Selling (Somewhat) Magic Goods in Arknights

[Paracsus]

Omake: Unremembered Armories

Arno didn't talk about his father much, mostly because it rarely came up.

His father had run a YouTube channel when Arno was growing up. It focused on old firearms—mostly designs that had fallen out of common use. The videos weren't flashy. They were long, detailed, and often filmed at a shooting bench or worktable. Most of them involved careful explanations of how a weapon worked, why it was designed the way it was, and what made it different from modern firearms.

The channel was called Unremembered Armories.

Arno had spent a lot of time at the range as a kid. Not shooting at first—watching, listening, passing tools, and learning how to pay attention. His father was strict about safety and procedure. Arno learned early how to clear a firearm, how to identify worn parts, and how to tell when something wasn't functioning correctly just by how it felt.

By the time he was older, he could field-strip and maintain several older designs without needing instructions. It wasn't something he showed off. It was just something he knew how to do.

Those memories were why the crate inside the cart caught his attention immediately.

It was a wooden case, reinforced with metal brackets and closed with two latches. It wasn't near the food or medical supplies. It looked deliberate.

Niko noticed it too.

"Why is that box here?" she asked. "It doesn't look like supplies."

Arno crouched and opened the latches.

Inside was a Remington Model 8.

The rifle was clean and well maintained. The wood stock had been oiled recently, and the metal showed no rust. It was laid out properly in fitted padding. Beneath it were cleaning tools, spare parts, and several boxes of ammunition. There were also containers of powder, primers, brass casings, and bullet molds, along with printed instructions for ammunition reloading.

Arno stared at it for a moment.

"…That's his," he said quietly.

Niko leaned closer, ears flattened. "Why is there a gun in the cart."

"It's old," Arno said. "Early 20th century."

"That doesn't make it less scary."

He lifted the rifle carefully and checked the chamber. Empty. He set it back down just as carefully.

"My dad used to shoot this one a lot," Arno said. "He liked how it worked."

Niko folded her arms. "Do you need it?"

"Hopefully not."

"Good."

Arno closed the case and sat down on the bench beside it. He hadn't thought about those range days in years. The long explanations. The patience. The way his father trusted him to handle things properly once he was ready.

He picked up the paper that came with the box and read it.

NOTICE OF DELIVERY

Spoiler

Item: Remington Model 8
Category: Firearm (Antique / Semi-Automatic)
Status: Owner-Restricted — Non-Commercial

This item has been returned to a verified handler with prior training and documented familiarity.

Included Materials:

• Cleaning and maintenance tools
• Replacement parts (limited, will be provided when current ones are used and/or destroyed. NEVER BEFORE.)
• Boxed ammunition
• Ammunition creation tools
• Ammunition ingredients and instructions on how to make them

Usage Parameters:

• Not for sale
• Not for display
• Not for public demonstration
• Use restricted to self-defense

Safety Addendum:
These items are inaccessible to non-designated personnel.
Additional safeguards have been applied.
Instructions will only be legible to the designated personnel.
Information regarding these items will be sealed and protected frm any form of scrying, mind-reading, or any other form of hostile intelligence gathering.

Note:
Assistant has been informed that this item is not for customers and not a toy.

This arrangement is non-negotiable.

---

As Arno was reading and re-reading the paper, Niko watched him for a moment.

"…You're allowed to keep it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Okay," she said. "Just don't point it at me. Mama says those are dangerous."

"Fair."

The cart didn't react to the case at all. No warnings. No changes.

Arno leaned back and exhaled.

He hadn't expected to see that rifle again. But he understood now about why it was here.

Some things didn't disappear just because you left them behind.

And this one, at least, came with instructions.

---

AN: Yes, this is canon. Yes, I did that name on purpose. My muse slapped me upside the head with this little nugget.

 

[Paracsus]

The Coffee Debacle

For a long time, everything had worked.

There was a delicate balance in Lungmen. The LGD kept order in visible ways—patrols, checkpoints, routine presence. Lin's people watched from less obvious places, tracking movement, influence, and opportunity. Rhodes Island stayed methodical and restrained, observing more than acting, recording more than intervening. None of them liked sharing space, but they tolerated one another because the arrangement functioned.

In the middle of it all, Arno's cart opened every morning.

It sold the same small range of anomalous food it always had—bentos, bread, drinks—nothing flashy, nothing aggressive. Customers lined up, paid, left. The cart did not advertise. It did not expand. It did not respond to pressure. Over time, it became a fixed point in an otherwise shifting landscape, predictable enough that even competing factions learned how to work around it.

That balance shifted the moment Arno began accepting bulk contracts.

The change was subtle at first. Instead of multiple representatives sending people to stand in line at dawn, orders were consolidated. Pickups became scheduled. Arguments over "who got there first" disappeared. There were fewer tense standoffs between people who were technically not supposed to be talking to each other. For once, logistics smoothed over politics instead of inflaming them.

Everyone received exactly what they were promised, and not a unit more.

Rhodes Island and Lin's faction had appreciated the simplicity, while the LGD appreciated not having to break up disputes over boxed lunches. Even Kal'tsit, after reviewing the reports, summarized the situation in a single word: "Acceptable."

Everything changed when the cart started selling coffee.

It wasn't marketed as anything special. It didn't promise heightened reflexes or extended wakefulness. It was simply self-heating, sealed coffee that worked every time. It kept people alert without overstimulation, steady without the crash. It tasted good enough that no one complained, and boring enough that no one felt like it needed justification.

That was the problem. It went under everyone's radar until it was too late. Everyone found out all at once.

