The silence that followed Thiago's words in the presidential suite was thicker than the New York air. Families, still in shock, processed the magnitude of the revelation, their eyes fixed on the television on the wall. The White House announcement, delivered from a secret bunker, the absence of open sessions in the Senate, the disappearance of wealthy and influential figures from social media—all of this, previously only distant news, now resonated with an ominous echo in everyone's minds. The innocent laughter of the children, who continued to play in a corner of the vast living room, was a cruel contrast to the dread settling in the hearts of the adults. The clock on the wall, with its incessant ticking, seemed to accelerate, each second a countdown to 10 p.m., the start of the perimeter closure, and to 7 a.m. the next day, the moment of the outbreak.
Thiago watched each face, the mix of fear, confusion, and a hint of acceptance. He knew blind faith wouldn't be enough; they would need action, tangible preparation. Time was a luxury they didn't have. He stood, his movements calm and deliberate, the determination in his eyes stronger than ever, a steely glint amid the impending darkness. "We don't have much time," he said, his voice low but clear, cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. "We need to start preparing. 10 p.m. is approaching. Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, Kenji, come with me. The rest of you, please try to rest. The children need normalcy, however brief it may be. Harumi, Yumi, please help keep calm."
Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, and Kenji stood, their faces tense but with renewed determination. They had trusted Thiago until now, and it would be no different at this crucial moment. The gravity of the situation was palpable, but Thiago's calm leadership was an anchor amid the impending storm. Hiroshi, with his deep, wise eyes, watched Thiago with silent understanding, an acknowledgment of the burden the young man carried.
Thiago led them to one of the suites converted into a storage room. As he opened the door, the smell of metal, rubber, and new fabric filled the air, an industrial blend that would soon be the aroma of survival. The dim light in the room, coming from a lone lamp, reflected off the polished metal of the weapons, creating a somber glow that danced in the shadows. The stacks of ammunition boxes rose like small mountains, the tactical vests and backpacks neatly stacked, the weapons laid out on blankets on the floor, each a promise of defense.
"Let's start with the vests and backpacks," Thiago instructed, his eyes sweeping the armory with the familiarity of a commander inspecting his troops. "Each of us will have a vest and a backpack. We need to equip them with the essentials for a quick evacuation if necessary. Water, compact first aid kits, some energy bars, flashlights, and utility knives." He began distributing the black vests, their durable fabric and multiple pockets like a second layer of protection.
Lucas, with his expertise in medical supplies, began organizing the first aid kits, checking every gauze, every bandage, every bottle of antiseptic with almost surgical precision. He knew that in the chaos that would ensue, each item would be vital, each bandage a hope of containing an infection. Gabriel, with his logistical mind, began sorting the energy bars and portable water filters, calculating the necessary portions for each person, thinking about efficiency and practicality, imagining escape and scarcity scenarios. Sofia, with her communication and tactical security skills, checked the flashlights, extra batteries, and utility knives, ensuring that each item was in perfect working order, her fingers nimble and precise. Kenji, Hiroshi's son, watched attentively, absorbing every instruction, his posture serious and focused.
As they worked, the silence was broken only by the rustle of nylon, the soft clink of metal, and Thiago's whispered instructions. There was no time for emotion, only for the task at hand. With each adjusted vest, each filled backpack, the reality of the situation became more tangible, more frightening. They were preparing for war, a war against an enemy that was still an abstraction to most, but for Thiago, a vivid and painful memory.
"Now, the weapons," Thiago said, his voice a little deeper, the sound of metal being handled echoing in the small space. He approached the pile of firearms, each one a vivid memory of combat from his previous life.
"Dad, and Lucas's parents, Gabriel and Sofia, please come here," Thiago called, his voice serious. The four parents, who had been in the main living room, approached, their faces a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
Thiago picked up the two Eternal Attacker FX-3 shotguns, feeling the familiar weight, the cool metal against his hands, the silencer already attached. "These are for my father and Lucas's father," he said, handing one to his father and one to Lucas's father. "They're powerful, but silenced, discreet. Perfect for the first moments of contact. Each one comes with one hundred boxes of ammunition and six clips. Pay attention," Thiago instructed, his voice didactic, "when handling, always keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire. The grip should be firm, but not rigid, to absorb recoil. To reload the gun, after the last shot, the bolt will remain open. Simply insert a new, full clip and press the bolt release button, or pull it back and release. To reload the clips, insert the rounds one by one, pushing them down and back until they fit firmly." He handed over the guns, briefly demonstrating the movements.
Next, Thiago picked up two Hatsan Escort DF12 TS semi-automatic shotguns, also with silencers. "These are for Gabriel's father and Sofia's father," he said, handing one to Gabriel's father and one to Sofia's father. "They're semi-automatic, faster for multiple targets, in case you need a quick response. Each one has one hundred boxes of ammunition and six clips. The handling and reloading principle is similar to other shotguns, but the rate of fire is higher, so control the recoil well. And listen very carefully," Thiago's voice lowered, becoming a commanding tone that brooked no question, "if anyone other than us enters, no matter what, shoot them in the head, not the body. You've seen zombie movies and TV shows, right? The rule is the same. The head is the only weak point. One shot to the body may not be enough to stop them, and every bullet is precious." The parents' faces were pale, the reality of the instruction hitting them hard.
