The realtor eyed Xiu with the kind of skepticism usually reserved for people who paid in cash for abandoned properties. The warehouse stood at the edge of town, a rusted metal shell surrounded by overgrown fields, far enough from prying eyes to be useful, close enough to the highway to not be a pain to reach.
"You sure about this place?" the realtor asked, kicking a loose piece of sheet metal. "No one's used it in years. Roof's patchy, plumbing's shot—"
"I'm sure," Xiu said, counting out the bills. "Just need somewhere to store inventory."
The realtor shrugged, pocketing the money. "Your funeral. Papers'll be ready by Friday."
Xiu waited until the car's taillights disappeared down the dirt road before pulling out his phone. Chen answered on the second ring.
"Got it," Xiu said.
"Of course you did," Chen sighed. "Let me guess—middle of nowhere, looks like a murder shack?"
"Better. Bigger."
Chen groaned. "How much truck space are we talking?"
"Enough. You'll need to make runs every Thursday. No weekends, too many people around."
"You realize I have an actual job, right?"
"You realize I'm paying you triple what that job does?"
A pause. "…Fine. But I'm not unloading anything."
"Didn't expect you to."
Back in the apocalypse world, Larry was elbow-deep in a filing cabinet when Xiu returned. The bank vault had slowly transformed into something resembling an operations center—maps pinned to the walls, supplies sorted into labeled crates, even a salvaged camping stove for hot meals.
"Find anything good?" Xiu asked, dropping a bag of fresh groceries onto the table.
Larry held up a rusted key. "Safety deposit boxes. Most are empty, but some have jewelry, papers—"
"Papers won't help us."
"Could burn them for warmth."
Xiu tossed him an apple. "Priorities."
Larry caught it, biting in with a crisp crunch. "Where'd you go anyway? You were gone longer than usual."
"Business."
"Uh-huh." Larry wiped juice from his chin. "You know, for a guy who disappears all the time, you're real bad at explaining."
Xiu ignored him, unfolding a map of the surrounding counties. "We're running low on zombies."
"Good?"
"Bad. Means we need to go farther out."
Larry groaned, flopping back into a chair. "Walking sucks."
"Then find us a car that works."
"You find a car that works. I'm twelve."
"Excuses."
The first truck arrived the following Thursday. Chen had brought two guys Xiu didn't recognize—muscle, probably, hired hands who knew better than to ask questions. The warehouse looked even worse in daylight, but the lock on the roll-up door was new, and the inside had been swept clean.
Chen whistled as they stepped inside. "You weren't kidding about space."
"Told you." Xiu led him to the back, where crates of scavenged goods were already stacked. "This batch is mostly jewelry, some electronics. Few antiques."
Chen picked up a tarnished silver candlestick. "This stuff's gotta be stolen."
"It's not."
"Right. Your 'foreign collector' just happens to have a warehouse full of random crap."
Xiu shrugged. "Tell your buyer it's estate sales."
Chen sighed but started loading the truck.
By the time Xiu returned to the apocalypse world, Larry had, against all odds, found a car.
It was a beat-up sedan, missing a door and most of its paint, but the engine turned over after some creative wiring.
"Told you I could do it," Larry said, grinning from the driver's seat.
Xiu tossed his bag into the back. "You can't even reach the pedals."
"Details."
They drove until the city faded into countryside, the roads cracked but passable. The first town they hit was small—a gas station, a post office, rows of houses with boarded-up windows. And, more importantly, no red X's on their map.
Larry killed the engine outside a grocery store. "Zombie o'clock?"
Xiu checked his knife. "Zombie o'clock."
The warehouse was half-full by the end of the month. Chen came every Thursday, his skepticism slowly giving way to grudging admiration as the profits rolled in.
Back in the apocalypse, the car opened up new routes, new towns to pick clean. Larry had taken to calling their operation "the business," which Xiu pretended to hate but secretly didn't mind.
It wasn't a bad life, all things considered.
Then the lights flickered.
Not in the real world—in the apocalypse.
One evening, as Xiu sorted through a crate of canned goods, the bank's emergency lights stuttered to life, casting the vault in an eerie red glow.
Larry looked up from his makeshift bed. "Uh. That's new."
