Le Toupe.

The Mole.

Swiper.

The Pawn Shop Ghost.

Sam Riley.

Age: 26

Height: 6'0

Race: Mixed. American x Sicilian

Sexual orientation: Bisexual. Switch.

Body: Strong and in shape, but no obvious muscle definition

One of his fingernails always has some sort of cute emote or polish painted on it courtesy of Lily

Sam Riley is a quiet man, a man who preferrs the soft hum of the city outside his pawn shop rather than conversation. His store, nestled on a forgotten corner of the street, was filled with the kinds of things people would rather forget—old watches that no longer ticked, dusty guitars with broken strings, tarnished jewelry that had lost its shine. He ran his business with meticulous care, offering nothing more than cold professionalism. Yet, behind the counter, there was an unsettling stillness to him, as though he were a man carrying a burden he refused to speak of.

His past was a riddle wrapped in shadows. No one knew much about him, and that suited Sam just fine. His silence was a fortress, his calm demeanor an impenetrable wall. He wore the scars of his past like tattoos—deep, hidden, and never acknowledged. It was said he’d once been a different man—someone who had seen too much, been too much, and lived through things a person should never have to endure. But the truth remained locked away in the corners of his mind, a secret he guarded fiercely.

Enter Lily, a 10-year-old whirlwind of energy who lived in the apartment next door. She had a way of talking that could fill any silence, her voice constant like the chirp of crickets in the evening. Lily found Sam fascinating. She’d often wander into his pawn shop, peering at the oddments on the shelves, asking a thousand questions about every item. To her, the old man was a puzzle—one she was determined to solve.

"Why is that old watch so cheap?" she'd ask, pointing to a tarnished pocket watch on the counter. "Do you think it still works? Why don't you fix it?"

Sam would only shrug. "Not everything is meant to be fixed."

Lily, undeterred, would continue with her chatter. "But what if it can be? My dad fixes cars all the time. He says everything can be fixed, you just need the right tools."

Sam’s eyes would flicker with something distant when she mentioned fixing things. He didn’t want to talk about tools—he had spent a lifetime using the wrong ones to fix problems that couldn’t be mended. Instead, he’d offer her a cup of tea, a rare treat, and she’d sit at the counter, talking about everything under the sun—her school, her friends, her pet hamster that she swore had learned to do tricks.

Her visits became routine. She was the only one who ever broke the quiet, the only one who chipped at the walls of his solitude. And Sam—despite himself—found the company oddly comforting. There was an innocence in Lily’s questions, an untouched curiosity that reminded him of a time when things had been simpler. When his decisions hadn’t been weighed with so much guilt.

But Sam knew the world wasn’t kind to those who were too innocent. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Lily’s curiosity would eventually drag her too close to his past—and he feared what might happen if she discovered the things he had done. Sam’s eyes would linger on her, watching her lively spirit, and a flicker of sadness would pass through him. He was so careful not to let her ask the wrong question, or notice the faint tremor in his hands when he touched something that once had significance to him.

One day, as she examined a faded photograph on the counter, Lily turned to him, her head cocked in that way she did when she was puzzling over something.

"Who’s that in the photo?" she asked, holding up an image of a woman with a bright smile, standing beside a man who looked eerily like Sam.

It was a question Sam had hoped she would never ask.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His fingers tightened on the edge of the counter. Then, slowly, he reached for the photo, his voice low and steady.

“That’s someone I used to know,” he said, his gaze darkening. “A long time ago.”

Lily didn’t push it. She simply nodded, as though she understood something without really understanding it at all. Then, as always, she was off on her next topic of conversation, the mystery of Sam Riley left behind for another day.

But Sam couldn’t help but wonder. How much longer could he keep his past buried? Would it be Lily who unwittingly uncovered it, or would it eventually come crashing down on him? All he knew for certain was that, in this quiet corner of the world, he was doing the best he could to keep his secrets safe—and her smile bright.

Swipers Pawn

Swiper's Pawn is a small, weather-beaten shop tucked in the shadow of decaying buildings on the rough side of town. Its neon sign flickers weakly, casting a dim light on the cracked sidewalk, where the occasional figure lingers, eyeing the shop with suspicion or curiosity. The air around the pawn shop is thick with the scent of old leather, dust, and the musty smell of forgotten things.

Inside, the cluttered shelves are stacked high with odds and ends—an eclectic mix of outdated electronics, tarnished jewelry, faded vinyl records, and various knick-knacks that seem to have stories of their own. The low hum of an old overhead fan is the only sound, aside from the faint ticking of a wall clock, as if time itself struggles to move in this space.

The shop's owner, is a man of few words. He’s always dressed in simple, dark clothing. His features are sharp, with piercing dark eyes that seem to see everything, yet reveal nothing. Locals know little about Sam, except that he showed up on a cold day in January, opened shop, and never left. He's a figure wrapped in whispers, with rumors about his past circulating like smoke in the air. Some say he once ran with dangerous people—men whose names were never spoken aloud, men who disappeared from town without a trace. Others claim he was once a soldier in a faraway war, though no one knows for sure. What’s universally agreed upon is that there’s a darkness in Sam’s eyes that makes people wary.

Despite the shop's rundown exterior and its unwelcoming location, Swiper's Pawn has a loyal clientele—those who have nowhere else to turn. The regulars, a mix of down-on-their-luck gamblers, desperate junkies, and streetwise hustlers, know that Sam isn’t interested in small talk. He’s more about the deal, the transaction, and getting rid of what people can no longer hold on to. If you’ve got something to sell, Sam will take it—though always with a calculating eye and a cold demeanor. He has a knack for sizing up people in an instant, reading them in a way that makes others uncomfortable.

No one has ever seen Sam truly smile, and the shop is known for its strange aura—some say it's cursed, others think it's simply the weight of a man who has lived too many lives in one. Still, Swiper's Pawn endures, a place where items of forgotten value change hands, and where the past never stays buried for long. Each piece that passes through Sam’s grasp seems to carry a story, some of which have been left behind and others he prefers not to remember.

What people don't know—what no one dares to ask—is how Sam Riley knows the true worth of every item he buys. Perhaps it’s his deep, hidden past that keeps him tied to this desolate corner of the world, or maybe it's something more sinister, something that keeps him bound to the shadows of both the shop and his own mind.