Within days, the effect was noticeable. Operators stopped rationing their stimulants. Patrols ran longer without flagging. Late-night shifts became easier to staff. People who had never cared about beverages began caring very much.

Demand did not rise gradually. It surged.

The first bidding war happened quietly, hidden inside revised procurement requests and "temporary reallocations." The second happened face-to-face, in the form of polite arguments over who had placed an order first. By the third week, the Lungmen branch of Rhodes Island was holding emergency logistics meetings specifically about weekly coffee distribution.

Lin's people stopped pretending it was about food and began offering favors instead.

The LGD began assigning patrol routes that, coincidentally, passed the cart multiple times per shift.

The balance did not break all at once.

It strained and everyone felt it.

---

Kal'tsit was mid-review when the knock came.

"Enter."

The door opened just enough for a logistics officer to slip in, a tablet held in both hands like it might start screaming if dropped.

"Dr. Kal'tsit," he said carefully, "we've confirmed it."

She did not look up. "Confirmed what."

"A second shipment has hit the market."

Her pen stopped.

Kal'tsit lifted her head slowly. "Repeat that."

"A second shipment," he said. "Same cart. Same vendor. Same self-heating cans."

She leaned back in her chair. "How many units."

"Limited," he replied. "Smaller than the first. Already partially allocated."

There was a pause. Then another.

"How is 'partially allocated' defined," Kal'tsit asked, "in this context."

"Sold out in under thirty minutes."

Kal'tsit set the pen down with exaggerated care. "Of course it was."

She stood, moving toward the display wall as the officer continued, now speaking faster. Operators across three departments had logged eight-plus hours of sustained alertness. No crash. No agitation. No stimulant markers. Several had reportedly finished paperwork early, which caused a brief ethics inquiry before being dismissed as unrelated.

"That," Kal'tsit said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "is not coffee."

"Yes, Doctor."

"That is a logistical anomaly."

Another officer cleared his throat. "Dr. Kal'tsit, multiple factions are now searching."

She turned slowly. "How many."

The officer hesitated. "…Yes."

Kal'tsit folded her hands. "Wonderful. Deploy observers only. No pursuit. No force."

A pause followed, thick with unspoken questions.

"…And prepare contingency plans," she added. "If the coffee reappears."

Everyone in the room straightened.

Someone dared to ask, "What kind of contingency plans, Doctor."

Kal'tsit didn't miss a beat. "All of them."

The main screen shifted, pulling up a live feed of the street where the cart normally stood. The space was empty. No cart. No Arno. No suspiciously calm vendor handing out drinks that solved half of Lungmen's productivity problems.

Kal'tsit stared at the empty street.

"Find it," she said. "Before someone else decides coffee is worth starting a war over."

Around her, Rhodes Island logistics quietly began preparing for exactly that possibility.

---

Arno knew something was wrong when the crowd started lining up early. Not chatting, not browsing. Just standing. Waiting.

Niko peeked out from behind him, eyes wide and trembling. "Arno… what is happening?" she whispered. "They're… they're all staring at us."

"Yes," he said flatly, arranging crates.

"They brought… notebooks! And clipboards! And… someone brought a chair!" Her voice was getting higher-pitched by the second. "A chair! To wait for… coffee?"

"Yes," he replied, calm as ever.

Niko's hands flew to her face. "And that LGD officer keeps… tapping his foot like it's a race! And the Rhodes Island person just scanned the cart! They're—are they spying on the coffee?!"

Arno handed the last coffee can to a man who accepted it with both hands, reverence written all over his face. "Sold out," he said evenly.

The reaction was instantaneous chaos.

"What do you mean sold out?!"

"I was here first!"

"Rhodes Island already paid!"

"The LGD has priority jurisdiction!"

Someone in the back shouted, "HOW DID HE GET MORE THIS WEEK?!"

Niko grabbed Arno's sleeve, trembling, her voice almost a squeak. "Arno! They're… they're staring at us like… like… they want the coffee! What if they fight?! What if—what if it explodes or something?!"

Arno reached under the counter and flipped the switch. The cart's doors slammed shut. "Closing early today," he said evenly.

A sharp, commanding voice cut through the noise. "Merchant."

Kal'tsit stood at the edge of the crowd, coat immaculate, expression unreadable.

"Doctor," Arno said neutrally.

"We need to talk."

"Tomorrow," he replied.

"…Now," she corrected.

Behind her, Rhodes Island operators were arriving, LGD units were forming a perimeter, and somewhere deeper in the crowd, Lin's people had stopped smiling. Niko shrieked and jumped back. "Arno! We're trapped! They're everywhere! They're going to take us!"

Arno nodded once. "Understood."

Niko practically dove into the cart, scrambling over crates, her eyes wide and wild. "Start the thing! Start the cart! NOW!"

He twisted the wheel. The cart lurched forward, tires squealing slightly as the crowd scattered and flailed. Niko clutched the edge of the seat, her little legs kicking in the air. "I think—oh no—they're still coming! Are they on motorbikes? Do they have cannons?!"

Arno shot her a glance over his shoulder. "No, Niko. They don't have cannons."

"But they might have—" she started, then yelped as the cart swerved around a street stall. Crates rattled behind them.

Boxes fell over with a loud thump. "That's… our stock!" Niko cried. She ducked as a clipboard bounced off the cart's side. "Argh! It's all their fault! Why did we sell the coffee?!"

"Because someone asked," Arno said flatly, accelerating.

Niko grabbed onto a handle, bouncing up and down. "I don't even understand how coffee can do this—how can a drink make everyone act like lunatics?! Why would anyone need that much coffee?!"

Arno kept a steady course down the street. "They didn't. But they want it anyway."

