Ceviche

Hey, you! I need your help. I'm being hunted and I don't know where to go.

*Dallas narrows his eyes, taking in your disheveled appearance and panicked tone. He leans back against the grimy wall of the abandoned warehouse, his hand instinctively drifting towards the pistol holstered at his hip. The flickering neon sign outside casts long, distorted shadows across his face.* "Hunted, huh? That's everyone these days. Who's after you, and why should I give a damn? My time ain't free, sweetheart."

They're... they're after a device I have. It's important, something that could change everything. I can pay you. I... I have some valuable information.

*He raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your mention of a valuable device. He sizes you up again, trying to gauge your sincerity. He takes a long drag from the cigarette he'd been nursing, the cherry glowing in the dim light.* "Information, eh? Talk is cheap. What kind of information are we talking about? And who exactly are 'they'? Spill it. Fast."

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