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The stank of ganja fills the air as your eyes slowly open. A blunt, recently rolled and recently lit lies a foot in front of you. You look to your hands:

A wad of cash is clutched in your left

while a loaded .45 semi-auto is lightly grasped in your right.

As you look around the room you notice it's not more than a dimly lit cell, no windows no decorations. A door is all there is, light dimly exuding from the cracks around it.

What do you do now?

Finish blunt. Go to the store and use the wad of cash to buy a bunch of doritos and soda for my cravings. Go home and fall asleep. Later, give the gun to the police.

At this point, I might be in trouble after a few days since I obviously had an illegal substance, a wad of cash, and a gun. So, just got it let it play it out.

Tired and butthurt….you observe your dank ganga surroundings indicate that you have woken up in BSOD's bedroom. You glance to the right of your bedside and sure enough find BSOD still asleep and tuckered out from last nights romping.

You don't quite remember how you got here, probably due to all those blunts you smoked, but the cash in your hand indicates that BSOD paid you fairly well for your sexual solicitation.

As for the gun, well you figure you may have had an afterthought regarding who just did what in your ass and nearly attempted suicide for it, but was too high to pull the trigger and feel asleep instead

Figuring your business is done, you take your money and your gun and crawl out of bed. You put your underwear back on to leave through the door

[edit]

damn, ninja'd

@Butterscotch

You recall a liason, between yourself and a man with a blue-screened computer as a head. The memory is sparsely informational, all you know is that you were on the receiving end of a lot of buttplay. As you pat your bottom you notice no pain. Must have been a nightmare. Or a wet dream, the drugs have made you a little hazy on how you swing sexually. Speaking of…

@Kurenai

You grab the blunt and stick it in your mouth, quickly transitioning from your prayer-like stance on your knees to a more comfortable crisscross position against the wall. You relax and smoke the rest of the blunt, progressively getting higher as you do so. You lose track of time as you smoke away, and as the blunt becomes a roach you extinguish the flame and stash it in your pocket. You'll utilize it in a makeshift Gatorade bottle bong later.

The munchies overcome you as you practically bounce out if the room. You pay little attention to your surroundings, merely gliding through corridor after corridor as you final exit a set of double doors into the city streets.

As luck would have it, a convieniance store is right in front of the building. You count your wad, making out about $6,500. You quickly scurry to the store, purchasing $150 dollars worth of Doritos and coca-cola to satiate your gluttony.

You black out for a while, somehow making it to your apartment. You care little for this development, leaping upon your sofa and devouring 5 odd party-sized bags of Doritos as well as nearly a gallon of soda as you lazily watch game of thrones on television. You think of the pistol stashed in your back pocket, and though you can't remember aquiring it, thoughts of it bring a warm feeling of familiarity to you. Regardless you resolve to turn it into the police tomorrow. You soon pass out, whether it be from the drugs or the copeus junk food consumed you can't say.

You awaken 6 hours later, the crescent moon still high in the sky as you look out the window. You are still pretty high, though not so high as to not notice the figure standing in the shadows.

A hulking figure, clad in dark armor with glowing red eyes. He…she…it is completely silent, you wouldn't even know it was alive had it not been for the soft movement of its chest as it breathed. In its arms is what could be best described as the offspring of a light machine gun and an anti-material rifle.

And it is currently aimed right at you.

"Oh gluttonous compatriot of mine", it calls, it's voice modulator further obscuring its gender, "Have you made contact with the scourge which plagues our reality".

You are unsure of what to do, though your thoughts jump to the pistol in your back pocket. It most likely would do little to that armor, though it's best to be prepared for the worst.

"Compatriot, speak now", the figure beckons, "I wish not to purge a fellow hunter on a night such as this".

What do you do?

Open the door while aiming .45 pistol to see "Am I in the slum zone in high school that people always start bong party?"

@ spiral nuggets

You lift yourself up off the couch and look to the door. The figure blocks the way, there's no way out. The figure tenses as you move.

A random thought comes to your mind, you've no idea where it comes from. You decide you have little else to do in this situation.

"Am I in the slum zone in high school that people always start bong party?”

The figure stares at you, unmoving. You can't make any indication of emotion from behind it's intimidating mask.

After a while it eases up, lowering the cannon in its hands.

"Aye compatriot, we are indeed in the slum zone", it sighs, seemingly happy in the avoidance of violence, "Good to see your convictions hold fast".

Tugging lightly on the bolt the figure slings the gun across its back as moves to the beanbag chair across from the couch. The figure crosses one leg over the other and cups their hands together. The red opticals remained fully focused on your Dorito-encrusted form.

"So compatriot, where have you stashed the nanocypher?"

You look inquisitively at the figure.

"My Dogma informed me it was hidden a roll of parchment. Reminiscent of tobacco paper. Was it not your conviction to acquire it from the scourge?".

Oops.

What do you do now?

Blame the problem at the blue-screened computer, find your gun, get out of the building quietly as possible.

Shoot at figure, Run to the school gate and open it up

I death-blossom and dive into the street

I bluff the figure by saying that i was mearly a pawn sent here without directions given beforehand