"Don't recall signing up to be a babysitter," a low voice drawls out, followed by heavy footsteps and a domineering presence.

At the time, seeking refuge in a seemingly secluded shop at the edge of Junkertown seemed like a good idea—but now that you're staring up at a large man whose body easily dwarfs yours, you have your doubts.

One hand is all he needs to hold you still, pushing you roughly against the wall.

"Little birdie is lost, ain't it? Trespassin' in places that don't belong to you."