Shop 'til You Drop

I took a sharp right turn down the desolate road leading to the old warehouse district. My mind raced as I approached the abandoned buildings, knowing that my contact, Al, operated within them. His reputation preceded him—ex-military turned arms dealer, owner of the most elite chop-shop in town. The grimy exterior of the warehouses belied the well-guarded fortress within, where Al could procure anything from a simple switchblade to powerful cursed bullets. As I pulled up to the entrance, my hands gripped the wheel tightly with anticipation and fear.

The air was drenched in the familiar stench of stale liquor and piss. The neighborhood was quiet, a dangerous calm that sent shivers down my spine. Slipping through the shadows, the tufts of grass sprouting from the cracked pavement softened my footsteps. As I approached Al’s nondescript building, a single light over the door cast a dim glow on the faded brick.

The faceless voice of my demon companion whispered in my mind. Do we really think it’s a good idea to visit the Shop, Jack? Didn’t Al stab you once?

That was a long time ago, I replied. And it was a misunderstanding.

Apprehension in my gut, I tapped out the code on the door. Al’s dark skin gleamed under the dim fluorescents, but it was his sheer size drew the eye. His augmented arm let out a low, mechanical hum with each subtle movement, the reinforced plates and exposed cables bristling with raw power. His pupils glowed faintly, a steady blue flicker of data streaming across them like they were connected to some unseen grid.

His frame dominated the doorway, a hulking mountain of muscle clad in pajama bottoms and bunny slippers. The cigar stub clenched between his teeth seemed laughably small against his massive jaw. Augments or not, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere in his bloodline lurked a half-giant. Al was the kind of guy you wanted on your side when things got ugly. My shoulders eased a fraction as I stepped into the glow of his doorway.

“Jack! It’s been too long,” he boomed, tossing the cigar stub out the door. He engulfed me in a bear hug that could crush bones. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the funeral. Never got around to wishing you my condolences after…”

“I know, I know,” I cut him off. “Sarah would have understood. Listen, I’m not here to talk about that. I hate to skip the pleasantries, but I need the menu.”

Al nodded, leading me inside and closing the door behind us. From floor to ceiling, shelves and racks were lined with weapons of every shape and size.

“Hell, you look terrible, Jack. What happened, get run over by your own car?”

“You’re looking as suave as usual,” I retorted, nodding toward his slippers.

“It’s my day off, asshole. You’d know that if you ever came by,” he said with a grin.

The chop shop was a labyrinth of metal and chaos. The ceiling was high, crisscrossed with beams and hanging chains that clinked softly with the faint drafts. Flickering fluorescent lights cast a sickly yellow glow, barely piercing the dimness. Workbenches were cluttered with tools, half-assembled weapons, and the occasional severed demon limb, preserved in jars filled with viscous liquid. The back of the warehouse was open to a large private yard.

So, what’s the occasion? Frank asked. Anything special?

Lost my sword to a demon. Need a replacement, I thought back.

The junkyard outside was a sprawling graveyard of twisted metal and shattered glass. Rusting carcasses of cars were stacked haphazardly, some stripped to their frames, others still bearing the scars of their last moments on the road. Weeds and wildflowers poked through the cracks in the concrete, adding a touch of rebellious life to the desolation. The distant hum of the city was a constant backdrop, a reminder of the world beyond this industrial wasteland.

Al led me to the back, a knowing grin plastered on his face. He stopped in front of a massive, cluttered workbench piled high with old metal and junk. With a dramatic flourish, he pressed a hidden button. The junk vanished, the shelves shifted, and suddenly, a hidden vault of weapons was revealed.

Lights snapped on one by one, illuminating glass cases and sleek racks. Razor-edged swords glinted under the light. Knives with intricate designs begged to be held. Guns of every make and model lined the walls, each one exuding deadly precision. The air was clogged with the smell of gun oil and aether enriched metals.

Al crossed his muscular arms over his chest, scars from battles crisscrossing his skin like a map of his life. “So, what’s it going to be?” he asked.

“I need something with stopping power,” I said, scanning the array of firearms.

Need to stop anything in particular? Frank asked, raising an eyebrow in my mind.

“I need some versatility. Something that can stand a Rift Dive.”

Al’s expression darkened. “You’re not thinking of going Diving, are you, Jack? That’s suicide without a crew, even for a younger man.”

“Don’t have anything up to the task?” I challenged.

