It was the third riot this month. Not unusual by any means, but it was proving to be one of the more violent ones since the Columbus Day massacre of 2025.
It was the third riot this month. Not unusual by any means, but it was proving to be one of the more violent ones since the Columbus Day massacre of 2025. At least it might be considered nearly as bad if the Feds hadn't systematically destroyed every shred of evidence that it had ever happened. 164 people didn't die that day, according to the official history on the net, because it was only a simple protest that ended peacefully. But Sid knew better; his sister and his best friend had both died on the streets of New Denver at the hands of the Federal Police ten years ago.
Sid sighed as he leaned against the rotting sill below the window, his forehead pressed to the filthy glass, staring blankly at the raging hordes below.
Fuck, he thought. If Tommy doesn’t get here soon, we’re going to miss out on the decent merch. As if on queue, Tommy burst through the door.
“RIOT, Motherfuckers!” he screamed as he walked in, fists raised overhead. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, flung it over the back of the couch and sat heavily on the end nearest the window. Sliding to the edge of the cushion, his legs bounced up and down from the adrenaline.
“Guess what I got for our little adventure tonight?” Tommy asked nodding his head toward the sirens wailing in the distance.
“Nice, douche bag, but no,” he said as he reached behind his back and pulled two Sigma 9’s from his waste-band and laid them gently on the coffee table.
“Guns, motherfucker. We’re not coming home empty handed tonight.”
A lump forming in his throat, Sid picked up one of the old Smith & Wesson Sigmas and held it at arms length, pointing it out the window and sighting it on the logo of the Federal Bureau of Social Engineering in the distance.
“Why guns?” he asked.
Tommy grabbed the other Sigma, stood up, and began jabbing the gun at the air as he spoke.
“Because every time we go looting, those motherfuckers either get the shit before we do, or they beat our asses and take what we got. No more!” said Tommy, getting agitated as he circled the couch.
“I don’t know Tommy,” said Sid. “This one is bad… there are Feds on the street. I got a bad feeling.”
“It’s because winter is on the way, man. I haven’t eaten in three days. I need something to barter before the snow comes, Sid. Don’t fuck this up for me, Sid,” Tommy whispered, standing inches from Sid, his right hand twitching as he tapped the muzzle of the gun on his thigh over and over.
“Okay, man. Okay,” said Sid as he slid the Sigma into his waste-band. “Let’s get some.”