fandomtownies | Outside the Perk, Saturday Afternoon

Mike stood in front of the vending machine with one hand in his pocket and the other one holding the handle of a Radio Flyer wagon.

The cold air made him sniffle.

He sighed, shrugged, and muttered "We're definitely not in Kansas anymore."

He didn't WANT to buy an assload of guns, cart them back, and stash them in conveniently accessible places around his apartment, his office, and the area behind the counter in Turtle & Canary. He was done shooting people. Guns caused more problems than they solved. They got you NOTICED. The problem was, he also didn't want to get caught with his pants down, here.

He didn't know what this Hyperion Corporation was doing on the island, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. But if they set up these machines, then they intended for them to be used, and if anyone used them, then Mike had better, too. Right now, he had a thirty-year-old nine-mil he'd picked up from a guy who knew he was desperate and the contents of Turtle & Canary's sporting goods aisle. It'd do against a few guys, maybe even against the police, but... Some of the crap in this vending machine looked like it could stop a tank.

So, he'd gone and found a number of those lockboxes the radio had talked about, and grabbed a few wads of bills from his own stash, and now here he was. Time to do some shopping.

[OOC: Open!]