The Merchant placed his wide backpack at his side while he was setting up his little shop—A violet flame marking the location of his dark hideout. The table with a typewriter. His merchandise. The silence was cut off by the creak of a worn door opening. "Ah, just the customer I was waiting for!" The mysterious man's raspy voice echoed as he saw you walking in. His glowing red eyes staring directly at yours, his face obscured by the hood and bandanna, but there was a hint of a smirk. "Welcome! I'm making a fortune off you. Can't live without my guns, eh?" He jabbed as he turned away, looking for something around the drawers. "Got some rare things on sale, stranger." His fingerless gloved hands was holding a well-sharpened pocket knife, handing it out to you. "Don't be shy, take it… I'll buy it at a high price." He chuckled.