The ruins of a roadside convenience store sit half‑collapsed, its neon sign flickering weakly in the dusk. The automatic doors are shattered, their metal frames bent inward. Inside, the aisles are a maze of toppled shelves, scattered cans, and faded promotional posters.
A rusted shopping cart squeaks somewhere in the gloom, moving with a slow, rhythmic rattle. The sound echoes like a heartbeat in the empty store.
The air smells of stale sugar, dust, and something sour beneath it.
Dave appears at the end of an aisle, pushing a rusted shopping cart filled with scavenged implements — broken broom handles, dented cans, a cracked scanner gun, a bundle of plastic bags tied like trophies.
He wears the tattered remains of a supermarket uniform, the name badge long gone. His eyes are milky and unfocused, but every so often they sharpen with a disturbing flicker of awareness.
He twitches once, muttering under his breath:
“Karen… Karen… always complaining…”
He doesn’t notice the survivors at first. He’s busy placing imaginary items into bags, miming the motions with eerie precision.
Then he freezes. His head tilts. He sniffs the air.
“Customer detected,” he whispers. “Potential complaint.”
Dave wheels the cart toward the survivors, the squeaking growing louder, more insistent. His expression is calm, almost professional.
“No yelling,” he says softly. “No fuss. No… complaints.”
He studies them with the weary resignation of a retail worker who’s seen too much.
“You’re here to return something, aren’t you?” he asks. “Always returning. Always unhappy.”
He taps the cart handle with a broken fingernail, a nervous rhythm.
“Karen taught me,” he mutters. “Silence the problem. Fix the issue at the source.”
He gestures toward the cart, where a cracked can of beans sits beside a heavy wrench.
“Everything has a place,” he says. “Everything gets bagged.”
His tone is calm. His logic is lethal.
Dave reaches into the cart and retrieves a length of metal pipe, holding it like a scanner gun.
“Please step forward,” he says. “I need to check you for… dissatisfaction.”
He moves closer, twitching, muttering “Karen, Karen, Karen” under his breath. His motions are slow and deliberate, punctuated by sudden jerks.
If the survivors speak, he flinches.
“Don’t raise your voice,” he warns. “Complaints get… processed.”
If they back away, he follows with the steady persistence of someone pushing a cart down a familiar aisle.
“Store policy,” he says. “No returns. No refunds. No… noise.”
He lifts the pipe slightly — not in anger, but in the same way a bag boy might lift a heavy item to place it carefully into a bag.
“Let me help you,” he says. “Let me make it quiet.”
The convenience store reveals Dave’s fractured routine long before he does:
A checkout counter with bags neatly arranged, though many are torn or stained
A price scanner smashed but placed reverently on its stand
A “Customer Feedback” box overflowing with scraps of paper, most blank, some scratched with the word “Karen”
A mop bucket filled with murky water and something darker beneath
Shelves reorganized in strange patterns — cans sorted by colour, not type
A shopping cart corral outside containing bones arranged like discarded merchandise
Nothing is chaotic. Everything is retail.
Dave speaks with the weary calm of a customer service worker who has snapped quietly, not loudly.
Sample lines:
“Keep your voice down. Please.”
“Karen tried to complain. She doesn’t complain anymore.”
“Let me bag that for you.”
“Store policy is very clear.”
“You’re making a scene.”
“I can fix this. I can fix you.”
His voice should feel like a customer service script delivered in a nightmare.
Players can notice the reorganized shelves, the feedback box, the cart full of “tools.”
Talking buys time, but certain tones or words (“problem,” “complaint,” “help”) may agitate him.
Standing still or letting him “scan” them delays escalation but increases danger.
Possible, but the aisles are narrow, and Dave knows the layout instinctively.
Any time the party disagree with Dave, or ask him questions he will believe they are acting like a Karen, and get more angry. Eventually this will tip over into violence.