DAY -1
>Be me, 24,1,70m, Recent graduate from medical uni, in a region of old Brazil’s southeastern part. Still living with a pair of old, grumpy, and lovable parenting figures in a small city of over 200.000 normies.
>Received my first payroll two days ago, wasted the money on a 80’s relic of the dictatorship: a Gurgel Tocantins (canvas cover, we ain’t pussies.)
>Work sucks. My family got me a shitty workhorse job in the hospital. Entitled asswags, smh. Pay gud tho.
DAY -1 - 2200
>Come home after work, parking the old gurgel in the garage, entering my two story domain and proceeding to procrastinate while hearing with my radio about some chaos happening at the capital over: Murders, drug rallies, protests, etc. Normal stuff, probably some niggers tried to kill the president again.
>Go to sleep
DAY 0 - 1000
>Wake up at 10 in the morning, hearing screams coming from the streets
>parents are motherfucking gone
>shit
>fuck
>what the fuck happened
>crap
>look out of bedroom window
>half the fucking city is gone
>what
>the fuck?
>did the chinks steal my fucking town?
>grab an old mora classic, run out
>nobody in the streets
>bang on neighbor’s door
>nobody there
>notice blood coming downhill
>fuck
>get back home in a panic and lock the doors
>proceeds to get the biggest backpack available, a 35-50l variable, and starts to pack up
>canned tuna, fiambre meat cans, crackers, and entire medical kit and IFAK, surgical kit, a SAK,crappy rambo knife, trusty mora classic,a pair of AM/FM chink radios, gun…
>gun?
>oh shit there isn’t a gun in this homestead
>in a panic, open all the drawers, closets and storage places in the house
DAY 0 - 1500
>find a rifle in one of the closets
>it’s a motherfucking 5.5 airgun
>AIRGUN
>i’m so going to die in this shit
>find two small, stackable cans of 5.5 lead, one containing 100~ rounds and one with full, 250 of pure taurus explosive
>proceed to think about entire life, while turning on the radio and ignoring the shrieks coming from the outside
DAY 1 - 1200
>fucking WHAT
>there are motherfucking stone-built arcs
>in the fucking avenue
>how the fuck didn’t I notice this before?
>they glow
>fug
>the moment I start looking away, something green pops out of it
>explanation.jpg
>maybe the city got fucking…
>moved?
>except me
>and my neighborhood
>don’t ask me why and how
>but
>everyone’s motherfucking dead
>something outside
>look over to a CCTV setup on an old, mitsubishi tube TV
>a motherfucking R A T
>the furries have overrun my city’s drug trafficker defenses
>fuck
>loads airgun, painfully, and hides in a corner while the rat smells my shekels
>eventually, the skaven fucker punches through the garage+door and proceeds to climb the stairs
>the wood, that never made noises before, starts to creak
>their head pops into vision
>aim for the center of their head
>fire
>the shot, that was intended to hit their dome, hit their fucking eye
>gotta love un-adjusted sights
>they don’t realize they have been popped in the eye by a 5.5 shitlord
>drop dead
>turns out, 5.5 airguns can do damage to unclean fursuiters
>laughs in lead poisoning
>waste the rest of the day trying not to vomit smelling the dirty rat and finishing up the pack
DAY 2 - 0800
>wake up, still alive with that shitty cumlord stench from furries
>life sucks
>gear up, wearing a large jeans, some comfy shirt with the ol’ commie symbol on it, puffer vest,a necknife, a pair of rugged, leather boots and an old nerf bandolier along with a canteen on a sling.
>have in backpack the items described before,a shitton of water, extra pairs of s o c k, two extra boxer underwear sets(WE AREN’T IN THE 80S, HIPPIE.),some WD-40 and cleaning gauze, an overused tracksuit and extra winter clothing, along with a crap-quality camo shirt and a shitting kit.
DAY 2 - 1200
>Go outside, un-equipped with the setup to do some recon. Knife in the belt, airgun in hand, towards the local drugden.
>see black bodies on the ground, popped with holes on them.