Boxes clattered in the back, a stray crate teetered on its edge, and somewhere behind them, the factions were still flailing and arguing over which side of the street to chase on. A drone buzzed overhead, probably trying to film a news report.

"I think… we're… okay… maybe?" Niko stammered, holding on for dear life, hair sticking to her sweat-soaked forehead.

Arno smirked faintly. "Probably."

"But… it's so insane!" she wailed. "I don't even know if I can—"

"—breathe," he finished for her.

Niko groaned dramatically, throwing her arms over her eyes. "Yes! Breathe. Right. Okay. What if they follow us even out of Lungmen?"

Arno glanced over his shoulder and nodded toward the distant city skyline. "They won't. We're already too far ahead."

Niko peeked one eye open. "Really?"

"Really," he said.

She exhaled in a long, shaky whoosh. "Okay… maybe I like this cart thing. But the coffee… I don't understand the coffee…"

Arno simply drove on, calm as ever, while Niko shrieked. Flailing like she was riding the most chaotic roller coaster in Lungmen.

Behind them, factions scrambled, shouting at each other, taking wrong turns, and updating their contact lists in frustration. The cart—and its mysterious coffee—was already gone.

---

One week without the cart, and Lungmen was losing its mind.

At the Rhodes Island branch, operators huddled over spreadsheets, pencils tapping, calculators clicking. "If the cart returns tomorrow, how many cans can we allocate before Lin's people get wind of it?" one whispered, eyes wide. Another slammed a hand down. "We can't predict—he could have doubled production!"

Across the street, LGD officers were arguing loudly, arms flailing over patrol schedules. "I assigned you to Sector 4! You were supposed to intercept the cart if it moved!" "I was there!" "No, you were at a coffee shop again!" Their radios squawked unintelligible chatter.

In dark alleys, Lin's faction prowled, peering around corners, whispering to each other. "He can't be gone for long. He always comes back." "Maybe he's hiding in the market?" "Or disguised as a delivery cart?" They paused, eyes narrowing at a passing fruit vendor. "Nope. Definitely not."

News crews had started picking up the story. 'Mystery Merchant Cart Disappears, Operators Panic' flashed across holo-screens. Interviews ran with witnesses describing "people running with clipboards" and "officers arguing over coffee." Analysts speculated wildly, some suggesting the city might collapse entirely if the cart didn't return.

At a corner café, a small crowd of office workers watched the news with disbelief. "Do you think it's really gone?" one asked. "I heard LGD is sending drones now," another said, sipping a tepid latte. "Drones. For coffee."

Rumors spread faster than any official notice. One faction claimed the cart had been kidnapped. Another swore it had been holed up in an abandoned warehouse, guarded by armed cats. Requests for information flooded every office, every communications channel. Everyone wanted the coffee. Everyone needed the coffee.

And through it all, the city continued. People walked by, oblivious, while the factions scurried, bickered, and brainstormed increasingly ridiculous ways to secure a single can of a self-heating drink.

 

[Tenno]

A Customer's Musings

Living in a city can be Noisy, cramped, and smelly. Even more so in a Mobile City like Lungmen, a thriving hub of exchange and commerce. From the highest of luxuries to the smallest of oddities, anything can be found here. Especially oddities, like the strange cart parked in front of my building.

A cart that strangely looks to be made of wood, yet behaves like a normal vehicle. Strange, eccentric even. But also, unique in a way a lone tree stands in the middle of a paved highway.

But that isnt even the strangest thing about it. It's the products being sold that take that spot. Like the candies that give you a little pick-me-up, to candy cigars that have all the traits of a cigar except the bad ones, like bad-smelling smoke. Or the boxed lunches and meals that can make you feel less hungry, as strange as that sounds.

Tried those candies myself when I needed the extra energy during work. Gave me just enough to make it back home to my bed before crashing. Been a loyal customer for 2 weeks now.

And speaking of customers, I've been noticing a lot of people just standing way off. Looking busy trying to blend in, or at least trying to. I mean, they all choose to stand in the spots where they have a place to hide in, and are almost always fully covered. It doesn't take a genius to realize that they were spies. But who's? i dont know, and I'd rather not know.

Besides suspected criminals, other groups also started buying. Like the cops, a bunch of high society student types from some school? assembly? i dont know. And a branch of a medical company. Hell i even saw that one idol, Sora I think, with her co-workers at the cart.

At this rate, some big names are gonna start showing up. Which means more trouble, more opportunities for the cart, and maybe some entertainment for me as I watch from my second-floor window. No one knows.

All I know is that the carts been consistent, and will stay consistent.

Also, might ask if he's thinking of adding coffee to his list of products. Hoping to replace my unhealthy coffee addiction with his healthy coffee, hopefully.

 

[Paracsus]

One Mysterious Day

One morning in Lungmen, the world felt strangely complete—too seamless, too inevitable.

Arno guided his modest cart to its accustomed corner, the same narrow stretch of pavement he had claimed for years. He allowed the vehicle to settle with its familiar soft hum, set the brake, and stepped out to begin his morning routine. Only then did he notice that the spaces immediately to either side—gaps that had always remained just wide enough for pedestrians—were no longer vacant.

To his left stood a massive, polished structure of dark wood bound with iron trim, lanterns already burning low and steady in the pale dawn. To his right, wedged precisely between the brick faces of the two neighboring buildings, crouched a crooked, weathered shack with a slanted roof and mismatched boards. A hand-painted sign hung above its doorway:
"Odds & Ends — No Refunds"

Neither structure had been present when Arno closed up the night before. Yet there they stood now, positioned so naturally that the street itself seemed to have quietly rearranged its memory to include them.