"Now, the pistols," Thiago continued, picking up the twelve SIG Sauer P320s. Each came complete with a scope, tactical flashlight, and silencer. "Each of you—Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, and Kenji—will have one. They're reliable, accurate, and easy to handle. And for each of you, six extra magazines." He handed the pistols over, the weight of the metal in the hands of his friends and Kenji a reminder of the responsibility they assumed. "We'll distribute the remaining ones to the other adults. We need distributed and accessible firepower."
Thiago then grabbed one of the WWART SHOOTER Multicam Plate Carrier Tactical Vests, the sturdy black fabric fitting perfectly. He began to equip it, inserting eight extended MP5 submachine gun clips into the front pockets, the metal heavy and cold against his chest.
Next, he picked up the two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols. They were imposing, with their long, water-cooled barrels, and already equipped with a silencer, laser sight, tactical flashlight, and holographic sight. "These are mine," he explained, his voice a little softer, almost reverent. "They're highly accurate, and the water-cooled barrel allows for more rounds without overheating. Essential for suppressing threats at range." He strapped the holsters for both guns to either side of his waist, the leather molded to his body, the clips extended to hold thirty rounds each, already inserted.
The MP5 submachine guns were next. Thiago grabbed both, each with a grip, an ATN THOR-HD 384 Riflescope (which offered telescopic, thermal, high-definition video, infrared range, thermography, and telescopic vision), a laser, a tactical flashlight, and a silencer. "These are for me," he said, his voice firm. "They're for combat in confined spaces, for when we need volume fire but still maintain discretion. The red dot and laser will help with quick aiming." He then surprised everyone by attaching special holsters, made by the owner of the first shop, to the sides of his legs, one for each MP5. The submachine guns, though compact, were larger than pistols, and seeing them strapped to his legs was a testament to his preparation and his intention to always be armed and ready.
He grabbed his tactical backpack, the Lorben Camouflage Military Trail Camping Trekking 80L Black, and began methodically filling it. Not just with basic survival gear, but with dozens of additional clips for all his weapons, and boxes and boxes of ammunition, the weight increasing with each item. The sound of metal clanging against fabric was a somber rhythm.
Finally, he picked up the M4A1 rifle, his "baby." The weapon felt like an extension of his own body, its weight familiar, the texture of the metal camouflaged in matte black. He examined it, checking the silencer, the grip, the ATN THOR-HD .384 Riflescope, the laser, the tactical flashlight. This was his long-range weapon, his tool for eliminating threats before they got too close. Beside it were ten drums of two hundred rounds of ammunition, and he clipped one of these drums to the side of his tactical vest, ready to use.
The people in the suite, adults and even older children, watched Thiago arm himself. What had previously been talk of a "nightmare" now became a tangible reality. The image of Thiago, covered in equipment, with weapons strapped to his body, was terrifying and, at the same time, strangely comforting. He was the embodiment of preparedness, the only hope amid the approaching terror. The clock on the wall was approaching 9 PM, and the tension was almost unbearable.
"Okay," Thiago said, checking his watch. It was just a few minutes before 10 p.m. "Now, the final part before the outbreak. We need to close the elevator doors and emergency exits on this floor. Not to stop people from leaving, but to stopother people come in. To create a safe zone. A perimeter."
They moved silently through the corridors of the presidential suites. First, the elevator doors. Using tools Thiago had acquired, they disabled the floor's elevator control panels, ensuring that no elevator could ascend or descend to their floor. The soft sound of the elevators' internal mechanisms ceased, and an eerie silence fell, an echo of the soon-to-be-silent city. Next, the emergency exits. They used heavy chains and sturdy padlocks, which Thiago had also provided, to seal the fire doors of the emergency stairwells. The clang of the chains and the click of the padlocks echoed in the corridor, a final sound of isolation, a seal against the outside world.
When they returned to the master suite, the families were gathered, their faces pale, but with a gleam of hope mixed with fear. The children, now quieter, sensed the tension in the air, their curious eyes fixed on the adults. Thiago looked at everyone, his eyes meeting those of his parents, Hiroshi, Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia.
"It's done," Thiago said, his voice calm but filled with solemn gravity. "The perimeter is secure. Now, we wait. The night will be long. Get as much rest as you can. And remember: no matter what happens out there, in here, we're together. And we're ready."
Silence reigned again, but this time, it was a silence charged with new determination. The city lights shone through the windows, a reminder of the world that was about to change irrevocably. The race against time had reached its climax. The next few hours would be the longest of their lives, and dawn would bring hell. But this time, they would be ready.