Finally, just as the oppressive sun threatened to roast Noah alive, the bulletproof glass door of the gun shop slowly slid open behind him.
A man emerged from the cool shadows of the interior. He was slightly overweight, carrying a bit of a gut, yet a closer look revealed a frame that hinted at a deep, underlying sturdiness. His skin was tanned dark from years of sun exposure, and his face was framed by a rough, unshaven beard.
"Hey, kid. What are you doing squatting out here?"
Despite the man's slight accent, Noah understood him perfectly.
"If you're thinking about robbing a gun shop, you've definitely picked the wrong target," the man added with a smirk.
There was no doubt about it. The build, the weathered face, the gruff but professional vibe—everything confirmed that this man was today's potential savior. This was Robert Kendo.
"No, no, not at all. I have no such intentions," Noah said, waving his hands hurriedly in denial.
He knew Kendo was joking, but trying to be a wiseass with a strange middle-aged man right off the bat could go one of two ways: it could build rapport, or it could convince Kendo that Noah wasn't serious enough for the job.
"Take a look at my build. I don't exactly look like I could run very far while lugging a crate of rifles, do I?"
Noah stood 183 cm tall and weighed about 75 kg. In modern terms, he was a typical "clothes hanger"—lean and tall. While he had always controlled his diet and lacked a beer belly, years of neglecting sleep and proper nutrition for the sake of work meant he lacked any real muscle definition or bulk. His physique might have met the beauty standards for Asian men back home, but Noah had no illusions: he had no idea how many minutes he would actually last in a real fight.
"Jokes aside, I've been open for years and I haven't seen a single hothead dare to rob a gun shop yet," Kendo said, standing in the middle of the doorway like a gatekeeper, effectively blocking the entrance. "Let alone in broad daylight, walking right through the front door."
Kendo sized him up. "Spit it out, kid. What kind of firearm are you looking for? Raccoon City hasn't been peaceful lately. Having a piece on you is better than becoming someone's target, right?"
"Actually, Mr. Kendo, I'm not here to buy a gun." Noah waved his hands again, politely declining the sales pitch.
"Then what is it?" Kendo asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
Ah, come on. What's with this guy? Noah thought. Didn't he just put out an ad looking for help? How could he not remember a damn thing?
If Noah had known the man had the memory of a goldfish, he would have brought the newspaper with him. He'd envisioned a scenario where he'd wait for Kendo to finish speaking, then dramatically slap the classified ad onto his chest and declare aggressively: I want to be your wage slave!
But thinking it was one thing; actually executing it was another matter entirely.
"I'm here about the job," Noah said, taking a deep breath and straightening his collar to project confidence. "I saw your ad in the Cityside News hiring section. It said you were looking for an employee to handle daily shop tasks. So, I'm here to apply."
"Hiring... oh. Oh! Right!" Kendo's eyes lit up. "I remember posting that ad a while back, but nobody showed up for so long that I completely forgot about it. I honestly didn't expect anyone would actually want to work here."
Noah found that curious. To him, this seemed like a prime opportunity. Why would no one apply to the point where the owner forgot the position existed?
"Uh, what do you mean by 'anyone would actually want to work here'?"
"Huh? Are you new to Raccoon City?"
"Yeah, I just arrived recently."
"Hahaha, I figured as much. You don't see many fresh faces like yours around here lately."
"Mr. Kendo, you still haven't told me why no one applies. You seem to have a great personality, and I can't imagine gun shop work being that exhausting."
"Hahaha! It's because the pay isn't that high, kid! That's why nobody wants to come."
Noah blinked. Did a prospective employer really just admit that out loud? The more Kendo spoke, the more it sounded like Noah was about to be exploited.
"I recall the ad mentioning the hourly wage was competitive, and that you pay weekly!"
"Ha. Since you're a newcomer, let me clue you in on the reality of this town."
Kendo leaned against the doorframe, comfortably leaving Noah to continue sweating under the scorching sun while he explained the local economy. Noah listened patiently, his earlier ideas about being "humble and polite" being replaced by a desperate urge to get inside and put his head in front of a fan.
But Noah realized he had the upper hand. If no one else had applied, he was the only candidate. This was a classic shift from a seller's market to a buyer's market. Kendo couldn't afford to be picky.
Seeing Noah nod, Kendo continued in a more serious tone. "The reason is simple. Jobs in this city are too easy to find, and they pay too well. The hourly wage at a private shop like mine can't compete with those other positions."
Noah understood immediately. Raccoon City was a "Company Town," entirely funded and built by the Umbrella Corporation. From the hospitals and schools to the sewers and the very pavement under their feet, everything was bankrolled by Umbrella.
"Bankrolled" meant Umbrella provided the capital, the technology, the materials, and—most importantly—the employment. Over 90% of the jobs in the city were tied to the corporation. Taking a job in Raccoon City was practically synonymous with joining Umbrella.
For a multi-billion dollar pharmaceutical giant that treated B.O.W. (Bio-Organic Weapon) sales as its main business, these local salaries were pocket change. More importantly, by controlling the workforce, the company could operate in the shadows. They could make people disappear without a trace because, as long as the salaries stayed high and the benefits stayed excellent, no one was going to risk their neck for "justice"—not unless their own lives were on the line.
"So," Kendo continued, "even though I posted that hiring ad, it was mostly just a clever way to remind the people of Raccoon City that there's a gun shop here."
"Why bother with that?" Noah asked.
As soon as the words left his mouth, Noah felt like he'd been kicked in the head by a donkey. Why ask a businessman why he wants to promote his own shop?
"It's because of the 'incidents.' Even though the official reports say everything is under control and the culprits were caught, do you know what people are whispering over their fences? They say cannibals have appeared in the outskirts. That these things are slowly wandering toward the city. People are scared that sooner or later, they'll swarm in and turn the whole place into a living hell."
Noah felt a chill. Hearing Kendo describe it vividly brought back memories of the games, but standing here in the flesh, the terror was far more visceral.
"Everyone acts like it's just a ghost story, but no one can deny that people are getting attacked. So, by getting them in here to 'apply' or browse, I get to help them pick out a self-defense weapon. I make a little money, they get a little protection. It's a win-win."
"It's just... I really didn't expect a real applicant to walk through the door."
"So..." Noah trailed off, worried the job was about to vanish.
"You really want to talk about the job, don't you?"
Noah nodded vigorously.
Kendo turned his head thoughtfully, looking toward the back of the shop. He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before finally looking back at Noah.
"Hmm... If you can handle a bit of babysitting on the side, then maybe—just maybe—it's not impossible."