Later that day, after leaving the first gun shop, where the seed of doubt and dread had been planted in the mind of the portly owner, Thiago continued his journey through the intricate streets of New York. The afternoon sun was beginning to tilt westward, painting the skyscrapers with hues of orange and gold, but for Thiago, time was a malleable entity, stretched and compressed by the urgency of his mission. He knew he couldn't buy the entire arsenal and additional supplies in one place without arousing massive suspicion, so his plan was to fragment his purchases, spreading them across different establishments, each with its own atmosphere, its own vendors, its own quirks. Each transaction was a piece of a gigantic puzzle, and each interaction a test of his powers of persuasion and discretion.
The weight of the suitcases he carried, filled with ammunition, the first eight vests, and eight backpacks, was considerable, but the adrenaline and the knowledge of what was to come kept him from feeling tired. He had rented a discreet, neutral-colored van that blended easily into the chaotic city traffic. Parking it in strategic locations, away from prying eyes, and making multiple trips to unload the items into the dormitory, transforming the small space into a makeshift storage facility, was a choreography he had mentally rehearsed countless times. Each box, each package, was a step closer to survival, a shield against the approaching inferno.
He entered a second store, this time a large sporting goods and outdoor gear chain, a place that reeked of new rubber, nylon, and plastic. The shelves stretched into labyrinthine aisles, crammed with tents, sleeping bags, climbing gear, and colorful hiking gear. The atmosphere was vibrant, with soft pop music playing in the background and the cheerful voice of a promotional announcement echoing through the speakers. The contrast with the gravity of his mission was almost comical.
Behind a long, shiny counter made of brushed metal sat a middle-aged woman with short, practical hair and a professional smile. She looked efficient and a little bored, typing something on a computer at an impressive speed. Her eyes, behind modern glasses, were attentive.
"Good afternoon," Thiago said, approaching, one of the newly acquired backpacks casually slung over one shoulder, as if he were just another customer eager for adventure.
The woman looked up, her smile widening a bit. "Good afternoon! Is there anything I can help you with today? We have great deals on camping gear!"
"Yes, thank you. I'm expanding my gear for some very ambitious expeditions I'm planning," Thiago began, using the same excuse, slightly adapting it to the atmosphere of the store. "I need a few more tactical vests and large-capacity backpacks, and, of course, more ammo and clips for the weapons I already own. I want to make sure my entire group is fully equipped and safe." He tried to sound enthusiastic, like a young adventurer who had just discovered a new hobby.
The woman nodded, typing something on the computer. "Oh, yes, safety is paramount. And for groups, it's always good to have extra gear. What do you have in mind in terms of vests and backpacks?"
Thiago listed the additional items, trying to keep his voice casual. "I need three more WWART SHOOTER Multicam Plate Carrier Vests, all in black. And three more Lorben Military Camouflage Trail Camping Trekking 80L Tactical Backpacks, also black. And, of course, a good supply of ammunition and clips for shotguns and pistols. Those more common calibers, you know? For training and to have a good supply."
The woman stopped typing. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and the professional smile on her face faltered slightly. She looked up, her eyes fixed on Thiago's, a curious expression fading into something more cautious. "Three more vests and backpacks, and 'a good supply of ammunition'... Young man, you and your group seem to be preparing for more than just 'hunting and camping expeditions.' What kind of 'eventuality' are you preparing for, exactly? It sounds like you're assembling a small army." Her voice, previously cheerful, was now lower, with a hint of concern.
Thiago glanced around, making sure there were no other customers close enough to hear. The aisle was relatively empty, with only a few distant customers browsing stalls. The sound of the music and announcements seemed muffled, distant. He leaned over the counter, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, the intensity of his past experience brimming in his eyes. "Ma'am," he began, his eyes fixed on hers, a look that carried the weight of a future only he had glimpsed. "If I tell you I have a friend at the Pentagon, and that they're stockpiling food, evacuating the most important people from the scene, and that within a week New York and the world will turn to hell... would you believe me?"