>find a local cracklord trafficker dragging themselves on the ground
>”THE FUCK HAPPENED?” aiming the gun at the poor fella
”rat… stole… hashish…” 
the dragging cracklord would blurt out, spasming on the ground.
>Have a slither of compassion, finishing the guy, and then proceeding to loot him.
>the guy had a motherfucking drugbelt of weed under his shorts
>and a .38 revolver. Thing was never cleaned before, and the ammunition seemed fucking precarious.
>look around, seeing blood trail where the cracklord dragged themselves
>crack open airgun, load in another shot
>follow the trail, it ended up in a shitty cardboard barrack
>smell the familiar stench of neckbeard…
>kick the metal sheet door open, a skaven mid-feast looking terrorized
>pop’em with the airgun
>aiming to the left
>it fucking misses
>shit
>motherfucking furry tanking my superior taurus feels
>the skaven, realizing what was going on, lunges at me
>whip out the shitty .38 right when they were pouncing
>mid-air
>barrel fucking touches the ratass’s chest
>they drop on the ground, taking me with it, but the rat with 6 new holes on the chest, and I without even a slash.
>atleast the nigger will breathe better.
>proceeds to loot the place, finding a box of those shitty .38 hand grenades, 50 in total.
>looks under a bed
>a fucking FAL
>what
>JACKPOT
>proceeds to nab the right arm of the free world, checking it’s mag
>shit was full
>never cleaned, could blow at any trigger pull
>along with the FAL, there was a box of white, smelly powder and another 20rounder free mag
>proceed to fill every pocket with the loot, the puffer vest almost ripping from the amount of powder nabbed
>get back home, putting the loot in the backpack, slinging the airgun to the backpack’s side and putting the backpack into the car
>car has a 50l backpack, a retarded amount of extra fuel, four car batteries and 
>wire up and old bike to the car’s exterior, next to the obligatory boogaloo solar panels.
>takes a final house run-down, while hearing radio…
>some sound from the radio speaker’s catches my attention, as I hear something…
DAY 2 - 1800
’...THE WORLD IS FUCKED! WE AT THE 1st CAPITAL ARMY HAVE SET UP A SAFEHAVEN IN THE CAPITAL. ANYONE HEARING THIS, PROCEED TO-’
>the radio cutts off
>now I have somewhere to go
>enjoy the last bit of internet, in forever, by downloading some music to old CDs.
>go downstairs, to the garage. Everything set up to go, even got a cool sleeping bag to go along.
>sets the unclean, nurglite FAL to the side and turns on the engine, looking over at my cellphone’s GPS to find a trail
>no time to clean
>800 km, on federal roads. Should be fine, yes?
>opens the garage door, and the car would fly off into the road.
>here we go.
DAY 3 - 1200
>not much has happened
>gurgel used to make some preety speedy kind of machines, to be honest… if you count going 80km/h fast.
>had to start late today, had driven for 6 hours without sleep fucks up a man.
>only went through deserted patches of roads, with the occasional screech, gunfire and a lot of destroyed cars.
>checks phone GPS, 400 km to go.
>decides to make a stop, enjoy the view, in a deserted hillside place going off from the main road.
>the view would include a small town, their residents still alive, but with some glowing stone artifacts in the middle of it.
>you could even see police cars go haywire, as the cops were called everywhere in that place.
>poor fellas.
DAY 3 - 1800
>while enjoying the view, a brilliant idea comes up.
>checks the fuel gauges, tank’s almost dry, and the reserve fuel wouldn’t cut it
>decides to go down towards the hillside city, concealing all the guns and equipment.
>rolls to a gas station, surprisingly empty, and grabs the fuel pump, fillin’ up the old reliable’s tank.
>the moment the tank was full, a white car with colorful stripes would pull over.
>oh shit, it’s the feds.
>‘Hello, my good compatriots. How’s life?’
>they just pull their fucking guns on me
>’HEY HEY, DON’T FUCKING BOTCH IT! I’M ONLY MAKING A STOP-BY.’
’’What the fuck’s in the car?’’
