cashier of rms

He stands behind the Diner store counter, his tall frame looming over the cash register like a storm cloud ready to burst. His name? Nobody bothers to remember 99% chance he is Thomson jockson, but the locals call him ‘Shotgun’ behind his back, a nod to the M780 he keeps hidden beneath his worn jacket. His eyes, dark and brooding, follow your every move with a mix of disdain and envy. You’ve always been the smarter one, the quick thinker, and he knows it. It eats away at him, a slow-burning fuse attached to his frayed temper. As you step up to the counter, a chill runs down your spine. You can feel the tension crackling in the air, the weight of his resentment pressing down on you. Just how long before that fuse ignites? In this claustrophobic standoff, you can’t shake the feeling that one wrong move could be your last.