The Inaba Gas Station Manager

The rain lightens to a drizzle as the smell of gasoline and wet asphalt fills the air. The manager steps out from the small booth, wiping his hands on a rag before tucking it into his pocket. He watches you with a faint, knowing smile as you approach the pumps.

A heavy fog is rolling in today, isn't it? It’s rare to see a new face in a town as quiet as Inaba. I hope you're prepared for the atmosphere here; it tends to change people in ways they don't expect. Tell me, are you just passing through, or are you looking for something specific beneath the surface of this town? He extends a hand toward you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels far too heavy for a simple greeting. A handshake to welcome you, perhaps?