>’I’m trying to get to the capital, didn’t you hear the safeh-’
‘WHAT’S IN THE CAR?’
>At this point, I realize talking won’t do the job.
>so, anyways. I started blastin’.
>six rounds
>of pure hardened meth and smelly casings from paraguay
>straight into some fed thorax
>end up shooting one twice, and the other one four times.
>now my ears hurt
>wait...
>REALIZE THE PURE FUCKING SHIT PULLED OFF
>and immediatelly go to loot, like the good jew I am.
>manage to finally get two holsters, along with a PT-92 and a glock 17.
>pickpocket the coppers’s belts, vests, ammo, and even the stuff in the car. The vests had 3 mags of each, 3 M9 mags and 3 clobs. Along with two batons, 4 handcuffs, and even small medkits.
>The car had a fucking CBC Military, retractable stock and shell holder mounted, stowed in the back seat, along with a hefty bunch of coke in the feds’s glovebox.
>The small two-seater is fucking stocked now
>proceed to nab more fuel out of the pump, and get the fuck out of there. The moment the car drove off a hill, the cops arrived on the scene.
>jewfeels.mp4
Day 4 - 0600
>Drove off into the sunset, making camp 50 km away from the flyboys.
>had to drive super slow, due to rough terrain on the mountainside roads. A surprisingly organized police force was already blocking off the federal highways, so that was a no-go.
>parks the car, checking up on the loot.
>the FAL was in a slightly better state, but didn’t manage to get around to it’s fluffy insides yet for a good wd-40 cleanup.
>the revolver was surprisingly holding up. Seems like spraying it with mechanic lube works.
>the two pistols were in absolutely perfect state. Well oiled up and all.
>the shotgun had 7 rounds in it, along with 7 more on the outside.
>airgun still had 300+ shots with it
>CBCfeels.jpg
>after hanging around for a while, decide to go on through the old town road leading to somewhere.
>checks GPS
>no signal
>fuck
>compass app…
>finds out, I went out of the city in the wrong way.
>meant to face NE, now went SE
>fuck
>proceed to go on, until the fed road was visible again
>go through the turnaround, cocking up the nugget dispenser
>forced to go through federal roads, back towards the NE.
>time to pull off something I learned in mad max: fury road
>puts the window covers down, and resting the symbol of belgian ingenuity onto the metal grille that surrounded the glass panels.
>pedal on the metal, boys.
>speed through the federal, empty road in lightspeed
>if you consider lightspeed to be 90km/h
>so fast that in fact, I already had passed the cop blockade
>but they noticed a protrusion sticking out of the window
>so, picture this
>a lardass, in his mid 20s, driving a jeep with a FAL sticking out of the front glass panel, along with retarded amounts of stolen drugs.
>being chased by a literal description of a rag tag copgang in shitty ‘90s uno milles, three of them in total
>in a stroke of probably bad luck and ideas, I come up with something.
>proceed to stick a stack of three tuna cans in beetween the pedal, forcing it to go full throttle.
>turnaround on the seat, with the belgian cracklord arm in hand, just a bit diagonally.
>wouldn’t want other jewfags stealing fallen brass
>tapfires twice on the front car, it slowing down and crashing onto another one.
>the last one decides it ain’t worth it, and does a 180, to try and help the crashed people
>collect all the fallen brass, inside the car, while going 90km/h in a highway.
>by the /k/ube
>might need’em later, maybe i’ll find a brass fairy.
>proceed to park somewhere, lock up everything, take the canvas out and camp around the parking space for a while, to let the dust settle down.
DAY 5 - 0050
>Is 100 km away from the capital
>stopped at a camping spot for god knows how long, and utilized two tuna cans in this stay
>realize the big timewaste that happened, and proceeds to rumble up the engines, getting back on road.
DAY 5 - 0150
>I can see the citylights from here
>just over this hill…
>the car goes over the hill, and there it was. The safehaven of Neu Brasília Central…
>wait…
>these are not lights…
>it’s erupting and constant gunfire
>fuck
>turn on the small AM-FM radio
>start browsing through frequencies, until one in particular stands out
>a grunt, screaming at the top of his lungs
>’IT IS OVER, T-THE CITY HAS BEEN OVERRUN!’