Al grinned, a predatory gleam in his eye. He slid over a case and flipped it open, revealing a collection of guns of all varieties. He went straight for one with intricate silver runes etched into its sleek surface. He picked it up with reverence. “This here is the Dragon’s Breath Mark IV. Custom-made, hand-engraved, and built for precision. Those carvings? Runic inscriptions to channel elemental magic into your shots. See these grooves?” He pointed to the barrel. “They stabilize the bullet’s flight, giving you pinpoint accuracy. And this barrel?” He tapped it lightly, a metallic ring echoing through the room. “Reinforced with blessed steel, capable of piercing even the toughest demonic hides. A single shot from this baby will drop a Category Three demon like a sack of potatoes.”

He handed it to me, the weight perfect in my grip. Think you can handle it? Frank teased, his voice smug.

I turned the gun over in my hands, admiring the craftsmanship. “Yeah, I can handle it.”

Dragon’s Breath Mark IV Equipped

1. Weapon Type : Arcane-Enhanced Firearm
2. Attributes :
3. +50% Precision
4. Elemental Damage (Fire)
5. +20% Critical Hit Chance
6. Special Properties :
7. Runic Channeling : Amplifies elemental magic in each shot.
8. Blessed Steel Reinforcement : Ignores demonic armor resistances up to Category Three.
9. Status : Ready for Rift-Dive Combat.
10. Item Warning : This weapon requires advanced handling. Be advised: recoil can destabilize unenhanced users.

System Alert: Compatibility Check... Successful

1. Adjusting grip mechanics for enhanced accuracy.
2. Syncing targeting assist system.
3. Adding elemental resistance calibration.

“Got anything for up close?”

Al’s grin widened. “Follow me.”

We moved deeper into the room, stopping in front of a glass case. Inside, a deadly assortment of close-combat weapons gleamed ominously. Al slid the case open, his fingers dancing over the lethal instruments.

“Here we’ve got some real beauties,” he said, lifting a medieval morning star forged from obsidian steel. He hefted it like it was a spatula.

Al’s grin widened as he picked up a pair of knuckle dusters, their surfaces etched with intricate, menacing sigils. “These beauties? I call ’em Snake Kiss,” he said, his voice dripping with pride. “These bad boys amplify your strength with every punch, channeling raw energy into each blow. Perfect for when you need to get up close and personal.”

To demonstrate, he sauntered over to a pile of metal scraps. With a swift, almost casual punch, he drove the knuckle dusters deep into a sheet of old metal. The impact reverberated through the warehouse, leaving a gaping dent and nearly punching a hole through the thick steel. The echo of the strike bounced off the walls, adding to the chaos that defined Al’s shop.

He turned back to me with a smirk. “They’ll make you a walking wrecking ball.”

“Pretty. But not really my style,” I said.

“I think I know what you are looking for.” He flicked another switch and a series of panels moved, revealing several gleaming swords. He pulled out a sword that took my breath away. The blade was long and slender, with a subtle curve that exuded elegance and lethal grace. The metal shimmered with a faint blue sheen, hinting at a minor enchantment. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, worn smooth by countless hands, and inlaid with intricate silver filigree.

Al held the sword up, admiring it with a satisfied smile. “This is the Whispering Blade. Forged with shadowsteel alloy, it’s light but strong enough to handle most creatures you’ll face. The enchantment dampens sound, perfect for when you need to stay under the radar.”

He handed it to me. The sword was well balanced and responsive in my hand. As I gripped the hilt, a faint hum of energy coursed through me.

“The runes along the blade are simple bindings,” Al continued. “They weaken a demon’s essence with a solid cut, slowing it down. The grip, made from treated shadow beast hide, gives you a steady hold even in the thick of it. It’s not the most powerful piece I’ve got, but it’s reliable and won’t let you down.”

Riftsteel Dagger Equipped

1. Weapon Type : Close-Combat Blade
2. Attributes :
3. +15% Critical Strike Damage
4. Special Properties :
5. Shadow Bind : 10% chance to immobilize demonic targets for 3 seconds.
6. Silent Kill : Completely suppresses noise during use.
7. Status : Stealth Optimization Active.

I nodded, feeling the sword’s practicality and craftsmanship. “I’ll take them,” I said, pulling out the last of my silver coins and placing them on the table. It was strange to finally be out of tokens after all these years. Al tossed in some ammo, a new holster, and a sheath for the sword, complete with a strap for easy carrying.

“You back in business?” Al asked as he palmed the silver.

