As he stepped out of the R.P.D. gates, twilight had already washed over half the street. Lear instinctively reached for his waist, and a wave of unease—hard to ignore—flickered through his mind when he felt nothing but empty space.
Despite being on the force for six months, his original self surprisingly didn't own a single private firearm. The department-issued .38 revolvers were strictly for duty use and had to be turned in for storage at the end of every shift. Once off the clock, he was no different from being empty-handed in an emergency. Recently, the atmosphere in Raccoon City had grown increasingly oppressive, with strange occurrences happening more frequently on the streets. The true viral outbreak had actually begun in silence long ago, with zombie attacks and missing persons cases being suppressed and left unreported. He had to have a weapon for self-defense; that was Lear's first reaction once he calmed down.
Passing a newsstand on the corner, Lear caught a glimpse of the headline on the latest newspaper—"Strange Noises Reported Late at Night in East Warehouse District; Police Claim Wild Animal Intrusion." His gaze darkened slightly, and his fingertips curled inside his pocket. Two disappearances had been reported in that warehouse district just last week; using "wild animals" as an excuse now was clearly a cover-up for something else. This deliberate concealment was more unsettling than an overt threat.
After a moment's thought, he turned and walked toward the familiar Kendo Gun Shop on the corner.
The iron door was halfway open, and the air held a faint scent of gun oil and metal, mixed with hints of wood and motor oil—the unique scent of this old shop. Robert Kendo was leaning over, wiping a rifle with steady, practiced movements. When he looked up and saw Lear, a look of familiarity and relaxation immediately appeared on his rugged face, devoid of any awkwardness or formality.
"Off work? Good timing, I was just about to ask you something." Kendo set down his cloth, his expression turning a bit more serious. "You told me this morning that things haven't been peaceful in town lately, and told me to keep an eye on Emma and not let her go out at night... What's really going on? Is there something being said inside the Police Station that hasn't been made public?"
Lear walked up to the counter, his tone calm and natural, without a hint of panic or calculation. "There's no specific internal news. Just look at the headlines; the reports of assaults and disappearances all over the place are increasing, and the frequency is clearly off. I've just been on patrol for so long that I'm a bit more sensitive to the atmosphere than most people."
He paused, his voice softening with a sincere warning. "It's better to be safe than sorry. Just do as I say, and you can't go wrong."
He didn't over-explain or reveal more, leaving it at that.
Looking into his eyes, Kendo understood that the kid was truly worried for the safety of him and his family, and that this wasn't just some baseless guess. He didn't press further, but gave a heavy nod, his face becoming more somber.
"Alright, I trust you."
The conversation naturally shifted to the true purpose of Lear's visit.
"Uncle Robert, I want to pick out a pistol for my personal daily carry."
Kendo immediately snapped back to the task at hand, his eyes becoming professional and focused. "You should have gotten one long ago. That service revolver from the Police Station is too old; it's barely enough for an emergency, but if you really have to rely on it to handle danger, it's far from reliable."
He turned and took a pistol from the shelf, placing it gently on the counter. The metal frame gleamed with a steady, cold light under the lamps. "A SIG-SAUER P226, 9mm Para caliber. Many frontline military and police officers use this now; its precision, reliability, and feel are all top-tier."
Kendo tapped the slide with his fingertip, rattling off the specs with a practiced, certain tone. "Overall length is 196mm, empty weight is about 964 grams, standard magazine holds 15 rounds, and it has an effective range of 50 meters. Full steel construction—durable, tough, and the failure rate is incredibly low. It has a steady grip and great pointing characteristics; with a bit of practice, you can be very accurate. Whether it's for daily self-defense or handling an emergency, it's reliable enough."
Lear reached out and picked up the P226. The metal frame felt cold and solid, the grip fit his palm perfectly, and the center of gravity was stable and balanced. It was far more intuitive and comfortable than the police-issue revolver. Just by holding it, he knew this was a weapon he could truly rely on at a critical moment.
"How much for this one?"
"Brand new, comes with a spare magazine. 520 dollars."
Lear silently pulled out his wallet and spread all the cash inside onto the counter—a total of only 127 dollars, not even a quarter of the price.
He gently placed the P226 back on the counter and gave a helpless smile. "I'm a bit short on cash. I'll come back next time."
Kendo glanced at the change on the table. He didn't laugh, nor did he offer any empty pleasantries. He pushed the gun directly back in front of Lear, leaned down to grab two fully loaded magazines from under the counter, plus a box of 50 rounds of 9mm Ammunition, and pushed them all toward him.
"Take it."
Lear was stunned. "Uncle Robert, I don't have enough money..."
"Enough or not, are you really talking to me about that?" Kendo waved his hand, his tone carrying an undeniable familiarity and the firmness of an elder. "Your parents didn't keep a tab when they helped me out back in the day. I've watched you grow up; you're like my own nephew. One pistol and a few rounds of ammo—what's the big deal?"
Vague memories surfaced. Their families had known each other for years, their fathers had been old friends, and Kendo had always looked out for him.
"But..."
"No buts." Kendo stuffed the gun and the ammunition into a simple canvas bag and shoved it firmly into Lear's arms. "Things haven't been peaceful in the city lately. Keep this on you for peace of mind. If you run out of ammo later, just come and get more. Don't be a stranger."
Lear held the heavy bag, a wave of indescribable warmth washing over him. In this city fraught with danger and already teetering on the edge of destruction, this kind of pure, uncalculated goodwill soothed his frayed nerves.
He stopped refusing and nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Uncle Robert. Remember what I said—whatever you do, watch over Emma."
"Don't mention it," Kendo waved him off. "Watch yourself out there."
Lear stepped out of the gun shop into the cool evening breeze. The solid weight of the bag in his arms gave him his first tangible sense of security.
His apartment was not far from the Police Station, located in an unremarkable three-story residential building. It was in a quiet spot, away from the main street. Its most notable feature was that it sat right next to the Raccoon City Public Orphanage.
Pushing open the door, he entered a one-bedroom apartment that was simple and tidy. The furniture was plain and old, but everything was kept clean and orderly. The living room window looked directly out over the back courtyard of the Orphanage. Through the glass, he could see the quiet lawn in the twilight, a small playground, and a few dim, soft streetlights. The courtyard was empty; only the night wind rustled the leaves, exuding a peaceful atmosphere of everyday life. There was no hustle and bustle of the downtown area, nor the chaos of the city blocks. It was like a small corner of the city that was being quietly protected.
Lear double-locked the door, drew the curtains, and took out the P226, the magazines, and the ammunition, lining them up neatly on the table. He carefully checked the condition of the firearm. Relying on the vague common sense stored in his body, he slowly disassembled, wiped down, and reassembled it. His movements shifted from clunky to smooth and steady.
Once finished, he sat on the sofa and gently closed his eyes, letting his emotions settle completely.
Outside the window, the lights of the Orphanage flickered on, gentle and serene.
Inside the room, he was alone, facing his own future and the coming crisis.
Lear took a deep breath, and in the silence, began to think calmly and clearly.
(Translated by yourtl.app)