Selling (Somewhat) Magic Goods in Arknights

[Paracsus]

Omake: Unremembered Armories

Arno didn't talk about his father much, mostly because it rarely came up.

His father had run a YouTube channel when Arno was growing up. It focused on old firearms—mostly designs that had fallen out of common use. The videos weren't flashy. They were long, detailed, and often filmed at a shooting bench or worktable. Most of them involved careful explanations of how a weapon worked, why it was designed the way it was, and what made it different from modern firearms.

The channel was called Unremembered Armories.

Arno had spent a lot of time at the range as a kid. Not shooting at first—watching, listening, passing tools, and learning how to pay attention. His father was strict about safety and procedure. Arno learned early how to clear a firearm, how to identify worn parts, and how to tell when something wasn't functioning correctly just by how it felt.

By the time he was older, he could field-strip and maintain several older designs without needing instructions. It wasn't something he showed off. It was just something he knew how to do.

Those memories were why the crate inside the cart caught his attention immediately.

It was a wooden case, reinforced with metal brackets and closed with two latches. It wasn't near the food or medical supplies. It looked deliberate.

Niko noticed it too.

"Why is that box here?" she asked. "It doesn't look like supplies."

Arno crouched and opened the latches.

Inside was a Remington Model 8.

The rifle was clean and well maintained. The wood stock had been oiled recently, and the metal showed no rust. It was laid out properly in fitted padding. Beneath it were cleaning tools, spare parts, and several boxes of ammunition. There were also containers of powder, primers, brass casings, and bullet molds, along with printed instructions for ammunition reloading.

Arno stared at it for a moment.

"…That's his," he said quietly.

Niko leaned closer, ears flattened. "Why is there a gun in the cart."

"It's old," Arno said. "Early 20th century."

"That doesn't make it less scary."

He lifted the rifle carefully and checked the chamber. Empty. He set it back down just as carefully.

"My dad used to shoot this one a lot," Arno said. "He liked how it worked."

Niko folded her arms. "Do you need it?"

"Hopefully not."

"Good."

Arno closed the case and sat down on the bench beside it. He hadn't thought about those range days in years. The long explanations. The patience. The way his father trusted him to handle things properly once he was ready.

He picked up the paper that came with the box and read it.

NOTICE OF DELIVERY

Spoiler

Item: Remington Model 8
Category: Firearm (Antique / Semi-Automatic)
Status: Owner-Restricted — Non-Commercial

This item has been returned to a verified handler with prior training and documented familiarity.

Included Materials:

• Cleaning and maintenance tools
• Replacement parts (limited, will be provided when current ones are used and/or destroyed. NEVER BEFORE.)
• Boxed ammunition
• Ammunition creation tools
• Ammunition ingredients and instructions on how to make them

Usage Parameters:

• Not for sale
• Not for display
• Not for public demonstration
• Use restricted to self-defense

Safety Addendum:
These items are inaccessible to non-designated personnel.
Additional safeguards have been applied.
Instructions will only be legible to the designated personnel.
Information regarding these items will be sealed and protected frm any form of scrying, mind-reading, or any other form of hostile intelligence gathering.

Note:
Assistant has been informed that this item is not for customers and not a toy.

This arrangement is non-negotiable.

---

As Arno was reading and re-reading the paper, Niko watched him for a moment.

"…You're allowed to keep it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Okay," she said. "Just don't point it at me. Mama says those are dangerous."

"Fair."

The cart didn't react to the case at all. No warnings. No changes.

Arno leaned back and exhaled.

He hadn't expected to see that rifle again. But he understood now about why it was here.

Some things didn't disappear just because you left them behind.

And this one, at least, came with instructions.

---

AN: Yes, this is canon. Yes, I did that name on purpose. My muse slapped me upside the head with this little nugget.

 

[Paracsus]

The Coffee Debacle

For a long time, everything had worked.

There was a delicate balance in Lungmen. The LGD kept order in visible ways—patrols, checkpoints, routine presence. Lin's people watched from less obvious places, tracking movement, influence, and opportunity. Rhodes Island stayed methodical and restrained, observing more than acting, recording more than intervening. None of them liked sharing space, but they tolerated one another because the arrangement functioned.

In the middle of it all, Arno's cart opened every morning.