The woman paled visibly. The color drained from her face, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Her smile vanished completely, replaced by an expression of shock and disbelief. She looked at Thiago, then at the hallways lined with leisure equipment, as if the surroundings had suddenly become surreal. "What... what are you saying, young man? Is... is this a bad joke?" Her voice was a thin, barely audible, almost a whisper.
"I'm saying that what I saw, what I lived, is not a nightmare, madam. It's a premonition. A chance to change what's to come. The catastrophe will come. It will be a strange mist, a rain that will bring with it thePlague that devastated the land. And it will be fast. Brutal. People won't be ready. The government... they know. But they can't say. The panic would be uncontrollable. They're preparing for the worst, protecting their own. And I... I'm trying to protect mine. And maybe, just maybe, help some who deserve a chance.
The woman looked at Thiago, her eyes scanning his face, searching for any sign of deception, madness, or charlatanism. But all she saw was an unshakable seriousness, a conviction that went far beyond reason, a frightening maturity in such a young face. She was a practical woman, accustomed to the routine of retail, but the way Thiago spoke, the urgency in his eyes, the detailed knowledge of the scenarios he described... it was different. This wasn't the narrative of a conspiracy theorist; it was the truth of a survivor.
She took a deep breath, a hissing sound, almost a moan. The weight of Thiago's words seemed to have aged her in a matter of seconds. Her shoulders slumped slightly, as if an immense weight had been placed upon them. "I... I don't know what to say, young man. This is... it's too much. But... I... I sense you're not lying. There's something in your eyes that tells me you're not joking. And that equipment list... it's not for camping. It's for... for war."
"I know," Thiago nodded, his voice unwavering. "But if you believe me, even if it's just a small part of you... buy more ammunition for yourself. Stock up. Lots of it. And bring your family, your closest friends, the ones you trust completely, to your side. To a safe place. Don't tell them what I said. Tell them it's an opportunity, a trip, a family emergency. But get them out of here. And prepare yourself. Because hell is coming."
The woman remained silent for a long moment, her eyes fixed on a distant point in the store, as if she were watching the images Thiago described unfold before her. The din of music and advertisements, the sounds of distant customers—everything seemed distant, unreal, a backdrop to the apocalyptic conversation he'd just had. She'd spent her life selling leisure and adventure gear, never gear for the end of the world. But the conviction in Thiago's eyes was undeniable.
Finally, she nodded, a slow, almost imperceptible movement. Her shoulders slumped slightly, as if an immense weight had been placed on them. "I... I don't know what to say, young man. But... I... I'll think about what you said. Thank you. Thank you for... for letting me know."
Thiago felt a subtle relief. Another seed planted. He paid for the items, the weight of the ammunition boxes, vests, and backpacks in his hands a tangible reminder of the responsibility he carried. He knew that each item, each bullet, was another chance for survival.
He continued his journey, visiting a few more stores to divide up the remaining ammunition and clip purchases, repeating the same story and the same veiled warning. In each store, the reaction was the same: initial disbelief, followed by a hint of fear and silent acceptance of the truth in the young man's eyes. Some salespeople seemed more disturbed than others, but everyone, without exception, listened attentively to Thiago's words. He remembered how repetition, even if somewhat monotonous, was the key to credibility in a world where truth was stranger than fiction. He remembered how, in the future, lack of preparation had doomed millions, and how every small action now could change the course of history.
With each passing day, the pile of supplies in Thiago's dorm grew, a silent monument to madness and hope. The weapons, carefully cleaned and lubricated, were hidden under blankets and clothing. The medical supplies were organized into first aid kits. The communications equipment was tested and loaded. The backpacks and vests, now sufficient for all family and friends, were stacked, ready to be distributed. He felt the weight of responsibility, but also an unwavering determination. The night would be long, and dawn would bring hell. But this time, they would be ready. The race against time had reached its climax, and the next 24 hours would determine their fate.