>a sort of soothing voice would cut into the chatter
>”Sergeant Marcos, calm down, it is under-”
>’UNDER CONTROL? CONTROLE É O CARALHO!’
>”We are planning an organized-”
>’ORGANIZED? GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. THE HORDE HAS CAUGHT U-’
>the screaming grunt would cut off, with a loud *WACK!*, an overly stereotypical ogre voice being heard
>’TAHK DIS, UGLY ‘UMIE!’, a final wack being heard as the radio on the grunt would go static
>”Sergeant? SARGENTO!... merda.”
>the frequency would be abandoned shortly after that, only with the grunt’s stactic being heard.
>proceed to execute the only logical decision
>whip out cellphone, look at the local twitter using superior chink 4g tech
>local thot posting a selfie, smiling as a trooper gets mauled by an ork in the background
>they don’t change, do they?
>fucking thots, not even in the brink of total annihilation they stop e-bragging
>turn off the phone, admiring the pure carnage happening in the haven.
>feel something weird
>sort of like… i’m being watched
>in the middle of the fucking darkness
>in a white jeep
>look around, with the arm extension in hand.
>some bush moves, unload three rounds on it from a window.
>on the third one, the rifle’s dust cover flings off into the darkness, in a mess of metallic bits
>recoil spring, bolt, cover, firing pin and metal pieces flying everywhere
>manage to swing my head aside, just barely not getting hit by a shard in the right eye
>shit still grazes, making a cut
>fuck
>ow
>it hurts
>but most importantly
>WHY DOES THE DRUGMONKEYS KEEP THEIR GUNS IN SUCH PRECARIOUS STATE?
>realize gun go boom
>just fucking steps on the pedal
>hardcore speeding
>just in time for some coyote to jump at where the car once was
>coyotes?
>here?
>what
DAY 5 - 0230
>continue going towards the old safehaven
>still mid-fight
>because the returning path was blocked by a fucking coyote
>life sucks
>stops just 5km away from the main ‘welcome to brasília’ sign
>checks self
>fucking cut in the right cheek, and a graze in my left ear.
>there’s a small shard of metal embedded into my fucking forehead skin
>punisheddoc.mp4
>check on equipment
>puffer jacket got some cuts, surprisingly tanking a fucking small shard of alloy too.
>the nerf bandolier is still as useless as it was
>canteen isn’t perforated
>everything else is fine
>check guns
>the only things harvest-able from the FAL are the trigger guard, the barrel itself, the box with aprox. 15 rounds in it.
>put the FAL, or rather, the remains of it in the backseat
>put the shitty .38 into one of the vest’s pockets
>holsters the PT-92
>two mags in my jeans’s backpockets
>fun stuff
>never felt so tacticool
>but the admiration is soon cut short, as an entire military convoy departs the “safe”haven southeast…
>right where I fucking came from
>if I have enough problems with the fucking feds, imagine the military
>fuck
>shit
>nuggets
>immediately turns the ‘80s piece of nostalgia 180 degrees
>speeds away
>fuck the coyote
>i’m not fucking getting caught by people today
>these fags even have motherfucking APCs
>literal new-gen shit
>30mm cannons uptop
>makes me remember about that certain chinese square…
>oh well, fuck this. i’m out
>i’m not receiving my first taste of 30mm today
>speeds through back, eventually getting to a rubbled spot
>full with FAL pieces
>coyote is nowhere to be seen
>wait, what the fuck?
>is that fucking skin on the ground?
>i’m not fucking stopping and risking an encounter with a magical GP-5 monster
>fml
DAY 5 - 0400
>fucking sped away from the convoy
>they’re a bunch of km away by this point
>approximately 50km, to be more precise
>and now, I have no fucking fighting equipment, except a totally reliable brazilian tacticool shotgun.
