Limo Sylvester was a clever man—clever, but chronically lazy.He retired from the military at the rank of captain at forty-five, thanks to a crypto investment video from "Uncle Nick" on the net. Since then, he hadn't worried about money. If anything, he now had enough to fund his morally gray hobbies full-time.
He had the average build of someone who never hit the gym, just a slight belly—not enough to be unsightly.Middle-aged and mixed-race—Middle Eastern and European blood in his veins—his short-cropped brown hair was beginning to gray. He wore a curved cowboy-style mustache he believed added to his charm. No one had told him it was sexy, but he was convinced it made him irresistible—especially to sultry widows... or sometimes someone else's wife.
He used to have a middle-aged Mexican housekeeper.As far as he knew, she was probably dead now.That government "shelter" turned out to be a glorified coffin.It was designed for bomb raids or terror attacks—not pandemics.
He'd been monitoring Molly's house for a while, using a thermal imaging camera. The red blobs moving on-screen were vague, but enough to piece together what had happened.
"Damn…" Limo rubbed his face after Gantzuke finished explaining what had happened to Molly's mother and little sister.
"She doesn't blame you," Gantzuke said gently.Limo leaned back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were red.
"Promise me something," Limo said quietly."Promise you'll take care of poor Molly."
His voice cracked. He might've already cried earlier.He had loved Jessica—Molly's mother.Just three nights ago, she had stayed over, cooked for him. It had been perfect.
"I promise. You already know that's why I came here."
Gantzuke stood and wandered over to the wall-sized bookshelf."Have you actually read all of these?"
It looked like something out of a private library—four shelves packed with well-worn paperbacks, most of them crime and detective fiction.
"Not all," Limo admitted without looking up."But if you want to borrow something, go ahead."
He tapped his oversized iPad, switching feeds from the security cameras.One showed Molly and the Asian girl staring out from a second-story window across the street.
"That cute girl with you… she Japanese?"Limo asked without looking away from the screen.
"Yeah… How'd you know?" Gantzuke was surprised. He hadn't mentioned Mari's name or background.
Limo just turned the iPad around.Gantzuke's eyes widened—there were cameras everywhere.
"They must be worried about you," Limo said."Take care of them. So... you're here for my car."
He paused, then gave Gantzuke a long look.
"What for?"
"That thing on the street last night. The purple giant. I'm guessing you saw it too."
The words made Limo shudder.Yes. He had seen it.And he had almost opened fire himself—until that truck with the mounted machine gun lured it away.
"I saw it. But you're not planning to ram it with my Hummer, are you?"Then Limo narrowed his eyes."No. You're planning to run. That it?"
"Sort of. But first, I need to pick up something."Gantzuke walked over to the double-pane security glass.
"This glass… it's one-way, right?"He reached out to touch it. From here, he had a clear view of the road and the buildings across the street.Mari and Molly were both staring toward the house, worried—but unaware that he could see them watching.
"Yes. Bulletproof, too. And blast-resistant. So—what is it you're after?"
Gantzuke explained the situation: the encrypted phone, the M4, the armor-piercing rounds belonging to John Victor.
"So you were gonna steal my car."Limo gave a sly smirk that made Gantzuke feel like a kid caught red-handed.
"Fine. If I were you, I'd probably do the same."He tossed Gantzuke the keys.Brand new. Not a scratch.
"You're just... giving it to me?"
Gantzuke hesitated. He didn't trust free things.
"There are some things I'll need from you, eventually."Limo walked over to the far wall and grabbed a handheld radio.
The room felt more like a military operations center than a living room—rows of monitors stacked like pineapples, glowing with data and camera feeds.
"Phones are dead. This'll keep us in contact."
Gantzuke took the radio—compact, military-grade.It reminded him of the ones they'd used in the signal-dead zones of Afghanistan.
"What do you want me to do?"He tucked it into his pocket as Limo handed him a charger and a backup battery.
"Nothing for now. I hate leaving the house. But I might need you to fetch some stuff later."
"Understood."
Gantzuke glanced over to a pair of sleek black drones on a shelf nearby.Below them was a workstation with a rifle mid-disassembly, tools neatly arranged, gun oil catching the light.
"Did you mod that M4 yourself?"He pointed to a custom tactical rifle hanging on the wall. It looked easily five times more expensive than a standard model.
Limo's chest puffed with pride.
"My hobby. Come on, there's more I want to show you."
He led Gantzuke to the third floor.
There, a steel bank-vault-style door blocked the way.Limo punched in a code and pressed his thumb to a scanner.The gate slid open with a hiss.
Lights flickered on—illuminating the armory.
Rows of rifles, shotguns, handguns.Crates stacked with magazines, accessories, and ammo.The walls were lined floor to ceiling.
"Jesus… this is a military stockpile."
"I do custom builds and sales. Nothing too extreme. No M82 Barretts or RPGs. Not much demand for those. But there are some grenades in that crate over there."
He pointed to a wooden box near the M16 and AK racks.
"Clients say they're too loud. Handle with care. Blow something up and those two girls of yours might end up widowed—hee hee."
He laughed, puffing on an unlit cigar.
Gantzuke stiffened.This man knew far more than he let on.
"Take all the ammo you can carry."
The serious tone snapped Gantzuke back to focus.He nodded and waited.
Limo finally lit the cigar. The small spark did not cause the place to explode, to Gantzuke's relief.
"That truck with the mounted gun last night…"Limo exhaled a thick plume of smoke."Those bastards were trouble long before the outbreak."
Gantzuke's mind flashed back to the spent casings in the street.His time in Afghanistan. Rebel groups.Religious fanatics with technicals and .50 cals mounted on pickups.
"No normal citizen drives around with mounted weapons…"
Limo let him absorb that.
"Make yourself at home," he said, gesturing toward the guns.
Gantzuke's eyes swept the room, but in his mind's eye, he saw Molly and Mari holding those very weapons—prepared to fight back against a world that had already begun to fall apart.