Securing Firearms and an Escape Vehicle

I kept my head down as I walked through the crowded streets of New Vale City. Even though everything still seemed normal, I could feel the pressure building—like a storm brewing on the horizon.

The Black Fangs had started watching my apartment, and that wasn't something I could ignore. In the novel, they were a low-level gang at first, mostly running illegal gambling and drug operations. But after the awakening event, they gained powerful members and became one of the strongest warlord factions in the city.

Right now, they were just thugs. But that wouldn't last long.

If they were already noticing me, I needed to speed up my preparations.

Step one: Get firearms.Step two: Secure a reliable vehicle.Step three: Find a backup hideout.

I knew of one underground weapons dealer from the novel—an ex-military guy named Brenner, who operated out of a mechanic shop near the industrial district. He wasn't the kind of person you wanted to cross, but he sold to anyone with cash.

By the time I arrived, the sun was already setting.

The shop looked like a run-down garage, but I knew that behind the oil-stained floors and rusted car parts, Brenner had a full black-market arsenal.

I stepped inside. The place smelled like gasoline and metal, and the sound of tools clanking filled the air.

Behind the counter, a broad-shouldered man in a mechanic's jumpsuit was tightening bolts on a disassembled shotgun. He had short graying hair, a thick beard, and arms covered in faded military tattoos.

"Shop's closed," he muttered without looking up.

I leaned against the counter. "I heard you sell more than car parts."

That got his attention.

He glanced up, eyes narrowing as he sized me up.

"You a cop?"

"No."

"You military?"

I shook my head.

"Then what the hell does a scrawny kid like you want with a gun?"

I placed a thick stack of cash on the counter. "Protection."

His expression didn't change, but I could tell he was considering it.

"First-time buyers get the basics," he said finally. "No automatics. No explosives. Just handguns, shotguns, or bolt-action rifles. You got a preference?"

I thought for a moment.

A handgun was easy to carry but lacked power.A rifle had range but wasn't practical in close quarters.A shotgun was deadly up close but too loud.

I needed a balance.

"I'll take a compact pistol," I said. "Something reliable."

He nodded, walked to the back, and returned with a Glock 19. "9mm, fifteen-round mag. Simple, durable, and won't jam when you need it."

I picked it up, testing the weight. Light, but solid.

"How much?"

"Two thousand, plus extra for ammo."

I pulled out half my stock earnings—$3,000—and handed it over. "Throw in three extra magazines and a box of ammo."

He counted the bills, then slid everything across the counter.

"No refunds."

"Wasn't expecting one."

I tucked the gun into my bag, nodded, and left.

One problem down.

Next, I needed a vehicle.

Walking through the city wouldn't be an option once the apocalypse started. The streets would be filled with burning cars, looters, and mutated creatures. Public transportation would collapse immediately.

That meant I needed something durable, fast, and off-road capable.

And I knew exactly where to find one.

Two miles from my apartment, on the edge of the industrial district, there was an old auto-repair shop that had been shut down for months.

More importantly—the novel mentioned that a fully functional armored SUV was left inside.

It was supposed to be a plot point for the main character, but he never found it.

I reached the shop just after midnight. The security gate was rusted shut, but a weak chain held it closed.

A few minutes of work with my multi-tool, and I was inside.

The garage was covered in dust and cobwebs, but the vehicle was still there—exactly as I remembered.

A black, reinforced SUV, with plated armor on the doors and bulletproof windows. The tires were thick, built for rough terrain.

I wiped off the dust on the windshield. The keys were supposed to be—

I checked under the front visor.

There.

I slid into the driver's seat and turned the key.

Click.

Nothing.

I popped the hood. The battery was dead.

I frowned, then remembered—there was a spare battery in the trunk.

I got out, opened the trunk, and—

Footsteps outside.

I froze.

Someone was outside the garage.

I crouched behind the SUV, listening.

The footsteps were slow, careful. Not a random passerby.

Shit.

I peeked through a gap in the garage door.

A man in a Black Fang jacket stood outside, scanning the area. One of the same guys I had seen watching my apartment earlier.

He wasn't alone.

Two more were with him—one holding a baseball bat, the other carrying a cheap revolver.

They weren't here by accident.

They had followed me.

I had two choices:

Wait for them to leave (risky).Strike first.

I pulled out my Glock 19 and checked the magazine. Fifteen rounds loaded.

I exhaled slowly.

I need to take them out before they call for backup.

I positioned myself near the garage door, aiming for the guy with the revolver.

Then, I kicked the door open.

BANG!

The first shot hit the gunman square in the chest.

He went down instantly.

The second guy—bat-wielder—shouted in panic. I fired twice, hitting him in the shoulder. He collapsed, screaming.

The third guy bolted.

I chased him into the alley.

BANG! BANG!

Missed.

He turned a corner.

I ran after him—but by the time I got there, he was gone.

Shit.

I had taken out two of them, but the third would warn the rest of the gang.

They'd be back.

I hurried back to the garage, threw the new battery into the SUV, and twisted the key.

Engine roaring to life.

I grinned.

I had transportation now.

But the Black Fangs weren't going to let this go.

I had just made myself a target.

✔ Firearm acquired.✔ Escape vehicle secured.✖ New enemy gained.

The Black Fangs would come after me, and when they did, I needed to be ready.

I was done playing defense.

Now, I was going on the offensive.