The Zephyr guild representative was overjoyed that I had made contact with him of my own volition, asking for details on how many weapons I had to sell and what my price was. Just as before, he was perfectly cordial in his messages, though I could only assume that he was getting word out to the rest of his guild so that death squads could be prepared in full to bring me down.

As it turned out, now that they weren't all working together to keep normal players from leaving the city, there had been some serious competition between the top guilds, and Zephyr was falling behind due to being unable to field enough players with adequate weaponry before they were killed by monsters or other people. This made my message a godsend, giving them the chance to obtain an advantage in the light machine guns that were in my possession.

Lion's Mane and Crescent Shield had both acquired sniper rifles in decent numbers, which was how they were managing to control resource rich sections of the Ruined Zone for their respective guild members to farm. This in turn allowed their guilds more influence in the city itself when it came to shopping, property values, and a few other minor perks. Zephyr on the other hand was losing those things, and had been looking to solve that problem.

I asked AZTea to head out and find somewhere safe enough to hold the deal, giving her an extra five hundred credits to bribe NPCs and curious players if she had to, along with one of the P850s in case bribes didn't work. She left with six spare magazines, sucking on a lollipop the whole time.

In the meantime I took stock of everything we had available. The light machine guns could be sold for a decent chunk of credits, but that would still leave us with several other weapons I didn't want to keep around for too long. I grabbed one of each gun, inspecting them individually on the workbench.

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Sentinel LMG

"You don't need to suppress the enemy if they're all dead."

Green Uncommon FIrearm

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A full black gunmetal stock, the box magazine feeding into the bottom of the gun, widening on both sides of the frame to fit more ammunition, the barrel set into a heavy block of iron, with a bipod mounted to the front. It was heavy, but I assumed it was powerful all the same. I chose to inspect the SMG next, pushing the LMG off to the side.

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Locust-83 SMG

"Quantity is a quality all its own. Show them why."

White Common Firearm

-------------------

The white SMG was a mystery to me. The only bullets I'd found that were both able to fit the magazine and then be fired were .22 caliber pistol rounds, which didn't even have enough power to deal any seriously fatal damage to a living being unless the shooter got lucky with a headshot or was spraying massive amounts of lead downrange. Why it was designed or why anyone would even bother using it made no sense to me. Regardless, I'd include it in the sale, advertising it as area denial if nothing else.

The grenades were nothing special, just simple 'pull the pin and throw' contraptions, though I did inspect the crate they came in just to be sure there wasn't some timed detonator or something. Fortunately I found nothing, closing the lid with a satisfying click.

AZTea came back after half an hour, having discovered an abandoned mall tucked away in the southeast corner of Bastion. She'd had to bribe the gang squatting there to let us use a portion of the building for the deal, but things would be safe enough. Since this was going to be our biggest sale yet, I gave her the Recycler Rifle and another five hundred credits to get a scope for it, along with some shoulder holsters for myself. Jolly was outfitted with two Stens and one of the P850s, along with several extra magazines if things went south.

When the newer player came back, I set him up as AZTea's backup in case Zephyr brought snipers of their own to the party. Since we were working with a limited time frame and a low amount of manpower, projecting any level of force would be difficult. I thought about posting a recruitment notice, but my mind just kept circling back to guild death squads and potential traitors. There wasn't enough time to wait for someone to take the job either. We were on our own simply because I was moving too fast.

Everything except for two ammunition boxes for the P850s and a large portion of the grenades was loaded back into the truck by the time AZTea got back. I was hidden under the tarp with the merchandise while she sat out in the open, the other two in the cabin of the truck.

"So I gotta ask. I'm fine going along with it, but why do you take all this so seriously? We could be out there scavenging or exploring, but instead here we are on our way to a black market weapons deal, acting in a way that seems over-cautious. Why'd you choose this over exploring or literally anything else?" The truck bumped and rattled a bit, the boxes of ammo pressing uncomfortably against my legs. Her voice was muffled through the tarp, but it still came through clear enough that I knew I'd have to respond.