Xiu stared at the buzzing light. Power meant infrastructure. Infrastructure meant people.
Or something worse.
He grabbed his knife. "We're checking it out."
Larry groaned but reached for his crowbar. "Can't ever just ignore weird shit, can we?"
"No," Xiu said. "We can't."
The last pistol clicked empty, the final bullet ricocheting off the concrete wall before burying itself in a zombie's skull. Xiu watched the body crumple, then tossed the useless weapon aside. It landed with a hollow clatter on the pavement, joining the growing pile of spent firearms near their makeshift base.
"Another one bites the dust," Larry said, nudging the corpse with his boot. "That's the last of the guns, huh?"
"Last of the ones that work," Xiu corrected, wiping sweat from his brow. The city had been picked clean faster than he'd expected. Two-thirds of the streets were clear now, marked with red X's on their maps, but the remaining pockets were getting harder to tackle without proper firepower.
Larry kicked an empty shotgun shell across the floor. "So what now? Back to knives and pointy sticks?"
Xiu didn't answer right away. His mind was already turning over possibilities, weighing risks. Then he remembered the house they'd passed yesterday—the one with the reinforced basement door.
"Come on," he said, grabbing his backpack. "We're making a detour."
The house was unremarkable from the outside, just another crumbling structure in a row of them. But the basement door was solid steel, the lock rusted but intact. It took Larry three tries with the crowbar before it gave way with a groan.
The smell hit them first—damp, musty, but underneath it, something metallic. Xiu's flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing stacks of boxes, old furniture covered in sheets... and a safe. A big one.
"No way," Larry whispered.
Xiu didn't waste time. He pried the safe open with the crowbar, the hinges screaming in protest. Inside, stacked in neat rows, were gold bars. Dozens of them.
Larry's breath hitched. "Are those—"
"Yeah." Xiu picked one up, testing the weight. "Yeah, they are."
Chen stared at the gold bar on the warehouse table like it might bite him. "You're joking."
"Not even a little," Xiu said.
Chen picked it up, turned it over in his hands, then set it down with a thud. "Okay. New rule. You start telling me what's really going on, or I walk."
Xiu leaned against the table, arms crossed. "I told you. Foreign collector. High-risk acquisitions."
"Bullshit. No one pays in gold bars unless they're either a Bond villain or full of shit."
"Maybe he's both."
Chen rubbed his temples. "Xiu. Come on. Guns? Really?"
"The client wants what the client wants."
There was a long silence. Then Chen sighed, pulled out his phone, and dialed. "I know a guy. Well. A woman. But you're not gonna like her."
Mara arrived an hour later, dressed in cargo pants and a tight black shirt, her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She didn't smile when Chen introduced her, just sized Xiu up with cold, assessing eyes.
"So," she said, voice flat. "You're the one who thinks he needs an arsenal."
Xiu met her gaze evenly. "I'm the one who's paying for one."
She glanced at the gold bars on the table, then back at him. "You know what happens if this goes south?"
"Same as what happens if I don't get the guns."
That got a flicker of something—amusement, maybe—before her expression shuttered again. "Fine. But we do this my way. No paper trail, no middlemen. You get one shipment. After that, we're done."
Xiu nodded. "Fair enough."
The negotiation that followed was brisk, clinical. Mara didn't haggle so much as dictate terms, her voice leaving no room for argument. SMGs, ammo, a few handguns for good measure. The gold would cover it, with enough left over to keep Chen happy.
When they shook on it, her grip was firm, her palm calloused. "Delivery in three days. Don't be late."
Three days later, the warehouse was empty except for Xiu and Chen when Mara's truck rolled in. She didn't speak as they unloaded the crates, just watched with arms crossed as Xiu inspected the goods.
The SMGs were older but well-maintained, the ammo neatly packed. More than enough for what he needed.
"Happy?" Mara asked, tone suggesting she didn't care either way.
Xiu slid a gold bar across the table. "Pleasure doing business."
She pocketed it without looking and turned to leave. Then paused. "One piece of advice?"
"Sure."
"Whatever you're planning," she said, glancing back at him, "don't get cocky."
Then she was gone, the warehouse door rattling shut behind her.
Chen let out a long breath. "I hate her so much."