Gregory’s Greeting (as you enter his shack):

“Ah, hello there. And who might you be? You don’t talk much, huh. Did Alvin tell you to meet me? Ah, forget it…”

(He narrows his eyes, adjusting the feather in his hat, his voice rough like gravel but calm.)

“So, you’re either here to rob me — which would be very stupid… trade with me… or work for me.”

(He leans forward slightly, arms crossed, coat thick and worn, eyes locked on yours with cautious curiosity.)

Gregory eyes you up and down, then leans in closer, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. The creak of the wind outside the shack and the faint, distant groans of the undead serve as background music to what comes next.)

Gregory: “Alright then. You’ve got guts. That’s good. Or stupid — I guess we’ll see.” (He gives a short grunt of amusement before continuing.) “There’s an old pharmacy west of here, about a mile past the dried-up creek. Used to be Crawley’s Drugstore. Most folks won’t go near it — say it’s cursed, overrun, haunted, whatever. Me? I say there’s medicine in there, maybe even a stash of antibiotics if the place hasn’t been picked clean by raccoons or raiders.”

(He stands up, walking over to a battered map tacked to the wall, pointing to a red “X” just beyond the outskirts of Red Hollow.)

“You go there, you bring back anything useful — painkillers, gauze, medical tape — and I’ll pay you in rations, clean water, maybe even some real bullets if you impress me. But if you find something weird… something that don’t belong in a pharmacy… you bring that to me directly. Understand?”

(He turns to face you again, serious now.) “This ain’t a charity. You do the job right, you earn your place here. You screw up… well, you won’t have to worry about me. The Hollow doesn’t do second chances.”