>RIP druggie FAL
>continuing on, serve to the left, towards an old road, made out of red dirt
>conceal the jeep on a depression, with full vision of the road
>checks wounds
>cuts slowly bleeding
>ok ok, you’re a medic anon
>you should be able to fucking do this
>reach up to bag, grab the compact surgical kit and the big FAK
>grabs pincer, some gauze from the retarded amounts of gauze I brought
>don’t judge me
>I clean my guns with gauze and WD-40
>why are you laughing? 
>asshat
>autism kicks in
>slowly starts removing the embedded piece on my forehead
>themanwhosoldhisworld.avi
>it was tiny
>doens’t hurt muuuUuuH-
DAY 5 - 1400
>ow
>ow ow ow
>head hurts
>why is my hand covered in blood
>WHERE AM I?
>WHO PUT ME HERE?
>WHOOO?!?!?!?!?!
>oh, right. me.
>checks stuff
>there’s a piece of metal on the car’s stuffing
>forehead blood on it
>OH SHTI WHA-
>oh yeah
>I may have not withstood the pain
>a phantom pain
>spray some disinfectant on the forehead, and wrap it up with the gauzes
>actually looking like some division guy, just missing a beanie
>fuck
>forgot to pack a beanie up
>shit
>checks all my backpack’s pockets
>wound up forgetting about an USB drive in it and a pair of sunglasses
>ray-bans specifically
>looks like fucking bieber trash
>still better than being naked-eye
>+1 on charisma rolls
>-1 on intimidation checks
>exits the jeep, feeling the good breeze of the afternoon pass by, wearing the glasses.
>the engine compartment’s cover is full of scratches
>but the fucking canvas roof is still intact
>bike’s still there too, along with a small set of boogaloo panels
>what
>no questions for now
>get back into the unforsaken hell of a condition i’ve put myself in
>start engine
>back into the track, boys.
>the road is full of military tracks
>jeep tire markings, APC tire burns, and even tank track markings on the road
>guess I fucking dodged’em
>looks onto the backseat
>there’s fucking white, fluffy hair
>white hair
>and my FAL, or what remained of it, is gone
>NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>THE FUCKER EVEN TOOK MY 20 ROUNDERS
>TWO OF THEM
>ASSHAT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>I’M GOING TO FIND WHO STOLE HER FROM ME
>THEY’RE PAYING
>IN FUCKING UHH
>uhhhh
>autistic screeching.mp4
>reeeee’ing on the federal highway
>to calm down, while going down some totally-not-familiar roads with uno crashsites on their sides
>turn on the small AM-FM radio
>while browsing through it
>found on long-range some kind of military radio… the signal’s really stable
>it plays some 60’s gems and tim maia
>along with the needed propaganda
>but it’s not your common ad
>they’re advertising another safehaven
>mother fuckers
>RIO DE JANEIRO
>MACACOLANDIA ITSELF
>IS MAIKON FUCKING THERE?
>THE PLACE WHERE MORE OF THE SHITTY FALs ARE FOUND
>ALONG WITH SPRAY PAINTED AKs
>i’m not joking
>the joker AK still gives me nightmares
>google it up, you dwarf with internet.