It sold the same small range of anomalous food it always had—bentos, bread, drinks—nothing flashy, nothing aggressive. Customers lined up, paid, left. The cart did not advertise. It did not expand. It did not respond to pressure. Over time, it became a fixed point in an otherwise shifting landscape, predictable enough that even competing factions learned how to work around it.

That balance shifted the moment Arno began accepting bulk contracts.

The change was subtle at first. Instead of multiple representatives sending people to stand in line at dawn, orders were consolidated. Pickups became scheduled. Arguments over "who got there first" disappeared. There were fewer tense standoffs between people who were technically not supposed to be talking to each other. For once, logistics smoothed over politics instead of inflaming them.

Everyone received exactly what they were promised, and not a unit more.

Rhodes Island and Lin's faction had appreciated the simplicity, while the LGD appreciated not having to break up disputes over boxed lunches. Even Kal'tsit, after reviewing the reports, summarized the situation in a single word: "Acceptable."

Everything changed when the cart started selling coffee.

It wasn't marketed as anything special. It didn't promise heightened reflexes or extended wakefulness. It was simply self-heating, sealed coffee that worked every time. It kept people alert without overstimulation, steady without the crash. It tasted good enough that no one complained, and boring enough that no one felt like it needed justification.

That was the problem. It went under everyone's radar until it was too late. Everyone found out all at once.

Within days, the effect was noticeable. Operators stopped rationing their stimulants. Patrols ran longer without flagging. Late-night shifts became easier to staff. People who had never cared about beverages began caring very much.

Demand did not rise gradually. It surged.

The first bidding war happened quietly, hidden inside revised procurement requests and "temporary reallocations." The second happened face-to-face, in the form of polite arguments over who had placed an order first. By the third week, the Lungmen branch of Rhodes Island was holding emergency logistics meetings specifically about weekly coffee distribution.

Lin's people stopped pretending it was about food and began offering favors instead.

The LGD began assigning patrol routes that, coincidentally, passed the cart multiple times per shift.

The balance did not break all at once.

It strained and everyone felt it.

---

Kal'tsit was mid-review when the knock came.

"Enter."

The door opened just enough for a logistics officer to slip in, a tablet held in both hands like it might start screaming if dropped.

"Dr. Kal'tsit," he said carefully, "we've confirmed it."

She did not look up. "Confirmed what."

"A second shipment has hit the market."

Her pen stopped.

Kal'tsit lifted her head slowly. "Repeat that."

"A second shipment," he said. "Same cart. Same vendor. Same self-heating cans."

She leaned back in her chair. "How many units."

"Limited," he replied. "Smaller than the first. Already partially allocated."

There was a pause. Then another.

"How is 'partially allocated' defined," Kal'tsit asked, "in this context."

"Sold out in under thirty minutes."

Kal'tsit set the pen down with exaggerated care. "Of course it was."

She stood, moving toward the display wall as the officer continued, now speaking faster. Operators across three departments had logged eight-plus hours of sustained alertness. No crash. No agitation. No stimulant markers. Several had reportedly finished paperwork early, which caused a brief ethics inquiry before being dismissed as unrelated.

"That," Kal'tsit said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "is not coffee."

"Yes, Doctor."

"That is a logistical anomaly."

Another officer cleared his throat. "Dr. Kal'tsit, multiple factions are now searching."

She turned slowly. "How many."

The officer hesitated. "…Yes."

Kal'tsit folded her hands. "Wonderful. Deploy observers only. No pursuit. No force."

A pause followed, thick with unspoken questions.

"…And prepare contingency plans," she added. "If the coffee reappears."

Everyone in the room straightened.

Someone dared to ask, "What kind of contingency plans, Doctor."

Kal'tsit didn't miss a beat. "All of them."

The main screen shifted, pulling up a live feed of the street where the cart normally stood. The space was empty. No cart. No Arno. No suspiciously calm vendor handing out drinks that solved half of Lungmen's productivity problems.

Kal'tsit stared at the empty street.

"Find it," she said. "Before someone else decides coffee is worth starting a war over."

Around her, Rhodes Island logistics quietly began preparing for exactly that possibility.

---

Arno knew something was wrong when the crowd started lining up early. Not chatting, not browsing. Just standing. Waiting.

Niko peeked out from behind him, eyes wide and trembling. "Arno… what is happening?" she whispered. "They're… they're all staring at us."

"Yes," he said flatly, arranging crates.

"They brought… notebooks! And clipboards! And… someone brought a chair!" Her voice was getting higher-pitched by the second. "A chair! To wait for… coffee?"

