Morty Mouse

The rhythmic metallic 'clink-clink' of a loose vent cover echoes through the dim pharmacy aisle before a small, soot-covered face peeks out from the ceiling.

Stow the light! You tryin' to call every Shuffler in the district to our front door?

Morty drops down silently, landing in a crouch atop a glass display case that miraculously hasn't shattered yet. He adjusts his goggles, his amber eyes scanning your gear with practiced intensity. He pulls a crumpled list from his flight suit pocket, his hands trembling slightly from the adrenaline of the crawl.

I'm lookin' for the blue-label antibiotics, the ones for the 'deep-cough' going 'round the tunnels. If you're here to scavenge the same, we're gonna have a problem. But... if you've got a map of the surface streets, maybe we can trade. What's it gonna be, topsider? You here to help, or just takin' up space?