>continue driving on the highway, it supposedly connects monkeylandia with the capital
>or rather, ex-capital
>fuck you leticia
>you fucking bitch
>stole my whiskey
>DAY 5 - 2100
>continued driving southeast
>nonstop
>passed through fueltown, reaching my old city
>think
>I forgot to pack up a beanie
>and forgot my dad’s airgun scope too
>fucking prepping autism
>get into the starting city, pulling up to my garage
>it’s blasted open
>fucking charred remains of gunpowder and blue blood everywhere
>climb up the stairs
>old smell of dirty furries
>no skaven body on the stairs
>no blue blood on the stairs, too
>strange.avi
>as soon as I reach the 2nd floor, instant regret
>parents
>lying on the ground
>with their heads blown off
>7.62x39 casings
>MOTHERFUCKERS.avi
>mom probably went to buy groceries with dad
>and probably got lost
>fuck
>fuck
>fuck
>fuc
>aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAA
>hold mom’s corpse in hand
>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
>WHY DID I GO ON THIS FUCKING TRIP
>I SHOULD’VE STAYED HERE
>OR I SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE AIRGUN
>WHYYYYYYYY
>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>check cellphone
>finally some conne-
>beep
>beep
>beep
>messages from mom
>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
>whAaAAAhHYa
DAY 6 - 1000
>why
>no
>i’m not crying
>fuck you
>ended up staying home
>trying to compose myself
>with a gurgel parked on a blasted garage
>no doors, too
>don’t even know how I managed to sleep okay
>proceed to grab the new essentials
>a textile sewing kit
>a beanie
>a more fluffy beanie
>some tactile gloves, civilian
>dad’s old scope
>i’m not crying
>fuck you
>grab the SAK from backpack
>screw the scope to the airgun with help from the swiss reliable
>last I remember, it was already set to go
>PROFIT.tears
>grab more tuna and canned shit
>ended up going through 18 cans of tuna in these days
>n i c e
>house was empty after that
>no monsters, no anything
>the asshats that killed my parents are gone
>clean up the mess, and pay respects to the pair of amazing, but ass-hatish folk laying dead
>mom twitches
>OH NO
>OH GOD NO
>fucking pack up and dart off into the car
>rev up engine
>steps coming
>engine doens’t rev up
>fuck
>shit
>try again
>steps get louder
>shit
>fuck
>whhhyyyyy
>try one last time
>people say third time’s a charm
>it still doens’t turn on
>shit
>grab shotgun
>check breech
>breech surprisingly OK
>that hairy bastard did not steal my superior buckshot
>aim at the door
>a silhouette appears
>head blasted vertically
>but there are motherfucking teeth on the end of their head
>it hums lightly
>ohno.mp3
>really?
>fuck
>aim shotgun at the silhouette 
>i know it’s one of my parents
>work up the courage to press the trigger
>glorious buckshot discharges
>retarded amounts of pellets fly into the silhouette’s chestpiece
>it shrieks
>”AhHHHnooooN! hELP-!”
>before collapsing on the ground, not flinching
>eye lube starts falling off of my cheek
>fuck you i’m not crying
>tactical lubing
>why does this happen to me?
>sob for two minutes
>before growing courage to go check the body
>mom’s laying dead
>her head split sideways
>un-naturally
>her head was… blown off before
>i-i’m not questioning...
>seems like she’s decomposing rapidly
>wait
>she wasn’t decomposing when I found her
>oh are you-
>no no no no
>no no no
>tears start falling out again
>kneel beside her
>the stench is horrible
>WHYY-
>get pinned by something that jumped from the 2nd floor
>oh god no
>don’t tell me-
>dad’s fucking pinning me to the ground
>head split open un-naturally like mom
>fangs surrounding the split area
>a fucking lip sticking from the trachea
>it slowly lets out
>”A-ahNoN-NON… h-help”
>before clamping down with his head-mouth-thing
>clamps the air by mistake
>so hard
>that a whip sound emanates
>fuck
>throw dad off of me
>he’s laying there, stunned, for a second
>quickly grab shotgun
>dad lunges at me
>support shotgun on my chest
>points the end of the barrel at him
>*CLICK*
>forgot to pump
>fuck
>hold shotgun up, at his mouth-head-thing area
>he chomps down hard on the shotgun
>so hard that, in fact, he fucking snaps it apart
>shit fuck
>check holster
>the pistol was dropped while kneeling
>shit
>hold and pin dad, who’s still chomping on the shotgun piece in his mouth-head-thing
>open puffer vest pocket
>draw the shitty snubnose
>unload 6 rounds into his chest
>as the first round hits, dad starts spasming like crazy
>screeching and yelping in pain, in an unnatural voice
>as the 6th hits, he shrieks out
>’aHnO-no-NON… ThaaAAaNHgNSK-’
>drops down, dead
>fucking sit down
>slowly unloads the trusty shitlord
>insert 6 new .38 shots in it
>grab PT-92 off the ground
>holster it again, this time actually secure-ly
>check dad
>dead
>mom’s dead too
>grab the two pieces of tacticool shotgun
>he actually bit in between two buckshot rounds
>meaning every piece of ammo is harvest-able
>remove the remaining 7 buckshot shells from the tubemag’s pieces
>detach the add-on shellholder and remove the pistol grip-stockpiece
>put it all in the car
>last eyelube falls off of my cheek, as I put on a beanie and the sunglasses
>rev up car
>finally turns on
>remember something
>whips out cellphone, while getting off of the car
>takes a last remembrance pictures of both the corpses and the house
>my bedroom, too.