At the front of the grand cart sat a broad, rotund man, legs crossed, exuding calm authority. Before him hissed a portable grill, sending fragrant smoke curling into the cool air: fish seared until the skin snapped audibly, poultry roasted to deep, slow perfection, glazes and techniques unknown to Terra's kitchens. The scents alone could halt a passerby mid-stride and redirect their entire morning.

Spoiler

The man met Arno's gaze and raised a hand in easy greeting.
"Good morning, neighbor," he called, voice warm and resonant. "Care to try a sample? First taste is always free—professional courtesy, nothing more. "

Niko, standing close beside Arno, drew a sharp breath.
"…Arno," she whispered, "that smells like it should be illegal."

Inside the shack, half-hidden by shadow, a hunched figure moved with meticulous precision, arranging objects that bore no resemblance to ordinary wares. Clockwork toys glided with uncanny smoothness. Charms and trinkets displayed flawless craftsmanship. Music boxes spun melodies at once alien and strangely familiar.

A young passerby lifted a small wind-up creature. It clicked once, turned its head, and offered a perfect little bow.
"This is master-made," the youth murmured in quiet awe.

From within the shack came a low, gravelly voice.

"Quality lasts," the Merchant said. "Stock does not."

Spoiler

By mid-morning the street had become a living current of people. Customers drifted between the three carts, weighing aromas against prices, textures against memories. Others simply stood, momentarily suspended by the sudden abundance of choice. Arno observed in silence, noting that the Duke—for the rotund man could only be the Duke—laughed freely, served generously, and yet never once obstructed Arno's line of sight or interfered with the flow of his own customers.

At one point the Duke leaned closer, voice lowered in mock conspiracy.
"Don't think too hard, my friend. We're only here for today. No intention of claiming your corner permanently."

From the shack the Merchant's voice drifted out. "Temporary arrangement."

A brief pause.
"…Most likely."

Arno exhaled slowly and turned back to his counter.
"Then we should make the most of the morning," he said.

Arno let a small, excited smile appear on his face. "Competition?"

"Friendly rivalry," the Duke declared, slapping his knee.
"Survival of the competent," the Merchant muttered.

For one extraordinary morning, Lungmen bore witness to three sellers working side by side: three distinct philosophies of craft and commerce unfolding along a single stretch of pavement. The street would never again feel entirely ordinary.

By afternoon the grand cart had vanished. The shack disappeared without disturbing so much as a single brick. Only the lingering perfume of roasted meat and the memory of astonished, contented customers remained—along with an unspoken sense that Arno's modest operation had been quietly measured, and quietly endorsed.

---

When the street finally quieted that evening, Arno found himself seated in a borrowed back room—too orderly to be a mere storeroom, too cluttered to be an office. A single scarred table occupied the center. The Duke sat on one side, relaxed and expansive; the Merchant perched on a crate near the wall, absently adjusting a small metallic object between gloved fingers.

In the corner of the room, Niko was conspicuously silent.

She sat cross-legged on a stool far too small for her, holding a cinnamon bun that was nearly the size of her head. Sugar dusted her fingers. A handmade fish plushie—stitched carefully, lovingly—rested against her side. She took another bite, eyes wide, shoulders finally unknotted from the tension she'd carried all day.

Arno regarded the two visitors who had upended his routine without warning or explanation.

"So," he said, folding his hands on the table, "I will ask the obvious question. How are you here?"

The Duke's laugh rolled through the room, deep and unforced.
"That question has trailed us across more worlds than I care to count, my friend."

The Merchant spoke next, voice rough but not unkind.
"We go where trade exists. Where need exists. Where something worth preserving is being built."

Arno tilted his head. "That is deliberately vague."

"Intentionally so," the Duke replied, still smiling. "Call it following the wind. One day it carries us to a castle, the next to a half-ruined hamlet, the day after to a city still deciding what it wants to become."

"You've seen many places," Arno observed.

"Many," the Duke confirmed. "Some drowning in surplus, others scraping by on almost nothing. Markets paid in coin, in favors, in memories. One memorable world accepted only gemstones carved into skulls."

"Another outlawed merchants outright," the Merchant added.

"And yet?" Arno prompted.

"They found us anyway. And let me tell you, the things we've seen would go beyond your wildest dreams…" the Duke said ominously.

The conversation unfolded naturally thereafter. They spoke of strange patrons and stranger regulations, of markets that existed for a single night, of cities whose streets rearranged themselves when unobserved. In return, Arno offered glimpses of Lungmen—its intricate rules, its rival factions, the way opportunity and peril so often arrived together.

At length the Duke glanced toward the corner and smiled.
"Your assistant has excellent instincts. It took her less than ten minutes to decide we weren't going to devour anyone."

Niko froze mid-bite, then resumed eating without comment.

"She is observant," Arno said quietly.

Eventually the atmosphere shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. The Merchant rose first. From within his coat he produced a small, solid plaque, its surface engraved with careful precision. He placed it on the table and slid it toward Arno.

The Duke cleared his throat, adopting a tone of gentle formality.
"By custom, and by consensus, we recognize you as one of us."

Arno looked down.

---

SHOPKEEPER'S GUILD
INTERWORLD MERCHANTS' CONCORD

NOTICE OF RECOGNITION

By authority vested in the Guild and by consensus of its standing members,
the bearer of this notice is hereby acknowledged as a
MEMBER IN GOOD STANDING.

This recognition affirms lawful participation in Guild trade,
adherence to established customs of fair exchange,
and the right to operate without interference from fellow members
across all recognized markets and territories.

Issued without expiration.
Revocation subject only to Guild deliberation.

