After you finish up your meal, you follow Jonesy and his partner Tad over to their shop. And you find that they weren’t lying about them being Oasis’ main armorer. Although the cabin they share has a relatively small footprint, it goes up for a couple of stories.
The entire first floor is of their shop itself, which has a number of gun racks and shelves along the walls. There are also some display bins in the middle with all kinds of stuff in them, mostly things for weapon and armor maintenance in them.
When you rifle through the bins, you find cleaning rags and gun oil and holsters and arrows and whatnot. Most of what’s here are aimed at helping one maintain their arsenal, which you aren’t particularly interested in. You barely use your gun, so you don’t really find a need to oil it regularly… though you could use a whetstone to keep your survival knife sharp.
The racks and shelves around the shop are much more interesting to you, as they’re filled with all manner of weapons. There are old bolt action rifles with beautiful wooden furniture next to modern automatic rifles with sleek black buttstocks, handguards, and Picatinny rails. You also see a variety of shotguns, though most are pump action. Numerous handguns are also on display here, from revolvers to machine pistols, though most are semi-autos of various makes and models.
You even spot one that’s almost exactly like your P365, though it has a much larger magazine than yours. In fact, it’s visibly larger than yours all around - yours is a micro-compact model after all.
More than that, every cabinet beneath the racks are filled with magazines and clips and revolver speedloaders. There’s such a variety that you’re almost certain every weapon on display has multiple spares. Perhaps more than they really need.
There’s also a stretch of space where a number of ballistic vests hang from a metal rod. Each one looks relatively used and well-worn, but are still robust enough to take a beating.
In fact, you can tell that everything in here has seen some use throughout their lives, but all are still clean and polished and oiled and ready to use at a moment’s notice. Clearly, Jonesy and Tad do well to care for Oasis’ weapons.
Jonesy leads you over to the counter, behind which are numerous locked metal cabinets with what you presume are filled with ammunition. Your presumption is confirmed when he opens one up behind him, revealing boxes of ammunition in neat and orderly stacks.
While he preps his shop, you pull your spare pistols from your hiking pack and place them on the counter between you. Then you lay down all your extra magazines and boxes of ammunition. And since you barely use your own sidearm, you decide to put down your spare box of 9mm rounds.
This leaves you with whatever rounds you have in your three magazines, which ought to be enough to deal with any emergencies you come across.
Jonesy whistles as he picks up one of the pistols - a snub nose revolver.
“Haven’t seen one of these in ages,” he says with admiration in his voice.
He turns it around in his hands, and even opens up the cylinder to take a better look at it. Then he snaps it back shut with a whip of a wrist, which causes a truly satisfying SNAKT to ring in the air.
“They called these the Judge,” he says. “Can fit 45 Colts or 410 shotgun rounds in ‘em. No swapping out needed. You sure you don’t wanna keep this? Kind of a treasure if you ask me.”
You shake your head, and gesture towards the 9mm on your thigh.
“This is plenty enough for me,” you reply.
He nods, puts down the revolver, then picks up the weapon next to it - the 1911. He whistles again in admiration as he turns the weapon around in his hands. He also inspects it as closely as he did with the revolver, and even pulls the slide back so he can peer down into the breech.
With the flick of a thumb, the slide snaps back forward with a heavy CLACK.
“What a classic,” he says. “We already got a few of these, but I can’t help but love ‘em. You sure you don’t want this one too?”
“The round’s too heavy for me,” you reply. “Tried shooting it years ago with my Dad, couldn’t handle it. Always made it so the brass got stuck in the ejection port.”
“Mmm. Not holding it tight enough. Or right enough.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
Although it’s true that you could hardly handle the gun, that was also five years ago even before the end of the world. You were much softer then. Now, you could probably fire it one-handed without an issue. Still, you don’t really want to keep it.
It’s simply that you really do prefer the one on your thigh. Besides, the 1911 is kind of heavy for a pistol.
The one you’ve got - your P365 - might not be the most powerful or the most aggressive or the most comfortable. But it feels nice right where it is. Honestly it’s acting more like a security blanket at this point more than anything.
Your powers have been more than enough to deal with any problems you’ve faced, and surely outclass whatever stopping power your 9mm could put out.
Part of you wants to sell it outright, along with whatever ammo and magazines you have for it. But another part knows you would miss the way it feels on your thigh - it’s become a part of you, much like the rest of your kit. You’ve been living with it for so long that it’s tough to imagine life without it, even if you barely ever unholster it, much less use it.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Removing it would only make you feel a bit naked.
“But yeah, I’d like to sell these,” you continue. “Don’t think I’ll have much use for them on the road.”
“Suit yourself,” Jonesy says. “Your loss is our gain, I suppose. In any case, pick out whatever you like from the armory - whatever you think is fair for all this. We can negotiate once you put what you want down on the counter.”
You glance around again and take a look at everything around you. Plenty of it is certainly enticing, especially what looks to be a very attractive PPK - the James Bond gun. A large part of you wants to pick it up, just so you could put a suppressor on it and creep through the shadows. And somehow become a super spy like in the movies.
But then again, you remind yourself that it would be little more than an aesthetic upgrade and completely useless to your actual survival.
So you take a look at the ballistic vests hanging up along part of one wall, seeing if you could use any. All provide some form of protection, one or two just against knives, with most of the rest meant to stop small caliber rounds. There is a suit that’s heavily padded with extra-thick ceramic plates. No doubt it could stop 7.62 rounds in their tracks. At least, for as long as the plates themselves could handle the damage.