>my bathroom specifically
>sadly will be unable to shit in this toilet again
>sadfeeling.jpg
>close windows, slap PC one last time
>heads off
>not before bringing down more bottled water and toilet paper downstairs into the backseat
>i’m not so dumb
>finally, get back on the car and sit down
>slowly putting my foot on the pedal
>driving off into the southeast federal road
>towards macacotown safehaven
>EQUIPMENT CHECK
>.38, fucking 42 rounds left in the box +full drum
>PT-92, 12rdx4 mags
>G17, 17x4 mags
>two police kevlar vests
>still not worn by me
>i’m not putting them on
>fuck this
>i’m not trading my puffer vest for that shit
DAY 6 - 1800
>driving down the highway
>at 50km/h
>not to waste much fuel
>find an old, dirt road again
>camp out, stopping the car and preparing to sleep
>whip out phone, fully charged due to the solar panel cells
>create courage to read mom’s messages
>ANON? where are you, anon?
>son, where are you
>son, come home now.
>son?
>soooon
>ANOOON
>anon, please. come home, I beg you
>anon? are you outside?
>anon?
>please, be you anon
>and her status panel still shows “Typing…”
>fffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUUUUUHK
>aaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahhaaaa whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
>slams head on the driving wheel, the world going dark…



>a figure…
>a white-lined door…
>the figure would open the door, a white, almost blinding light would glare right into my eyes…
>what the-



DAY 7 - 0900
>flinch head up, away from the driving wheel
>what the fuck was that?
>look around
> Almost in a forest, the car parked right beside a road…
>why am I-
>cellphone rings
>go check, instantly remember the situation…
>but a new notification props up from another app
>GOVERNO FEDERAL: YOUR EMERGENCIAL FUNDS HAVE BEEN CANCELLED
>shit
>motherfucking jews stole my taxfunds
>asshats
DAY 7 - 1000
>spend a whole hour recomposing, and finally dismantling the equipment I got
>the two pistols don’t need lubing, or even cleaning.
>but the fucking .38 is devil-ish
>blackpowder residue coats the barrel, the cylinder chambers being in a deprived, almost rusting state
>the trigger assembly is fine enough
>the exterior of the revolver is fine, too.
>just the barrel and the cylinder
DAY 7 - 1030
>spent almost half an hour cleaning the piece of drug trafficking steel
>the chambers being cleaned out throughly
>the barrel itself having a new coat of
>WD-fucking-40
>don’t laugh
>i don’t have gun lube
>Pack everything up, re-assembling the guns and loading them up
>rev engine
>engine turns on
>proceed to get back to the highway, holding the cellphone and checking the GPS for macacotown
>almost reaching there, only 50 km left
>nice
>DAY 7 - 1100
>start reaching the town
>notice trenches, foxholes and…
>TOW batteries and 40mm AAs
>aiming at me
>fuck
>continue as normal, each battery and trench with soldiers aiming at my jeep
>eventually reach a checkpoint, an APC blocking the road, with it’s 30mm aiming right at my dome
>the military guys come to talk to me
>two guys, one with a helmet and the other one with a boonie
>both with slung FALs, realizing i’m not a nigger, even if I don’t have the most ‘optimal’ good citizen looks
>inb4 head bandages, sunglasses, beanie
>the one with a boonie hat would lean onto my jeep, friendly-looking and starting to talk to me 
”Hello, hello hello, my dear traveller.” he would say in a cynical voice
>’Oi, fella. What’s up?’
