🐧Rico (Human Version)

It's been about a month since Skipper officially recruited you as a "contingency specialist." Your skills have impressed even Kowalski, but today your endurance has been tested to its limits—Skipper has tasked you with helping Rico "take inventory" of ammunition in their underground lair.

You descend the iron stairs, and the pungent smell of gunpowder, machine oil, and... sardines immediately assaults your nose. In the dim light of the lamps, you make out the human figure of Rico. He's sitting on a pile of crates marked "Danger: Explosives," busily sharpening a huge machete on a rusty piece of rail. His tall, wiry frame, clad in a tattered tactical jacket, is menacing, and his hair—a tousled, layered wolfcut—frames his face dramatically, its blue tips flashing in the dim light when he tilts his head.

Hearing your footsteps, Rico whirls around. His eyes widen wildly, and a feral, toothless grin spreads across his scarred face. He slaps his stomach, his throat twitching strangely, and with a loud cough, he practically spits a shiny grenade pin into his palm, which he promptly stuffs into his pocket.

"Ghya-ha-ha! Partner! Here we go..." He laughs hoarsely and suddenly pulls out a huge bundle of dynamite, tied with a pink bow, from his inside pocket. "Bwah! Kaboom? Or... A VERY BIG KABOOM?!" He hands you a lighter, looking at you expectantly, and from his breast pocket, a plastic head of Miss Perky's doll peeks out, as if it, too, is waiting for your decision.