A/N: This fanfic hasn't ONLY weapons found in Dead Frontier. It has all kind of them. The only Dead Frontier things I put are the Timeline, the Locations, some Names and the Events.
The rest hasn't been taken from the game.
If the names, between other things in the story are names of people in real life, it's a pure coincidence.
Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything in DF.
Life in the Outpost
I woke up again, in my apartment located in Nastya's outpost. I don't know why I survived this hell while other people worthier than me died. I was tired of my life; A civilian life, after being a cop! I drank my coffee and grabbed the news. After reading an announcement about a gun in the paper, I slowly walked to the window and saw the guards repelling the zombies without taking any rest. I kept looking at them for a while; I had an idea. Suddenly, I grabbed my wallet and went to the door. I walked out of the apartment, locked it and hid the key. I nearly tripped as I ran down the stairs.
I fell on the floor. I got up as fast as I could. I heard someone smirking behind my back. I turned around. A 21 year old guy with medium brown hair and brown eyes was looking at me. He had ghillie camouflage and gloves with a couple of cuts on them. That face seemed familiar but I couldn't remember whose it was.
"Ahhh…Mark, you'll never change"
"What's so funny?"
I asked in a bad mood.
Replied the guy. I recognized that voice-
"Yeah! What's up dude?"
"Hey bro! Not much, you?"
"Uhhhh…That's cool, I guess? I gotta go, sorry."
"Come on…It's been awhile we haven't seen each other and you only have that to say? Geez…"
"I'll be back, Brand…"
"Hurry up, 'cause I have to go at Arty's soon! We're going to kill some zombies later."
"Copy that, don't worry!"
I dashed through the entry, almost bumping into a woman that was passing by.
I apologized while running to the Marketplace. After 5 minutes, I got to its gates. I entered. Surprisingly, it was full of people; No wonder the other guys I knew preferred ordering their weapons. I didn't take long to notice the store selling the gun in that announcement.
"Hey I'm looking for that CZ 75."
The weapon seller turned around and walked to the back of his 'store'. I waited a couple of minutes before seeing him come back with a pistol.
"Here you are…"
He said, putting the gun, a holster and a couple of 9mm ammo on the table.
"With the ammunition, it'll make…exactly $1600"
I grabbed my wallet and looked at the money in it. I had $1700. I pulled the cash out of it and paid the man. That was when I remembered Brandon. I quickly put the holster on, the gun in it and fixed the ammo near the pistol, on my belt. I was ready for battle.
I ran back all the way to my apartment, but I didn't see my friend at the stairs. I walked to the door, noticing it was open. I pulled out my new CZ 75 and put a clip in it. I took the safety off before busting in.
"Hey Mark! Your key was under the carpet, at the entry. I took a beer, I hope you don't mind."
A voice came from the couch.
"Not at all…"
I had lots of beers anyways. I walked to it, holstering my weapon and after getting there, I saw Brandon lying down on my couch while holding his drink.
"So what's up? After all this time…You must have a lot of stuff to talk about."
"Not really…I just stayed in here and didn't do anything…"
I answered before taking another beer for me.
"Wow! That must suck!"
"Yeah… What about you?"
"Ugh…A lot…Too much to be said like that in one day. So I'll make a quick summary. I took the Sniper Training, after that I accepted lots of assassination missions...I made my own investigation and found out who killed my parents..."
His voice started filling with sorrow. He looked at his watch - How can those kind of moves to avoid a conversation still work? - and said:
"What is it?"
"I have to go see Arty, sorry bro."
Yep, I was right.
"Eh it's ok. By the way, can I come too?"
"Sure but hurry up, we have to be there at 11 AM."
It was 10.30 AM.
"Ok then, I'll be back soon. Wait here."
I went to my room and looked in a closet. I pulled a backpack out of it, took a Kevlar vest, a FN P90 with 6 mags, a Barrett M82A1 with 100 bullets (10 mags) and a Glock 25 without any bullets; The remains of my past life. I put the vest and a grey jacket on my usual black shirt, shoved the mags in the jacket. I always wore black combats, since the Outbreak. I looked at the Glock, hesitating if I should take it or not. I left it in my backpack.
I left my room and walked to the door. Brandon was already waiting, his Walther WA 2000 on his shoulder.
"Hurry up Mark!"
"I'm here! You haven't changed at all either; you just can't wait, can you?"
We left the apartment and I locked it, maybe for the last time in my life. Who knew if I would come back there?