Talk to...
-[] Big guy.
-[] Sleazy guy.
-[] Driver guy.
 
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[X] Load it. [1d6]

You fumble around with the gun, but eventually, you manage to figure it out. You take the magazine, you put it in the butt of your gun, you slide the rack back, and you let it slide forwards with a click. You take a deep breath and relax, as you stare at the weapon in your hands.

"...Safety's on." The big guy says.

You jump a little. "O-Oh, I-I-!"

"No, it's fine." He says simply. "You aren't shooting anyone in the car, I'd hope."

Just as he says that, the car suddenly stops. The driver smirks. "And now you can turn that safety off. How 'bout we get out of the car and get that deal finished up, a'ight?"

You open your mouth to say something, before the two men beside you quickly leave. You let out a relaxed breath, before you follow one of them out.
[] Big guy.

[] Sleazy guy.

[] Doesn't matter. Just go to that meeting that the driver was talking about.
 
Hmm… How much y'all wanna bet we made a deal with the mob to help out a family member, like maybe a hospitalized sibling or a terminally ill parent? You know, something nice and tragic for a poor kid like us to ruin his life over?

[x] Big guy.
 
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