---

He did not immediately reach for it.
"This does not obligate me to begin appearing in haunted villages, I trust?"

The Duke laughed again. "Only if the mood strikes you."

"Membership does not bind," the Merchant said. "It just means you are one of us now."

Arno lifted the plaque. It was heavier than its size suggested.

"Thank you," he said, and meant it.

They did not prolong the farewell. The Duke stood, already stretching as though the road were calling. The Merchant adjusted his coat, casting a final glance toward Niko—who hugged her plush toy a fraction tighter.

"The wind is turning," the Duke said cheerfully. "Take good care of your corner of the world, Arno."

"And make sure to enjoy yourself too. You have no idea how much fun it has been for us for the past few centuries." the Merchant added.

Then they were gone.

Later that night, when the borrowed room stood empty once more, Arno placed the plaque carefully inside his cart. Niko peered over the counter.

"So… you're in a guild now?"

He nodded.

She smiled, a trace of powdered sugar still clinging to her cheek, and took another bite of the cinnamon bun.

The next day, business resumed its familiar rhythm. Mostly.

The line formed the way it always did—early, quiet at first, then steadily filling with the usual mix of tired faces and practiced patience. The cart stood where it always had. The street sounded the same. If anything had changed, it was subtle enough to be missed at a glance.

Still, every so often, a customer would slow their step. Someone would look down the block, then back again, brow furrowed.

"…Wasn't there another cart here yesterday?"

Another would swear they'd smelled something different in the air that morning—spices they couldn't name, something warm and rich that didn't belong to coffee at all. A third mentioned a shack that definitely hadn't been there last week, though they couldn't quite say where it had stood.

Arno answered none of it. He poured, took payment, nodded people along.

By midday, the questions stopped. The rhythm settled. The street accepted what it could see.

But a few customers left glancing over their shoulders, as if half-expecting something large and friendly to be there when they looked back—only to find the space empty, and no proof it had ever been otherwise.

---

AN: The reason why I made the Duke sell food and Merchant sell toys is because they obviously cannot sell guns, ammo, and explosives in Lungmen. Otherwise, they'd instantly be sought after by EVERYONE who'd want a piece of them.

Also, just to clear it out, Duke sells food that is made on the spot, like a taco or shawarma vendor. So his food is made to be eaten there, meanwhile Arno sells pre-packaged goods so those are much easier to take home. Just decided to point it out so as to show that there's no redundancy in these roles.

Also gotta let Arno see how the REAL masters move goods.

 

[Tenno]

A Customer's Musings - 2

You know, I thought Arno (Finally got the name of the shopkeep), finally adding coffee, the ambrosia of the hard-working man and woman on terra would be the highlight of the week. But no, rather it was the sudden appearance of 2 new sellers. Both are just as mysterious and so very different from Arno.

One is a man completely covered, carrying a massive backpack full of quality knick-knacks, toys, and some interesting odd and ends. The Merchant, as he calls himself, is quiet, mysterious, and incredibly generous with his prices. So much so that even I, a factory worker, could afford something on my budget. Like the amazing painting of a castle in a lake that I bought, really made me feel like a fancy noble!

The other, named Duke, is the largest man I have ever seen, as I couldn't even see his feet when he sat down. The man had folds on his folds, yet his size was surpassed by his jolly attitude, wit, and cooking. Good lord, his cooking, the smell alone made the visit worth the hour-long line just to buy one of his meals. Which I did, ordered a nice steak, and it was the greatest meal I've ever had the privilege of tasting. Almost on par with my own mother's cooking!

But what really surprised everyone was the teamwork. Arno, Merchant, and Duke coordinating together was a thing of beauty to watch. And a hefty increase to their wallets' weight with the number of customers theyve got. Honestly, it looked like a mini festival with all the food, toys, and other things people have been buying. Made the plaza feel a lot more lively, which is a nice change. Too bad it only lasted a day.

They just packed up and left, and by the time people woke up the next day. They were already gone, a shame really. I really wanted to taste the Duke's full menu.

Hopefully, that little event will help keep Arno above the red. Especially with those bastards making a mess of things by scaring his customers. Too bad they haven't done anything yet, would have loved to call the LGD. See how they like being intimidated and tailed. Also started saving for a security camera, want it pointed right out my window, and hopefully see if I can catch any of those thugs doing something illegal.

 

[Paracsus]

Arno and Niko had been stuck in this rotting world for over almost a month now. The cart sat sealed tight on the edge of a motel parking lot, shutters locked, doors reinforced. They had quickly learned that opening for anyone here was usually a bad idea.

Just as they were preparing for their final departure, they got whisked off into the night while they were asleep. One indication that they were not in Lungmen anymore was that they sat in an open field filled with crashed and abandoned cars and numerous corpses. It was scary for Niko for a while due to all the gore, but thankfully Arno seemed cognizant of the danger they were in and prepared his rifle as they rode the cart around. Things went spotty quick when the "corpses" began standing up, some with their jaws and limbs missing.

It didn't take long for them to figure out where they were when a cop on horseback named Rick told them what was going on. After some explaining on what happened and where they were, they thanked him and gave him some food for the journey as he rode off towards Atlanta.

After getting their bearings, it was business as usual from there...at least as usual as you could get in an apocalypse.

The first few customers like in Hershel's Farm and the Woodbury settlement seemed fine enough. They were skeptical at first seeing a kid with purple hair moving around in a cart filled with food, as people usually would. But Arno managed to get the idea across that they weren't here to harm people by providing some samples of his goods, which appeared to be leagues better than bread that's been sitting in an abandoned supermarket for over 2 weeks, and a bottle of water from a creek. They immediately became a commodity as people were coming in droves with materials and items of varying value that the Cart seemed to accept as currency. This ranged from boxes of nails and worn tools to more precious items like batteries and even loose ammo.