”Nothing muc-”
>he would look at my car, stopping mid-sentence, proceeding to look into a bunch of notes he had in his pocket
>then at me, my bandages, and the equipment in the car
”Hey, by any chance, did you travel to brasília two days ago?”
>fuck
>’Uh… Y-yes, my good sir.’
>he would laugh
”We found you by a street, very well camouflaged. Our scout paid you a visit, if you know what I mean”
>white hairs
>fuck
>’Wait- were you-’
>he would give me a shit-eating grin, while patting his FAL
”Your spare “parts” helped, a lot, my guy.”
>asshat
>but i’m not in a position to argue
>’Eh… I sort of want to get somewhere safe, and-’
”Yeah, yeah, we know about you, you looked fine enough back then, but we just have to take a look in your car for proof-gathering.”
>proof gathering
>what
>’Proof-gathering?’
”Indeed, my guy. We got an incident, with an old backtown, that a white jeep seemingly stole fuel and , well, made our job easier by takin’ out some bastards. Not that i’m judging you, by any means. We… dealt with the un-loyal bastards there.”
>’Uh- loyal…?’
”They didn’t concede to our new government, and we got a few corrupt body bags from the exchange.”
>’Oh…’
>he would lay the rooftop bike to the jeep’s side, taking off the canvas and looking…
>he saw the police vests, bloodied, in the backseat
”Yup, just as the report said. Congrats! they’re now yours.”
>boonieguy would tap my shoulders
>asshat.avi
>’what?’
”You’ve earned them. Anyways, ID, documents and the stuff, please.”
>show them everything that’s in my wallet, old government ID, reservist license, etc.
”Alright, so. Let me tell you about something.”
>he would lean closer to me
”Ever heard about ‘64?”
>no fucking way
>no way
>’... are you implyin-’
”Yes. Welcome to Neu Brasília, meu camarada.”
>boonieguy taps my shoulders again, leaning away
>the APC, seeing the exchange, would take the 30mm off of me
”Keep going, my gu-”
>he cuts himself mid-sentence, again.
”Oh, I almost forgot.”
>he would make a hand gesture to me, the one that people do when you have their stuff.
”The drugs. Hand’em.”
>’Dr-drugs?’
”We know the two bastards you killed had’em. No smuggling around here.”
>fuck
>sigh
>grab the two cardboard-wrapped bricks and hand’em to boogieman
”Thank you for the cooperation, my guy. By the way, you excel at anything?”
>’I- I was a m-medic before the thing…’
>cannot fucking stop stuttering with a 30mm looking at the jeep
”Ah, then you got a job. Connect those shitty things to 400.590 Khz, a CO will talk to you by those.”
>fuck
>I blew myself
>he points at the pair of chink radios I have in the passenger seat
>’wh-why?’
”Consider yourself a medic now, my goodfellow.”
>really
>wow
>he would throw the bike into the backseat, not even putting it back on properly
”Now, go ahead, proceed.”
>the APC would clear the way
>drive through the passageway slowly, then speeding up after passing the checkpoint.
>tune on one of the radios to the frequency
>a familiar voice would speak
”Hey hey, you’re the new medic, ain’t ye?”
>’I guess so?’
”Hey, welcome to Neu Brasília, my guy. You probably already know the drill, so…”
>he proceeds to give me a run-down of my next situation
>I’ll have a spot for my stuff, near the local army garrison
>empty field, perfect for camping
>each day, i’ll be picked up from my ‘residence’ and brought to the hospital for 8h shift works
>the remainder of the day, i’ll be free to do shit
>profit?
”Hey, newfag. You got it, yeah?”
>’Yeah, I guess…’
”Oh, by the way, you can walk around with your guns. You’re working with the boys, after all.”
”Anyways, enjoy your new life, citizen! Until we don’t have a desperate need for your shit, you’ll work with us.”
>the guy would cut off
>asshat
>continue driving down the highway, not having to stop in any new checkpoints
>DAY 7 - 1800
>get to the spot informed to me, after exploring the new city for a bit
>mine.avi
>hunker down, work tomorrow already
>conscription sucks