The Arsenal Jackpot

Ethan didn't have time to linger. Daylight was short, and nightfall in this frozen hell was downright lethal. He had to locate the military armory before darkness swallowed the world again.

But now that he'd uncovered the dormitories, he finally had a fixed reference point. That was enough to recalculate.

He climbed out of the snow-covered barracks and looked around. Recalling what Uncle Ray had told him about the layout, he positioned the excavator and resumed digging in a different direction.

It didn't take long.

Barely ten minutes in, his excavator slammed into something solid—concrete, reinforced and stubborn.

Jackpot.

Beneath the thick crust of ice was a massive rectangular bunker, sealed tight with steel-reinforced doors. The damn thing looked like a concrete coffin. And mounted on that door was a heavy-duty military-grade padlock, glinting silver and unyielding.

Ethan dropped his crowbar and wrestled with it for several minutes. The lock didn't budge. His arms felt like jelly.

"Of course the military wouldn't use crap-tier locks. Should've known better…"

Then it hit him. He had a freaking excavator.

One quick climb later, he rammed the bucket down with all his weight. Metal screamed. Sparks flew.

The lock shattered.

Heart pounding, Ethan shoved the heavy doors open.

What greeted him made every cell in his body roar to life.

Rows upon rows of assault rifles hung neatly on metal racks, black as night and brimming with deadly promise. Ammunition crates stacked neatly. Uniforms. Combat helmets. Even camouflage spray paint.

It was every doomsday prepper's wet dream.

Ethan's first move? Dump all the assault rifles into his spatial inventory.

He wasn't short on guns anymore—far from it. But who knew what the future held? If he ever needed to arm a survival squad, he now had enough firepower to start his own militia.

But the real treasure was the ammunition.

Carefully, he pried open the steel boxes. His pulse quickened. Inside were thousands upon thousands of bullets.

Rough estimate? Over 2,000 rounds of handgun ammo. 5,000+ for assault rifles. Even his rarest supply—sniper rounds—clocked in at over 300.

And nestled beside them?

A new sniper rifle.

Unlike his old police-issue weapon, this military-grade beauty was built for extreme environments. It was waterproof, dustproof, frost-resistant. Its accuracy was a tad lower—but that didn't matter. Ethan had his precision ability. With that, even a potato gun could hit center mass.

What really blew his mind was the crate in the corner.

Grenades.

Fifty of them.

Five crates, ten per box. Ethan opened one, his grin stretching wider with each explosive he counted.

"This… this is better than Christmas."

Clearly, the soldiers had left in a hurry. If they'd had more time, they would've taken these weapons with them. But snowstorms came fast and hard. Lucky for Ethan.

This much gear was already overkill for one man.

But he wasn't done.

He remembered what Uncle Ray had said—there should be more than one armory. A battalion-level unit like this wouldn't stock all weapons in a single vault.

He fired up the excavator again and began clearing the snow along the adjacent cement structures.

Bingo.

Another armory—slightly smaller, but still stacked with hundreds of rounds and two more crates of grenades.

Ethan's spatial inventory was filling up fast.

By the time he was done, he had:

Over 10,000 rounds of assorted ammunition

3 military sniper rifles

Dozens of assault weapons

70+ grenades

Tactical gear, helmets, and uniforms

Compared to the rest of Bayview City, he was now a one-man army.

And he wasn't just collecting toys—he had a plan. A plan that involved fire. Lots of it.

He hadn't forgotten about the cowardly bastards in Building 21 who'd tried to ambush him. They were holed up inside, thinking Ethan wouldn't dare go in.

He wouldn't. But he didn't have to.

He'd burn them out.

To that end, Ethan rode toward the nearby wilderness. The area was filled with snow-covered trees—perfect kindling.

He used the excavator like a giant reaper, snapping trunks, collecting wood, and shoving it into his spatial inventory like he was stockpiling for Ragnarok.

By the time he was finished, it was already night.

Ethan finally made his way back to Building 25, covered in snow and cold as hell.

The neighbors were already waiting, hungry eyes glued to the entrance like wolves.

But Ethan had come home empty-handed on purpose.

He raised both hands, shrugged. "Sorry, folks. I searched a bunch of places today. Didn't find anything."

They froze.

Then the murmurs began.

"What? No food again?"

"Did he even look?"

"I swear to god, what's the point of sending him out if he comes back with nothing?"

Ethan scanned the crowd, smiling pleasantly.

"You done?"

The grumbling stopped.

"I've been noticing something lately. Some of you are getting… bold. Forgetting who the hell I am."

"You think it's easy out there? You think I owe you food just because you sit here twiddling your thumbs?"

He let the silence stretch.

"I'll make it real simple: If you don't like the way things are, you're welcome to find your own food."

That shut everyone up.

Lee Finn stepped forward quickly. "Ethan, that's not what anyone meant. We know how hard you work. It's not easy scavenging in this weather. Please, go rest. We'll be fine."

Ethan nodded slightly, but in his heart, he was already revising the list of people he might need to eliminate soon.