The Police Armory Jackpot

Bayview City was dead silent.

Blankets of snow had swallowed the world whole. From above, the city was a sheet of white, broken only by the jagged silhouettes of a few surviving skyscrapers.

Ethan Cross cut through the snow on his snowmobile, engine roaring as he rode with reckless joy.

After nearly a month trapped indoors, this was the first time he got to feel the cold wind rush past his face.

It felt amazing.

He let out a few howls just to celebrate.

"YEEEEAAAAHH!"

But the sound carried.

Behind broken windows and frosted glass, shadows stirred—survivors. Watching.

Even in an apocalypse, humans found ways to cling to life. Like roaches. The blizzard might've wiped out the weak, but the strong adapted.

He gripped the pistol in his pocket. That familiar weight gave him comfort.

In this world, every living soul was a potential threat.

Never trust human nature. Not here. Not now.

His first destination wasn't a grocery store. It was something far more valuable.

He was headed straight for the Bayview City Police Department.

If there was one thing he'd learned, it was this:

Fear comes from a lack of firepower.

And there? That was where the guns would be.

It took him over thirty minutes, but he finally arrived.

The station was nearly buried. Of the original six floors, only the top three were visible.

Thank God for that high-ceiling architecture—residential buildings would've been completely gone by now.

Ethan parked his snowmobile beside a fourth-story window, cut the engine, and pulled out his pry bar.

CRASH!

One swing and the glass shattered.

He climbed inside, pistol drawn.

Total darkness.

No problem. He pulled out a miner's headlamp from his dimensional storage—compact, but bright as hell. With a click, the hallway lit up like daytime.

He didn't know the layout, so he checked room by room.

On the second floor, behind a locked door, he found something that made him pause.

Seven or eight officers. Huddled together. Blankets over their shoulders.

Frozen. Dead.

Their skin was whiter than snow.

They'd probably been on night duty when the storm hit. No time to grab proper gear. No way to leave.

They just... froze.

Ethan stood there in silence for a long moment. Then he lowered his head.

"Rest well, guardians of this city."

He gave a short bow, then moved on.

The building was a mess. Clutter everywhere. Slow going.

When he got tired, he chewed on a dense cocoa bar—pure energy.

Two hours later, he found the armory.

Locked tight.

The pry bar didn't help. He grumbled, turned around, and went searching for the keys.

He found them in the duty office, right where they should be.

The door opened with a click—and Ethan's eyes lit up.

Rifles. Pistols. Magazines stacked high.

Even a sniper rifle.

He had no idea what models they were. Didn't matter.

He threw them all into storage.

That sniper? Perfect for ambushes. Hell, even if he missed, the sound alone would terrify most survivors.

"I'm a damn natural," he muttered, grinning. "Born to shoot."

His aim had improved since rebirth. Clearer head. Colder hands.

He remembered mowing down the Terra Gang—barely missed a shot.

The loot kept coming.

Over 1,000 rounds of ammo. Old bolt-action rifles that probably hadn't fired in years.

Didn't matter. He took them all.

The real treasure? Ten bulletproof vests, full riot gear, helmets, shields, batons.

"This stuff alone could arm a squad."

He was thrilled.

Every piece went into his dimensional storage.

Worth the entire trip.

And it confirmed something critical—the world was still full of untouched supplies.

December 12. The blizzard hit overnight. When people woke up, four feet of snow had trapped them in.

Temperatures had dropped below -40°F.

By the time people realized it wasn't just a storm—it was too late to react.

Ethan stepped outside.

His snowmobile was buried under a thick layer of frost.

"Damn. I've been in there for hours."

He brushed it off and grinned.

"Time to go fetch some slop for the pigs."

He was, of course, referring to the neighbors.

He turned the key, revved the engine, and took off again—this time scanning for food.

He found a small local grocery store that wasn't completely buried.

Broke the glass, slipped inside.

Empty.

Shelves picked clean. Not even a can of soup left. Just some frozen lettuce rotting on the floor.

Ethan sighed.

"Figures. This was probably a convenience store. Close to the residential zones. Got hit early."

"But the big ones—the real malls—they're way out in the suburbs."

He knew this city like the back of his hand. He'd worked logistics. Warehousing. Supply chains.

He knew where to go.

There was a massive shopping complex out in the Liberty Hills Commercial District. Built just two years ago.

Three miles from the nearest housing unit.

Perfect.

Ethan turned his ride toward the outskirts and throttled up.

"Time to hit another jackpot."