But after that were also incidents where settlements and raiders thought that they could take the cart and food for themselves, maybe even have some fun with the cute girl in the seemingly vulnerable wooden box filled with food.

The notion of the cart being vulnerable was immediately proved wrong when all efforts to break it resulted in broken tools and weapons, as well as wasted explosives and bullets.

The Cart also did not seem to like being assumed as an easy target, so you could imagine the bandits' surprised faces when the top exterior suddenly revealed something that had them running for the hills.

A Cannon, loaded with grapeshot and explosive ammo.

Spoiler

Needless to say, while the surviving members of the bandit groups retold their accounts (much to the incredulous looks of whoever was listening), the Cart was no longer to be trifled with.

And here they are now, in Macon after some trades here and there with some wandering survivors, and providing a semblance of safety for the night to those who ask before they continue their journey to wherever it is they're going.

No, they don't let them inside. If they did, they'd never leave. Instead, if they are going the same way, Arno let's them sleep on top of the cart while Niko gives the traveller a spare pillow and blanket as the Cart chugged along at its usual pace. The most recent one named Morgan was kind enough to donate an extra copy of his map before he continued on his journey.

As they opened for business to the hungry looking survivors, Arno ran the whole spiel of communicating to the people in charge to let them know they aren't a threat, and have food to sell if they can afford it.

An African-American man named Lee met them halfway with an older man name Kenny. Things seemed to go pretty well, but as they were about to close the deal…

Until Larry saw the stock.

The older man's eyes widened for a brief second before narrowing into pure greed. Without warning, he drew his pistol and pointed it straight at Arno.

"Everybody freeze," Larry barked. "This changes things. Look at all that food! They've got enough in there to feed us for weeks!"

Lee stepped forward quickly, hands raised. "Larry, what the hell are you doing? We were negotiating—"

"Negotiating?" Larry cut him off, voice rising. "They're sitting on a goldmine while our kids are eating scraps! Hand it all over. Now. We've got women and children who need it more than some traveling salesman and his kid."

Kenny looked uncomfortable but didn't immediately object. A few others in the group muttered in agreement, their hungry stares fixed on the open counter and the visible crates of supplies.

Arno kept his hands visible and his tone level, though irritation was clear in his eyes. He spoke as he slowly backed up towards the entrance of the cart. "Look, man. That's not how this works. I sell this stuff to get access to things other people in other places might need. Put the gun down before someone gets hurt. This is stupid."

Larry laughed bitterly. "Stupid? You're the one hoarding while people starve! Open the cart and start unloading. All of it."

Niko, who was inside, began to pack things up. Thankfully, they didn't set up the outside tables yet in case things went south.

Arno kept their attention on him as Niko quickly closed up.

He glared at Larry as he was near the entrance. "We already said no. You're not the first person to try this, and you won't be the last. Please…we don't want to make this the last conversation you people will ever have.."

The situation grew tense. Lee tried to talk Larry down while Katjaa and a few others watched nervously. Some survivors looked ashamed, but hunger and the sight of real food had clearly worn down their patience.

Arno shook his head slowly. "We trade fairly or not at all. That was the deal on the table. Threatening us won't change that."

Larry took a step closer, gun still raised. "You think that fancy cart of yours scares me? We've got numbers. We can take what we need."

Inside the cart, Niko muttered under her breath, "Here we go again…"

Arno remained calm on the surface, but his patience was clearly running thin after nearly a month of similar encounters. "Last chance. Lower the weapon and back off. We can still trade like civilized people. Or you can walk away empty-handed. Your choice."

The group outside shifted uneasily. Larry's face grew redder as he waited for someone to back him up. The standoff hung in the air, with the sealed cart and its two occupants showing no signs of giving in.

Arno immediately jumped inside and locked the door, completely closing the cart off as the shutters and windows all slammed shut.

Just in time for Larry to open fire. And the Cart has been quiet ever since.

Communications have broken down, and repeated attempts have been made to compromise it from the outside, only to get the same broken tools and wasted ammo that the ones who previously tried.

'The glasses guy named Mark and some others even tried to set us on fire.' Arno thought, amused. 'Thankfully, some of the actual children had more common sense and brought up that if they set the Cart on fire, the food inside will go as well.'

They have been in this area for a few days now, and all Arno and Niko have been doing right now is eating pancakes and studying some maps and the supplies they got from other survivors, thinking about where to go next after this incident.

Especially after Larry's first attempt to bully them into handing over their food.

Yet the knocking never stopped.

*Knock. Knock. Knock.*

"Still them," Arno muttered, not even bothering to look up from where he sat cleaning the Remington Model 8.

Niko sighed loudly and dropped her head onto the small table. "Again? This is the fourth time today. Don't they have walkers to worry about?"

From outside came Lee's patient voice. "It's Lee. We've got some water and batteries if you're willing to trade. The kids are pretty hungry…"

Before Arno could answer, Larry's loud, angry bellow cut in. "Trade?! Screw that! They're sitting on a whole cart of food like kings while we eat beans from a can! Open the damn door before I kick it in!"

Niko rolled her eyes so hard Arno could almost hear it. "There he goes again. Does he think we'll suddenly feel bad with all of that yelling he's doing? I'm pretty sure he'd just hurt his back if he tried kicking that door anyway."

Arno shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in tired amusement. "First of all, that's mean. Second, you're probably right. At this point, I think he's just hoping we'll get so tired of hearing him that we open up out of pure spite."