“No, just settling a personal matter,” I said, holstering the gun, pocketing the ammo, and swinging the sword over my back.

“Whatever you say, Jack.”

“Hey, on the off chance, you still got that old essence scale around?”

He smirked, a glint in his eye. “I do. Need something weighed?”

I pulled out the key, its cold metal biting into my palm, and placed it in his hand. “Ever seen anything like this?”

He studied it under the harsh fluorescent light, his eyes narrowing. With a grunt, he pushed aside a mess of papers and retrieved an old-fashioned device that looked like a cross between a scale and a medieval torture contraption. He placed the key on it with meticulous care, watching the readings like they might suddenly jump off the scale and start a cabaret number.

He frowned. “Don’t see that too often.”

What’s that? Frank asked, curiosity leaking into his tone.

“It’s a Category Four Essence. Worth a pretty penny if you want to sell it. Not sure what it’s meant to do, but it could be used for scrap mana. This amount of power, turned raw, could fetch you as much as five gold coins.”

My eyes widened. “As much as that?”

“That’s the scrap price, mind you. Could fetch a little more if we can figure out what it’s meant to do. “

Beyond that, I can’t tell you much, Frank said with a sigh. It’s got a pull to it, alright. If we weren’t friends, I’d probably be tempted to beat you half to death and keep it for myself, he mused, chuckling.

Al paused, weighing his words as much as the key. He handed it back to me with a shrug. “You might want to check with Mildred.”

I pocketed the key, its weight settling like a cold stone. “Thanks, Al.”

I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, I heard footsteps outside.

Just then, a sharp knock echoed through the room. Al shuffled across the creaky floorboards, his slippers dragging behind him. He grabbed a rolled-up newspaper that had been tossed on the ground. With a gentle click, he closed the door, muffling the sounds from outside. The heavy thud reverberated through the room, sealing us in our small world.

Shit. The Newsies, Frank cursed, his voice tight with tension.

A tense silence filled the room as Al read the latest paper, his brow furrowing with each line. “I thought you swore off this life, Jack,” he finally said, his eyes darting to the gun now gripped in my hand. A bead of sweat trickled down my spine, though I tried to play it cool.

“I did,” I said, voice calm as hell, fingers clamping tighter on the gun.

“Someone seems to have a different opinion,” he said, lifting the newspaper, his eyes sharp and knowing.

He sauntered back to the counter. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick cigar and kept talking like it was any other day. “So, what’s the news, Al?” I realized that the gun wasn’t loaded. I holstered it.

“The missus wants me to retire. Spend more time at home. But there’s something about this place that keeps pulling me back,” he said, lighting the cigar with a practiced flick.

“A man’s gotta have a trade, Al. Stop living and you start dying.” I shifted my weight, the tension coiling in my muscles.

“True enough,” he said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Job just came in the mail. Open hit. Guild’s offering big bucks for this one.”

“Well, good thing you don’t need extra money.”

“Times have been tough, Jack. Ain’t the same since you got out.” He moved to a workbench, fiddling with a dismantled rifle, his back to me. “You’ve pissed someone off real bad, old friend.”

“I see. It say who’s paying? Who put on the hit order?” I slowly angled my way toward the door, putting myself between him and the treasure trove of weapons. But with Al’s size, he wouldn’t need more than his hands.

Al shook his head. “Nope, being run through the Guild anonymously.”

“That’s a shame,” I said, fingers twitching near the hilt of the Whispering Blade. “If I’m going to die again, wouldn’t mind seeing the face of the person doing the killing.”

“To be so lucky,” Al said, his voice heavy with irony. “But I’ll tell you what, Jack. Seeing as we go back and you’ve helped me out once or twice, I’m going to give you a half-hour head start.”

“Awful kind of you, Al.” I started backing toward the exit, my eyes never leaving his.

“Manners make the man,” Al said with a smile.

I turned on my heel and headed for my car, every sense on high alert. As I was about to leave, Al called out, his voice echoing in the dimly lit garage. “What’d you do to get all this attention?”

I paused, hand on the car door, searching for an answer. “You know, Al, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“And hey, Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“One last thing. Don’t let anyone kill you out there. At least, not until I get to ya.”

I smirked. “I’ll do my best.”

The engine thundered awake, a comforting growl in the silence. As I drove off, the shadows of the warehouse district closed in behind me, and I couldn’t help but feel like the day was only getting started.

I checked my updates.

New Task Received : “Dead or Alive”

1. Objective : Survive the open hit.

Reward: Your life.