In the wasteland century, I am the legendary doomsday pawnbroker.
Pawn gold and silver in exchange for resources?
No, what I pawn is my sense of existence: you pawn your sense of existence, and I let you live.
My ex-girlfriend who was seriously injured and on the verge of death yesterday was brought back to the world by me.
Today she pointed her gun at me: "What do strangers do?"
I took out the pawn contract from my pocket and remembered her tears hitting the paper when she signed it.
But now the gun is cold and the contract is hot.
