Maarg kept his expression neutral, but his eyes were busy. He quickly scanned his team, letting his gaze linger on each member as a silent check-in.
He looked at Jack, whose fury was now mixed with a begrudging acceptance of the compromise. He glanced at Sammy, whose face remained vacant but who had at least been verbally vindicated. Finally, he looked at Gabby, the one who always assessed risk most clinically.
Maarg's gaze returned to Cobra, having mentally received the unanimous, though reluctant, confirmation of his group's members.
He gave Cobra a curt, single nod, accepting the terms and the risk of the vague "future favor."
"The deal is done," Maarg confirmed, his voice flat and final. "I hope we can remain allies for the foreseeable future."
---
The heavy steel door of the warehouse basement groaned as it swung open, revealing a subterranean vault lit by flickering overhead fluorescents. A burly Viper guard led Maarg and Gabby down the concrete steps, his boots echoing sharply in the confined space.
the deal had ended on a positive note but Because gathering the agreed rations, ammo, and medical supplies takes a few days, Carla invited them to browse the compound's armory in the meantime but like everything related to the vipers, everything had conditions attached to it.
Cobra had only Allowed Jack, Maarg, and Sammy to each be permitted to select one gun of their choice. Gabby, not being an original party to the core deal, was denied a firearm by Cobra, though he begrudgingly permitted her to choose a melee weapon.
And since only two people were allowed to visit the Armory, Jack stayed behind in the common area to look after and comfort Sammy, while Maarg and Gabby head down to the Vipers' armory to see what high-grade hardware was up for grabs.
"Here we are," the guard said, flashing a grin that was half-friendly, half-threatening. He gestured to the rows of racks and shelves lining the walls. "Firearms to your right and melee weapons on your left. If you want to ask anything, I'll be right here. And no funny business." the guy's grin widens "I've got the eyes of a hawk." He looked cheerful enough to be helpful, but the casual weight he kept on his rifle made it clear he wouldn't hesitate if they tried anything stupid.
Immediately, social overthinking took over.
Maarg, figuring Gabby being the resident sharpshooter would naturally want a high-caliber rifle, pivoted sharply toward the right to give her space at the firearms rack. At the exact same moment, Gabby spun toward the left, assuming Maarg would want a blade since he practically lived with a knife in his hand.
They both crossed paths right in the middle of the room in a clumsy, mirrored dance, trying to subtly accommodate each other's supposed choices and accidentally attempting to impress one another.
A sharp, theatrical cough from the guard cut through the silence.
Maarg froze, realized he was standing in the way of Gabby, while Gabby was awkwardly staring at him. The sheer, unadulterated social ignorance of their synchronized misfire hung heavy in the air.
Flushed with embarrassment, Maarg cleared his throat, turned on his heel, and just followed Gabby over to the left side where the blades and melee weapons were kept, deciding it was safer to just roll with it.
Gabby glanced sideways at him as they stopped before the racks of knives, machetes, and heavy iron, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Smooth, Maarg," she whispered dryly. "Real Smooth."
"Shut up," Maarg muttered back with a smirk, elbowing her lightly. "Like you're the one to lecture me."
He didn't mean any ill intent by it, it was just a light, easy jab exchanged between friends who had been through hell together. Despite the grim walls of the armory and the heavy stakes hanging over their heads, it was a rare, grounded moment of normal human interaction.
Gabby let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking her head as she scanned the racks of heavy iron, machetes, and combat knives. "Fine, fine. Point taken," she whispered, her eyes lingering on a heavy, well-balanced tactical hatchet resting near the top shelf. "So, are we actually going to pick something useful, or are we just going to stand here?"
"Let's see," Maarg said, his eyes scanning the dense wall of steel, resting on everything from heavy butcher cleavers to tactical swords. He kept his voice low, thoughtfully analyzing the needs of their crew.
"Jack would most likely just want a better axe," Maarg murmured, tracing a finger along the edge of a heavy-duty machete. "And as for Sammy... as surprised as I am by her recent actions lately, one thing is clear, she's good at stabbing. So a stiletto might fit her well."
He left out what he intended to pick for himself; the sheer variety and the adrenaline of the day were catching up to him, providing a bit too much sensory stimulation. He needed a moment to just slow his breathing and let his eyes wander without committing.
He turned his gaze toward his companion, leaning back slightly against the rack. "What about you, Gabs? Anything caught your eye?"
Again with that nickname, Gabby thought, narrowing her eyes slightly. Her name was already just five letters, why did Maarg insist on shortening it even more? And Gabs? For some reason, it grated on her nerves.
Pushing the minor irritation aside, she focused back on the racks. "Well, I already have a machete. Another one might be nice, that way I could dual-wield."
Maarg let out a sudden, dry chuckle at the idea. To him, dual-wielding in a brutal post-apocalyptic wasteland was peak cinematic nonsense; if you couldn't effectively block an incoming blow with a single blade, doubling your arsenal didn't mean anything except that you'd probably slice your own fingers off.
"Oh, right, I forgot, when did we invite Shirou Emiya into our group?"
It was another sarcastic jab, meant to reference the iconic anime archer and his unlimited blade works. But it failed miserably because Gabby just stared at him, her brows furrowed in pure confusion. "Who the hell is Shirou Emiya?"
Realization hit Maarg like a truck. Right. Not everyone was an absolute degenerate weeb like him. There were actually normal people out there who didn't spend their pre-apocalyptic nights binging anime series.
"Don't worry... It's nothing," Maarg said quickly, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as his cheeks flushed red.
Gabby tilted her head, her curiosity piqued by his sudden awkwardness. "Is it related to an anime?"
Maarg's eyes instantly brightened up, the embarrassment vanishing as hope surged. "You watched anime too?" he asked, his tone jumping an octave.
"Just a bit," Gabby muttered, suddenly finding the concrete floor very interesting as a faint pink dusted her cheeks as she slowly said "I have watched, Horimiya."
Horimiya was a sweet, slice-of-life romance, about as far from the hyper-violent action and magical warfare of Fate as a show could possibly get, but she definitely didn't want to sound lame in front of him, so it was the only title she had managed to drag out of her memory.
Maarg stared at her, utterly bewildered and deeply impressed all at once. The gritty arsonist of their group turned out to have a secret soft spot for rom-coms.