Chapter 33: What’s In The Armory ?

The man’s head fell.

His body remained upright for a brief, terrible moment, his legs trembling as if they hadn’t yet understood what had happened. Then his knees buckled, and he crashed onto the concrete beside Cal.

Blood spread across the floor.

Cal stared at the body. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He looked at the severed head, then at Zarek, who stood over the corpse with his sword hanging loosely at his side.

"What the fuck have you done?"

His voice cracked. He tried to push himself away using his arms, but his injured leg dragged uselessly behind him.

"You killed him! He came here to help me!"

Zarek glanced at the dead man.

"He came here for the same reason I did. He wanted something."

"That doesn’t—" Cal choked on his words.

"He trusted you!"

"That was his mistake."

Zarek stepped toward him.

Cal’s face drained of color. He grabbed at the wall, trying to drag himself upright, but the moment he put weight on his injured leg, pain tore through him. He collapsed with a strangled cry.

"Wait! Please! I won’t tell anyone. I’ll give you the key, the supplies, whatever you want. Just—"

Zarek brought his sword down.

Cal’s begging stopped.

For a moment, the corridor was quiet except for the distant groan of the building and the faint buzz of a failing emergency light.

Zarek wiped his blade against the dead man’s clothing before sheathing it. He had no particular interest in listening to someone beg for his life, especially when the sound was beginning to get annoying.

He crouched beside the bandaged man and retrieved the key from his hand.

"Now then."

He looked toward the corridor.

"Let’s see what all the trouble was about."

The secured storage area was farther down the passage, beyond a heavy steel door built into the concrete wall. A faded warning sign had been fixed beside its electronic lock, though most of the lettering had peeled away.

Zarek tried the key.

It didn’t fit the first slot. He examined the lock, found a smaller keyhole beneath the damaged electronic panel, and tried again.

This time, something clicked inside the door.

He pulled the handle. The heavy door resisted at first, then swung inward with a metallic groan.

The smell hit him before the lights did.

Oil, dust, rubber, and old metal. Beneath them lingered the faint, stale odor of a room that had remained closed for too long.

Zarek found a switch near the entrance and pressed it.

Half the ceiling lights flickered on.

He stood in the doorway, taking in the rows of metal shelving, locked cabinets, and weapon racks. Several crates had been stacked against the far wall. A workbench occupied one corner, covered with spare parts and maintenance tools.

Then he saw the rifles. His grin came naturally.

"Well, isn’t this nice?"

The armory wasn’t enormous, but it held considerably more than a few abandoned pistols. Several service handguns sat inside a cabinet, while a row of assault rifles rested on wall-mounted racks.

There were shotguns, spare magazines, ammunition boxes, and protective equipment packed into shelves along the opposite wall.

Zarek walked to the nearest rack and lifted one of the rifles.

He checked the magazine, inspected the chamber, and examined the weapon’s condition. It had been stored properly, though dust had settled over the stock and metal fittings.

He moved to the ammunition crates next.

Most were labeled, making it easy to identify the contents without opening every box. Rifle ammunition, pistol rounds, shotgun shells.

There were enough supplies here to make a real difference in his next few encounters.

Zarek had spent the last few days making do with whatever weapons he could find. Now he had a choice.

He opened another cabinet and found protective vests, helmets, gloves, and other tactical equipment. Most of it was still usable. He selected a vest that fit and pulled it over his clothes.

The weight settled comfortably across his torso.

After years in prison, he could appreciate the difference between having to fight over scraps and being able to choose what he needed. The world had collapsed, but at least it had improved his shopping options.

He began sorting through the supplies.

He didn’t need every weapon.

He selected two assault rifles, several magazines, and a shotgun with a sturdy stock. The rifles gave him a reliable option at range, while the shotgun could be useful if something forced him into close quarters.

He checked each weapon before storing it, then collected compatible ammunition for his new weapons and the firearms he already owned. One item after another disappeared into System Space.

The storage ability made scavenging far more efficient. He didn’t need to carry everything on his back, leave useful supplies behind, or risk returning to an exposed location because he’d forgotten something important.

He could take what he wanted and move on.

After securing the weapons and ammunition, he searched the remaining cabinets. Most contained spare parts, cleaning kits, and maintenance supplies. He took what seemed useful and left the rest.

Then he noticed something odd.

One of the weapon racks near the back wall was almost empty.

At first, he assumed the missing team had taken the weapons. That would have been the obvious explanation. They had come looking for supplies, after all.

But the dust told a different story.

Several weapons had been removed recently, leaving clean outlines on the rack. That alone wasn’t strange. What caught his attention was the empty space beside them, where a locked cabinet had been forced open.

The lock hung from one side, its metal casing bent outward.

Zarek crouched to examine it.

Someone had damaged the cabinet from the outside. The scratches around the lock were fresh, and a few small fragments of metal lay on the floor beneath it.

He pulled the cabinet open.

Inside were empty slots and a scattering of loose ammunition. Whatever had been stored there was gone.

Zarek straightened and looked around the room again.

The missing team had possessed a key to the armory, but that didn’t explain the damage inside. They might have forced the cabinet open themselves, or something else might have reached it before them.

He couldn’t tell which possibility was worse.

But the damage didn’t look like the work of someone carefully retrieving equipment.

He glanced toward the doorway.

The armory was supposed to be secured. The missing team had possessed a key, but that didn’t explain why the cabinet had been forced open after they arrived.

And Cal’s warning still lingered in his mind.

Don’t trust anyone who comes back looking like—

Zarek let out a quiet breath through his nose.

Whatever had happened here, the missing survivors hadn’t simply wandered off.

He returned to the cabinet and inspected its contents more carefully. Beneath the loose ammunition, he found a small metal case that had been shoved toward the back. It was scratched but intact, with a label partially obscured by grime.

He pulled it free and wiped the surface with his thumb.

The label was old, but two words remained legible.

RESTRICTED EQUIPMENT.

Zarek tested the latch.

Locked.

He looked at the damaged cabinet, then at the empty weapon rack.

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"Now this is getting interesting."

He slipped the case into his System Space and took one final look around the armory. He had come for weapons and ammunition, and he’d found plenty.

Whatever else had been stored here could wait until he knew more about the people who had disappeared.

He headed toward the door.

Then he stopped.

From somewhere beyond the corridor came a faint scraping sound.

Zarek turned his head toward it.

The sound came again, slow and uneven, as though something heavy were dragging itself across the floor.

He rested one hand on his sword.

The armory door remained open behind him. For the first time since entering the room, he wondered whether the missing team had been trying to escape something—or whether they had been trying to keep something from getting out.

He stepped into the corridor, listening.

The scraping stopped.

Then, from farther down the passage, a familiar voice called his name.

"Zarek?"

He had never heard that voice before.

And yet it sounded exactly like the bandaged man he’d just killed.