While it would certainly be fun to travel the country as a walking talk, it would also be incredibly burdensome. This thing is heavy, and would be a serious problem in the heat. There’s no way you could climb a single mountain in this, unless you were to go very, very slow.
And you imagine yourself facing off against everything you’ve fought off before, and find that it wouldn’t be much help there. The most dangerous things you’ve faced have been psionic after all. Armor means little to them in the grand scheme of things.
“To be honest, I don’t need much of anything in here,” you say after a few moments.
Your words cause Jonesy’s mouth to fall, mostly out of complete surprise. His eyes widen as well, as though he can’t believe the words he’s just heard. You sense his need to answer you, to convince you, but is unable to reconcile the fact that you don’t need a weapon.
“Like if I was to wear that heavy suit you’ve got, that Ifrit for sure would have cooked me alive no problem,” you continue. “Didn’t need it to kill it, so I probably won’t need it to kill any I come across in the future.”
“I’m sorry - Ifrit?” asks Jonesy. It seems that specific word has snapped him out of his stunned silence, for whatever reason.
“Yeah, big flame psion was burning a whole lot of land a few days east. We were forced to get rid of it, unfortunately. I don’t think it liked that we were there at all.”
Jonesy turns towards you suddenly. You can sense the incredulity in his voice as he speaks
“The Ifrit… east… the one that the merchants couldn’t pass? That Ifrit? Tower of flame Ifrit? Claimed a shitton of land and burnt it all to cinders Ifrit?” he babbles. “You killed it?”
“Yep. Well, me and my cat did.”
“You… and your cat? Killed the Ifrit?”
You nod and smile, which gives him a great amount of pause.
“I understand why you wouldn’t need anything in here, then,” he eventually says. “I’d heard you were a psion, didn’t think you were that good.”
“We got a bit lucky,” you reply.
“R-right… Anyway, since you don’t want to trade for anything in here, I suppose I could offer you Oasis Tokens in exchange.”
He reaches under the counter and produces a modest lockbox from beneath. It flips open easily after he enters in the combination code, then takes a handful of large coins from inside. He places five of them on the counter in front of you, and invites you to pick them up.
You take one in your hand and look at it closely - the coin itself is large, about half the size of your palm. More than that, it’s utterly beautiful. It’s made of copper, and is stamped with the words “Oasis” and “One Token” on both sides.
On one of its faces is what you presume is the symbol of Oasis, which is that of a lake surrounded by plateaus. Stamped on the other side is a map of the local area, with Oasis in the very center, represented by a star. The map shows the plateaus just west of them, along with the edge of a city far north.
“What do I do with this?” you ask. “Buy stuff with it?”
“You got it,” Jonesy answers. “Only works in Oasis of course. It’s normally how we trade internally, depending on circumstances. Kinda like this one. You could use these to supplement your other trades, mostly. Give you an edge when negotiating and all that.”
“It’s gorgeous. I think I’ll keep one just for myself and trade with the rest.”
You quickly stow the one you’re holding into your messenger bag securely, then pocket the rest in your cargo pants.
“Also, you know anyone that could use a portable radio and solar charger?” you ask. “Been carrying them thinking I would need them… but I’ve barely even hooked them up together.”
Jonesy tips his head slightly in thought as he strokes his chin lightly with his fingers.
“Not sure anyone in town would need ‘em,” he replies after a few moments. “Most of us already got our power setup if we need - we’ve got some solar panels up above there.”
He points upwards, as though you can actually see the panels from inside. But you presume they’re up above the canvas canopy, perhaps on the poles themselves. Would make sense if they did something like that.
“And we don’t really need any travel type panels,” he continues. “Well maybe Mags would want them. She could use it to sell to traders and travelers like yourself. You could ask her… yeah.”
Though you’re about to thank Jonesy, not just for the tip but for the business, he opens his mouth again as though he’s realized something. It takes him another second to actually say something.
“I might know someone else, maybe,” he finally says. “There’s a kinda junk collector living just outside Oasis. Kind of a strange fella though, probably he’s all by his lonesome out there. But he usually asks for things like that. You could try him. The name’s Babbage.”
“This Babbage come into town often or something?” you ask. “Should I wait for him here?”
“Nope. He stays out there all the time. Only time we hear from him is when he radios in. I mean, we barely even see the guy. Stays in his trailer most of the time. You oughta say hi regardless.”
Jonesy points northwesterly, into one of his walls.
“There’s a plateau right in that direction,” he says. Then he adjusts where he’s pointing further west, slowly. “Just follow the incoming river that way and hug the plateau north. You’ll find Babbage’s Yard at the end there.”
You perform a deep Scan in the direction that Jonesy points, mostly in an effort to find Babbage. If you can pinpoint his mind, then you could easily find your way to him. And you certainly find him - he has significant psionic powers, though he’s clearly tamping them down and keeping them at a minimum. Just like yourself.
More than that, the mind feels highly structured and somewhat foreign. All other minds around you, yours included, seem to flow and swim. Babbage’s appears to be more rigid and rhythmic, which instantly makes you incredibly curious.
“I’ll go chat with Babbage,” you say. “He seems fascinating.”
“Bit of a weirdo, like I said. But still good people.”