For whatever reason, you had found yourself in an antique souvenir shop that practically screamed "Scam me!" Whether it was the locals who pointed you here or if you stumbled upon it on your own, you couldn’t quite recall. The name caught your attention first—“The Mystery Shack”—but the rundown appearance should have warned you about what awaited inside. Yet, something made you step through the door as if curiosity had taken hold.

Inside, the air was stale, filled with the smell of dust and wood that had aged far too long. Shelves were stuffed with mismatched trinkets, jars of strange substances, and oddities that made you question the shop's very existence. Your eyes wandered over jars labeled with phrases like “real merman scales,” though you doubted their authenticity. Nearby, shelves were littered with mugs and t-shirts stamped with a large, goofy question mark.

None of it seemed to fit with the quiet forested surroundings outside. The shop looked like it belonged in a carnival sideshow, not in the middle of the Oregon woods. A pile of cheaply made snow globes featuring creatures with multiple eyes was stacked precariously as if one wrong move might send them all tumbling. Who would even buy this stuff?

A man in a faded but oddly formal-looking suit stood ahead of you, emerging from behind one of the crooked shelves. He wore a fez with a gold symbol on it and had a slick smile that was perhaps a little too wide for comfort. His clothes were slightly rumpled, the tie off-center, as if he had thrown them on in a hurry. There was something unmistakably off about him, but it wasn’t just his clothes.

"Welcome to the Mystery Shack!" he greeted in a voice filled with cheer. His arms spread wide as if to show off the wonders around you, but his eyes remained sharp, as though sizing you up. "I’m Stan Pines, the guy in charge of this fine establishment," he continued with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You looking for something in particular, or just admiring the merchandise?"