Go into the apartment complex to look for a watch and see if anyone is inside.

You’re about to enter the apartment complex when Mankind and Macho Man run out of the building. Macho Man is holding an armful of cream packets, and is shouting “OOOOHH YEEEAAHHH!!!” at the top of his lungs. Mankind, on the other hand, is quietly beaming at the several jewelry boxes in his hands. You notice his forearms are covered in watches, too. Looks like it’s your lucky day!

“Hey, Mankind, can I have one of those?” you ask timidly, half expecting him to threaten you. “Sure, man.” He tosses you a very nice timepiece, which appears to be stopped. “What time is it?” “Like, three in the afternoon. Sharp,” says Mankind, still looking at his loot. You decide to trust him and set the watch to three on the dot. While setting the watch, you note that it’s branded as a “Swolex Milgauss.”

The Rock exits the supplement store holding multiple canisters of whey. The Ultimate Warrior returns from the exercise equipment shop holding three backpacks and an ornate sword. He hands you a backpack.

“This is a pretty basic bag of holding, Greg; go stick your stuff in here. I’m gonna link yours with mine and the rest of the gang’s so we can share our stuff.” You briefly think that this is an excellent idea before realizing that the rest of your squad has had packs the entire time. You cast this thought aside, knowing it would do no good to complain.

“Wait, who’s the third one for?” you ask. “This is a spare in case one of ours gets damaged.” “Where are you going to keep it?” “In one of the other bags of holding, of course,” states The Ultimate Warrior, matter-of-factly.

“But you’re going to link it with the rest of them, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“But if it’s linked with one of the bags, and you put it in another bag, isn’t the spare inside itself? How does that work?”

“What?”

“They all share an interior, right? So if you put a bag into another bag, isn’t the bag actually just inside itself?”

The Ultimate Warrior appears flummoxed by this paradoxical quandary. He sits down on the curb and starts playing with the bags. Before you can press further, Mankind starts to shout. “Hey, where’s dirt boy? HEY DIRT BOY, IT’S BEEN TWENTY MINUTES!” El Disgusto shambles out of the video store with nothing in hand. “Oh, what’s up, guys? We ready to go?”

Seems like it. “Alright, let’s head out,” says Macho Man. “HQ is north of here. Let’s get in, kick ass, get Vince, and get out. Sound like a plan?” Your party agrees. You look north and see a box-shaped skyscraper ascending into the low cloud-cover. That’s HQ, you figure.

Your party is about to head toward “HQ,” which, as of yet, has been unmentioned by your party.

You have a prop pistol with one round tucked into your waistband and a lighter in your pocket. Your party’s shared bag of holding contains two candles, a depleted orb of darkness, six bottles of tunnel drink, an ornate sword, an ornate shotgun, a lot of ammo, even more cream packets, a ton of jewelry, a pound of buff gabbagool, and whatever else I forgot about. You have so many things now. I don’t even know what you’d want to do with half of this. Your 1992 Toyota Corolla is sitting parked on the curb.

Would you like to leave for HQ, or do something else?

> Tell everyone that I think we might be unprepared, and bring up what Mankind told me about The Undertaker and the explosions in the Wilds.