Niko leaned back against a crate, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. "Spite sounds tempting right about now. We could open the door just enough to roll out a single expired bean can and slam it shut again. Bet he'd still complain."

A faint smirk crossed Arno's face despite the exhaustion in his eyes. "Don't tempt me. At least they're not violent or horrible enough for me to need to bring out the cannon again. Remember the Claimers?."

Niko shuddered at that memory. Violence would normally be something she'd be adverse to it, but the fact that one of them drooled at her made her glad that their cannon had grapeshot in it instead of being something harmless like smoke.

Outside, Lee's voice tried to intervene again, sounding worn thin. "Larry, come on. This isn't helping anybody."

Kenny added, "We're all trying to survive here. Don't make us beg."

Larry immediately bulldozed the calmer approach. "Beg?! We shouldn't have to beg! Those two are hoarding like it's the end of the world—oh wait, it is! Open up, you selfish cart people!"

Niko snorted softly. "Cart people? At least he's keeping it PG-13, now. He really committed to that one, huh? It's almost impressive how consistently annoying he is."

Arno rested the rifle across his knees and rubbed his face with both hands. "Yesterday it was 'moving vending machine bandits'. The day before that, I think we were 'traveling snack tyrants.' Give the man credit for variety and creativity."

They fell quiet on purpose. Answering only made the group stay longer and argue louder. A few minutes dragged by. Then came the sound of heavy boots circling the cart, tapping on shutters like Larry was conducting some kind of very determined inspection.

"You know we can see smoke when you cook in there!" Larry shouted. "We can smell it! You're making food right now, aren't you?!"

Niko whispered, "We're not even cooking today. That's just the coffee that's permanently fused into the walls at this point."

Arno let his head thunk lightly against the wall. "I'm starting to miss the gangsters back in Lungmen. At least they only tried to rob us once. These people show up four times a day like it's their full-time job."

Another knock followed — lighter this time, higher up on the shutter. Duck's small voice came through. "Mister? Miss? Do you have any apples? We saw you put some out before this… wait, no, that was somewhere else. Never mind."

Niko winced, her playful expression fading for a moment. "Ugh. He had to bring out the kid voice. That one actually stings a little."

"Yeah," Arno admitted, voice softer but still tired. "But we both know if we give Duck something, Larry will be here in ten seconds demanding the rest 'for the group.' Kid's being used as a Trojan Horse."

Niko poked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Still…even when we have a little bit of the bread for the kids when they first came in, the adults took it anyway. At least that Kenny guy managed to give some to Duck before Lilly snatched it. If we give any more, then they'll be back tomorrow yelling louder."

"Exactly." Arno exhaled slowly. "We've done this song and dance enough times already. And if we give them some stuff, we're just rewarding bad behavior. I'm surprised that half of Macon's walker population hasn't come by with all this racket.

The group outside murmured. Someone (probably Lilly) tried pulling Larry away, but the older man kept grumbling the whole way. "Fine! We'll come back in an hour. They have to open eventually! Nobody can stay locked in a box forever!"

Footsteps retreated toward the motel, though not without a few last resentful glances thrown at the cart.

Arno looked over at Niko with a weary half-smile. "Think they'll actually wait a full hour this time?"

Niko gave him a flat, deadpan stare. "Twenty minutes. Maximum. I'm betting fifteen if Kenny gets hungry again."

"Want to take bets?" Arno asked, raising an eyebrow. "Loser has to clean the coffee grinder tomorrow."

"You're on," Niko replied, managing a tired grin. "Though at this rate, we'll both lose when they start knocking again at ten."


"Probably," Arno said, closing his eyes for a moment. "But then they'll just track us down again tomorrow like lost puppies with very loud opinions."

The two of them sat in comfortable, tired silence inside their reinforced home. They both knew the knocking would start again soon. The cart stayed firmly shut, and the mixture of amusement and irritation inside only deepened with every repeated visit.

Arno chuckled quietly, the sound lacking much energy. "This world is exhausting. Walkers are one thing. Persistent survivors who treat us like a mobile grocery store that owes them free samples? That's something else entirely."

Niko stretched her arms above her head and slumped further down. "At least the cannon keeps the really bad groups away. These people are just… annoyingly stubborn. Think we should move the cart tonight after they go to sleep?"

Arno was quiet for a long moment, staring at the sealed shutters. The constant knocking, the demands, the same tired arguments every few hours — it had worn them both down. Finally, he stood up.

"No. Not tonight." He reached for the starter mechanism. "We're leaving now. I've had enough."

Niko blinked, then broke into a genuine smile. "Really? Right now? Yes please."

The cart rumbled to life with a low mechanical growl. Arno took the controls while Niko quickly secured a few loose items. Outside, the engine noise immediately drew attention.

"Hey!" Mark's voice hollered from on top of the RV. "Lee! Kenny! The cart is moving! They're trying to leave!"

Rapid footsteps approached. Larry's loud, mocking laugh rang out. "Hah! Good luck with that! We've been piling junk and barricades around it for days. That thing isn't going anywhere!"

Arno glanced at Niko with a tired but satisfied look. "They really thought a few broken cars and furniture would stop us."

Niko grinned back. "Their funeral."

The cart lurched forward, pushing debris aside with surprising ease. Shouts of surprise and anger rose from the group. Larry kept laughing — right up until the roof mechanism whirred loudly.

A heavy metallic clank echoed as the cannon turret rose into view.

"Wait— what the hell is that?!" someone yelled.

The cannon swung slightly, then fired a single deafening blast of explosive ammunition into the largest barricade blocking their path. Wood, metal, and old tires exploded outward in a messy spray. The shockwave knocked Larry flat on his backside.

