I could still remember him regaling me with the whole nickname origin story. No idea why anyone would want to go with such a generic username, but I had no room to judge.
“He’s not Italian, by the way. He lives in a town not too far from here.”
“What kind of a person is he?” Otoha seemed genuinely curious.
“He’s polite, good at the game... oh, and he comes from a rich family. Apparently, his dad owns a trading company and is really into hunting and—”
At that moment, something else dawned on me.
“Otoha, we have to check up on him.”
“Why?” I could almost see the question marks flying out of her head.
“He was online yesterday, meaning there’s a good chance he’s still alive. His dad must’ve owned a high-quality hunting rifle, and maybe, just maybe, he had an off-road vehicle we could use.”
“I’m not versed in games without zombies, but isn’t it possible that his account logged on by itself?”
Imagine being this single-mindedly dedicated to one thing and one thing only. Pathetic. Actually, wasn’t the newest entry in the Resident Evil franchise supposed to be a VRFPS? Oh, uh, ahem.
“It’s not totally inconceivable, but it’s impossible to log in without all the VR gear physically present on the platform.”
This measure helped reduce the amount of bots, though there were some basic workarounds; for example, some joker could chuck all his gear onto the platform and then let chaos unfold, but it still required him to own the equipment. I couldn’t even begin to imagine why anyone would bother going through all that effort to mess with me during a zombie apocalypse, though.
“Hmm.” Otoha hummed to herself as though intensely dissecting the information. “That’s all the firepower we need.” She pointed to my trusty SAKURA.
“I’m thinking long-term here. This thing is only good for another four shots, and its utility is fairly limited. If we had a hunting rifle, we could snipe zombies from a distance, use it for hunting, and do all kinds of other stuff.”
The SAKURA was the perfect backup gun. It was incredibly compact, which meant carrying it didn’t really hinder the user in any way. It was also a double-action revolver, so the user could fire off multiple shots without having to manually cock the hammer back each time. And unlike a pistol, it pretty much never jammed.
Yeah, the SAKURA was practically the ideal firearm... if you ignored the measly five-round clip size, the fact that it was snub-nosed and therefore imprecise, and the .38 special caliber cartridges, which massively lacked in stopping power.
America colonized the Philippines after the Spanish-American War, but the Moro people didn’t take too kindly to their new overlords and rebelled. Juramentados continued to charge American soldiers even after being shot. As a result, the Americans elected to phase out .38 caliber revolvers in favor of .45 Colts, which were still widely used to this day. Any gun enthusiast worth their salt should have been familiar with this little slice of history.
Word on the street was that the American army’s failure had nothing to do with the .38 special, but that it was a result of soldiers missing most of their shots out of fear of the Juramentados’ relentless fervor... Anyway, back to the topic at hand.
The only way to end a zombie for good was by destroying their central nervous system. When it came to humans, you could aim for a triangle around the chest area. Even if you were off the mark, there was a chance your victim would freeze up in pain or possibly even give in to it. Zombies were a different beast altogether.
To bring it full circle, a longer barrel and better cartridges meant we’d have a much easier time dealing with zombies.
“What if it’s not there anymore?”
“What have we got to lose?”
“Have it your way, then.” Immediately, she began walking away.
“Otoha?” I hurriedly followed after her. “Otoha, did I say something wrong?”
She pulled out a road map from one of the drawers in the staff room. “Could you point out his location?”
This was the kind of map you’d normally find stashed deep in some guy’s glove box, but it made sense for one to be here, considering the hardware store had once provided home delivery services.
“I think it’s this mansion right here, if I remember correctly.” I pointed to a massive house surrounded by acres upon acres of private land. Zino’s family wasn’t just well off—they were filthy, stinkin’ rich.
“Are you sure?” she asked, casting a sidelong glance at me.
“Well, I’ve never been to his place.”
“Really now?”
“Look, we’ve never met face-to-face, but that’s how most online friendships work. People generally like to remain anonymous.”
The anonymity was what allowed us to reveal our true colors and develop meaningful friendships that weren’t predicated on lies and social trickery.
“Zino agreed to send me his SR-25 as a sort of hand-me-down through the mail one time. That was the first and last time we ever had any sort of interaction outside the game.”
His name was also written on the package: Shouji Kosahana, I think. Not that it mattered; Shouji was and always would be Zino in my heart.
“Are you really friends?”
“Again, we’ve never met in real life, but we’ve fought side by side a thousand times over.”
“Is he good?”
“Best sniper in the biz. God knows he’s saved my precious behind on more than one occasion.” I punched in his address and switched to street view mode.
“There, you can’t miss it.”
On the very outskirts of a wholesome suburban area stood a Western-style mansion too large to fit on a tiny phone screen. Even at a distance, it looked disproportionately large due to the hilly terrain. The pearly white outer fence and ornate front gate screamed bourgeoisie.
“They’ve got cars out the wazoo.”
“They sure do.”
There were multiple luxury-brand SUVs parked in the yard. We had no way of telling whether or not they were still out there, or even if the mansion itself was still in one piece, because the phone was just showing us a bunch of pre-apocalypse images seamlessly spliced together to recreate the illusion of a 360-degree view.
“Otoha, it’d mean the world to me. Please, just this once.”
There’s no way begging will work, but I’ve gotta try.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Well, that was easy. Almost too easy...
“Wish it was a little more run-down, though.”
“Please elaborate.”
“Snooping around in a decrepit mansion is a classic zombie game staple.”
“Mind being more specific?”
“Think Resident Evil.”
“A’ight.”
Isn’t “clueless teenagers wander around an abandoned mansion only to get separated and die off one by one” a well-known horror trope too? Eh, finally got her to go along with this, so I might as well take the plunge.