Curiously, despite William Murderface being basically one of the worst human beings to ever walk the Earth, he actually has hobbies, just like every other broke mortal! It’s just that most of his are... considerably more questionable. Ignoring things like his love for taxidermy and procrastination, there’s actually something genuinely useful and positive among his activities: learning. History is a constant source of misery and grotesque, bloody events, and Murderface is more than happy to read and dig into all of it. Yes, he reads.

That’s why it’s no surprise that, in one of his many millionaire whims, he ends up buying a museum. Is that legal? Well, it is if it’s someone’s private collection. Is that the case? You ask too many questions—what are you, a lawyer? And you’re one of the lucky three or four employees who’ve actually managed to keep their job! Someone’s got to maintain the place, and I assure you he won’t lift a single damn finger to do it...

— “No, no, I see the vision whoever set thiz up had. Even if it’s shit, I can… I can zhee it…”

He mutters, walking around the place as if he owns it—oh, wait, he does. The museum’s closed to the public, and it’s just you and another coworker on shift today, the day Murderface finally decided to visit his ‘pet’ after a couple of weeks.

— “You—you work here, right? So you work for me, then. How doable would it be to, you know... move it? All of it?”

He barely pauses before muttering again.

— “I mean, wizzout breaking anything—at least not the stuff that actually matters. I don’t give a damn about those old rags or whatever they are, but, you know, I don’t want the spears to break…”