The path ahead was now clear.

Arno didn't wait around. The cart picked up speed, rolling steadily out of the motel parking lot and back onto the ruined road. Behind them, the survivors stood stunned amid the smoking wreckage of their barricades.

Niko peeked through a small viewing slit, giggling despite herself. "Larry's still on the ground while everyone is panicking at the sound of the explosion."

Arno allowed himself a small, satisfied smirk as he steered the cart forward. "Good. Maybe now they'll finally leave us alone."

The motel and its increasingly frustrated residents grew smaller in the distance. For the first time in days, the knocking had finally stopped.

As the cart picked up speed and began rolling steadily out of the motel parking lot, Arno went to open a small shutter on the side facing the stunned survivors. He tossed out a folded piece of paper weighted with a small, sealed tin of preserved meat.

The note landed clearly in view of Lee and the others.

Arno did not wait for a response. The shutter slammed shut again, and the cart continued onward.

---

Lee picked up the note and unfolded it. The handwriting was neat and precise:

"To the survivors at the motel,

We understand that you are hungry and suffering. Many people in this world are. We have seen it ourselves these past weeks. However, pointing guns at us and trying to take what is ours by force does not make you any different from the bandits at the Save-Lots depot. It only proves you have chosen the same path.

We are traders, not charity workers, and certainly not your enemies. But we will protect ourselves.

Be extra careful how you move on from here. Desperation has already made you reckless. It will get you killed if you do not control it.

Good luck.

— Arno & Niko"

Lee stared at the paper for a long moment. Behind him, Larry was still cursing on the ground while the rest of the group stood in uneasy silence.

Inside the moving cart, Niko leaned back in her seat and let out a long breath. "Think they'll actually listen?"

Arno kept his eyes on the ruined road ahead. "Probably not. But at least we said it."

The cart rolled on, leaving the motel and its persistent residents behind. For the first time in days, the only sounds were the rumble of the engine and the quiet relief inside their reinforced home.

---

AN: Just to let you know on how either Arno and Niko know about this world, it's a mix. Arno has watched the show in it's grueling entirety. While on Niko's 11th birthday, her mother told her to buy any game she wanted so she picked the TellTale Walking Dead (Definitive Edition). Her mother was skeptical at first after seeing the game, but a promise is a promise. Niko was scared at first because of how scary the zombies look, but she pulled through with her mom.


For the timeline, basically it's this:

1. Upon Arrival, Episode 1 of the game has already finished, and are currently a few months in at the start of Season 2. This is where Mark has already joined, but before meeting Ben and the St. John's.
2. Rick has just woken up from his coma, so weeks have passed already, and is heading to Atlanta on his horse with his bag of guns. He doesn't know how bad it is yet, but Arno has advised him to avoid the streets. He listens and lets the horse run free before encountering the horde. He meets Glenn early.
3. Morgan has already released Duane and went on his journey as more time has gone on with Arno and Niko travelling to different settlements. (Hershel's Farm after Lee has left, Woodbury in its infancy waaaay before the Governor took over, the Claimers before they've gained proper notriety but still a large force).

Not sure if this is the correct path, but this is how I think things went down.

P.S.: If you've read Corner Case by Kencord, you'll see the inspiration I made this from. Just felt like things could've been handled differently, y'know? Still a banger fic.

 

[Tenno]

A Customer's Musings - 3

Hey journal, have you ever experienced a sudden wave of dread? A distinct unease? Like, your in the middle of working a machine when you suddenly feel something drop in your stomach? Cu's I did, almost lost a hand to a press when it happened.

Still, as weird as it was, I shrugged it off and kept on working. Figured it was a passing thing. Sadly, it was not.

See, that uneese I mentioned? Yeah, it got worse. How? Well, 2 reasons.

First reason, during my break I went to a little diner near the shop I work at. Settled in, ordered, and was about to relax. That was until a bunch of students shambled in, looking like they hadn't slept in days. Ordered the strongest coffee the place had. Strange, but not strange. And as I was thinking that, I started hearing them talk about Arnos shop. Like how they're "Looking for alternatives", "no more deliveries", "stocking up", "how to cope", and "Strategies to make him stay". Said strategies ranged from the tame, like bribes, to the not-so-tame of selling themselves to him, which was extreme.

Now, while I may not like poking into other people's business, hearing them talking about all those things got me thinking. Everyone knows that Arno's been hit with trouble lately, and people started speculating that he might leave because of it. But he won't actually do that, right? I mean, he's got friends in the LGD, doesn't he? He's not just gonna leave, right?

And that leads to the second reason. See, on my way home after my shift, I passed by the LGD HQ. And do you know what I saw? What made my feeling of unease worsen? I saw empty coasters.

"Empty coasters? What's wrong with that?" is probably what you're saying. And normally, you'd be right; there is nothing wrong with it. But to a loyal customer of Arno like me, we all learned of the LGD officers near horrific addiction to his coffee. Where officers genuinely fight over who gets to patrol his route (They even gave the route a name, Arnos Lane), just so they can get fresh and hot coffee. While the rest get the colder delivered ones. And how do I know this, you may ask? Well, simple. I asked.

And seeing those empty coasters, the near catatonic state of the officers in front of them (by Lung, one was grasping the air above their coaster, and another was openly weeping while cradling an empty cup!), and not a single delivery drone or Arno Brand coffee cup in sight. Genuinely scared me.

Because if Arno really is canceling orders, if he really is going to leave, I fear that everyone who's grown dependent on Arno's products. Is going to face one hell of a withdrawal.