"I'm paranoid and I like causing trouble?" I supplied her with an uncertain response, unsure if it was meant to divert the conversation or diffuse tension. I felt a pinch against my skin and lifted my arms up to deal with it. The P850s underneath my armpits were surprisingly discomforting despite their small size, and I had to adjust them more than once.

"From what I've seen so far, that's easy enough to figure out. But why weapons? Why not something less attention grabbing, like regular items? There's enough of a market for it, and you'd be able to leave the city to explore every now and then." I assumed she was gesturing as she spoke, though the plastic tarp had captured my attention with its interwoven material.

"There are many ways to help others. Materials, medicine, cooking, crafting, fighting, and exploring. I chose weapons because they're what I'm most comfortable with. Anyone can be a hero, but having the proper equipment to do so is always helpful. I'd like to provide that equipment if I can. Maybe do a little saving of my own." I shrugged at the end, knowing full well that she couldn't see the movement.

"That's a bit cringeworthy, but okay." I heard her adjusting her sitting position, the tarp rustling a bit. I only sighed quietly in response to what my hypervigilance told me was a near-insult.

The entrance to the mall had been torn open, more than wide enough for the truck to fit through. The gang members had also cleared out of the area, leaving us with the necessary space to set things up. I got out from under the tarp as AZTea hopped out, stretching her arms.

Taking a look around I noticed that we were surrounded by walls on all but one side, once opulent stairs leading up to the actual mall itself now bare and filthy. Slowly fading sunlight filtered into the area through the entrance and a skylight above us, bathing everything in an almost foreboding glow.

AZTea checked the Recycler Rifle while our newest hire went up to get a read on the place, his Sten loaded and ready to fire if something was off. I watched him go, deciding I'd at least give him enough respect to use his name. Hugh_Jass didn't move slowly, taking the stairs two at a time, and I had to admit that he was at least taking this job seriously.

Jolly snapped me out of my thoughts by coming around to help me unload a few of the crates of ammo, along with the duffle bags of weapons that had to be offloaded. He would be set up in the bed of the truck with the two Stens, and the extra magazines of ammunition he'd been given earlier.

As AZTea, Jolly, and Hugh got into position, I sent Zephyr the message, detailing that we were willing to part with eight Sentinel light machine guns, twenty P850 handguns, and sixteen Locust submachine guns, along with all of the associated ammunition. All of this would cost the Zephyr guild a full ten thousand credits.

I decided to keep the grenades simply because explosions were cathartic in a strange way. AZTea understood how I felt perfectly, while Hugh and Jolly just looked at me like I was insane. I gave each of them a grenade of their own so that they'd understand how comforting and therapeutic an explosion could be, though Jolly just looked at it like it would go off in his hands. I took two for myself, feeling a little more greedy than normal. The rest were safely stored back in one of the lockers, and I could only hope that they were still there when we got back, in the event that the Whitman Arms Dealers raided it while we were gone.

I paced around the area while we waited for them to show up, the smooth tiled floor marred by cracks and weeds poking through, the walls chipping apart bit by bit. At least there was some slightly reflective glass nearby that I used to help ensure I looked a bit more professional, adjusting the shoulder holsters and clipping the grenades to my refilled bandolier.

I chose to forego the hoodie, leaving it in the truck so I might have a bit more of an arms dealer vibe than that of a back alley hoodlum. I had to readjust everything again, but in the end I looked dangerous enough. Maybe not entirely professional, but definitely dangerous.

I was squatting next to the veritable pile of weapons and thumbing the pin of one of the grenades when I heard the sounds of cars pulling up outside. I signaled AZTea with a whistle, the bored girl having begun fiddling with her new scope while Jolly crouched down a bit further into the bed of the truck, pulling back the slide on both of the Stens. I hastily stood up and dusted myself off, giving the Sentinels a quick count even though I'd already done so a total of four times. All eight were still there, lined up in a neat row and unloaded.

Five people walked in, the sunset silhouetting them against the dimming backdrop of the sunset. Four of them were armed with automatic rifles, while the player walking in the middle of the pack was seemingly unarmed and dressed up in a nice suit. I had to admit, they had a sense of style.