"Yes," he replied, calm as ever.

Niko's hands flew to her face. "And that LGD officer keeps… tapping his foot like it's a race! And the Rhodes Island person just scanned the cart! They're—are they spying on the coffee?!"

Arno handed the last coffee can to a man who accepted it with both hands, reverence written all over his face. "Sold out," he said evenly.

The reaction was instantaneous chaos.

"What do you mean sold out?!"

"I was here first!"

"Rhodes Island already paid!"

"The LGD has priority jurisdiction!"

Someone in the back shouted, "HOW DID HE GET MORE THIS WEEK?!"

Niko grabbed Arno's sleeve, trembling, her voice almost a squeak. "Arno! They're… they're staring at us like… like… they want the coffee! What if they fight?! What if—what if it explodes or something?!"

Arno reached under the counter and flipped the switch. The cart's doors slammed shut. "Closing early today," he said evenly.

A sharp, commanding voice cut through the noise. "Merchant."

Kal'tsit stood at the edge of the crowd, coat immaculate, expression unreadable.

"Doctor," Arno said neutrally.

"We need to talk."

"Tomorrow," he replied.

"…Now," she corrected.

Behind her, Rhodes Island operators were arriving, LGD units were forming a perimeter, and somewhere deeper in the crowd, Lin's people had stopped smiling. Niko shrieked and jumped back. "Arno! We're trapped! They're everywhere! They're going to take us!"

Arno nodded once. "Understood."

Niko practically dove into the cart, scrambling over crates, her eyes wide and wild. "Start the thing! Start the cart! NOW!"

He twisted the wheel. The cart lurched forward, tires squealing slightly as the crowd scattered and flailed. Niko clutched the edge of the seat, her little legs kicking in the air. "I think—oh no—they're still coming! Are they on motorbikes? Do they have cannons?!"

Arno shot her a glance over his shoulder. "No, Niko. They don't have cannons."

"But they might have—" she started, then yelped as the cart swerved around a street stall. Crates rattled behind them.

Boxes fell over with a loud thump. "That's… our stock!" Niko cried. She ducked as a clipboard bounced off the cart's side. "Argh! It's all their fault! Why did we sell the coffee?!"

"Because someone asked," Arno said flatly, accelerating.

Niko grabbed onto a handle, bouncing up and down. "I don't even understand how coffee can do this—how can a drink make everyone act like lunatics?! Why would anyone need that much coffee?!"

Arno kept a steady course down the street. "They didn't. But they want it anyway."

Boxes clattered in the back, a stray crate teetered on its edge, and somewhere behind them, the factions were still flailing and arguing over which side of the street to chase on. A drone buzzed overhead, probably trying to film a news report.

"I think… we're… okay… maybe?" Niko stammered, holding on for dear life, hair sticking to her sweat-soaked forehead.

Arno smirked faintly. "Probably."

"But… it's so insane!" she wailed. "I don't even know if I can—"

"—breathe," he finished for her.

Niko groaned dramatically, throwing her arms over her eyes. "Yes! Breathe. Right. Okay. What if they follow us even out of Lungmen?"

Arno glanced over his shoulder and nodded toward the distant city skyline. "They won't. We're already too far ahead."

Niko peeked one eye open. "Really?"

"Really," he said.

She exhaled in a long, shaky whoosh. "Okay… maybe I like this cart thing. But the coffee… I don't understand the coffee…"

Arno simply drove on, calm as ever, while Niko shrieked. Flailing like she was riding the most chaotic roller coaster in Lungmen.

Behind them, factions scrambled, shouting at each other, taking wrong turns, and updating their contact lists in frustration. The cart—and its mysterious coffee—was already gone.

---

One week without the cart, and Lungmen was losing its mind.

At the Rhodes Island branch, operators huddled over spreadsheets, pencils tapping, calculators clicking. "If the cart returns tomorrow, how many cans can we allocate before Lin's people get wind of it?" one whispered, eyes wide. Another slammed a hand down. "We can't predict—he could have doubled production!"

Across the street, LGD officers were arguing loudly, arms flailing over patrol schedules. "I assigned you to Sector 4! You were supposed to intercept the cart if it moved!" "I was there!" "No, you were at a coffee shop again!" Their radios squawked unintelligible chatter.

In dark alleys, Lin's faction prowled, peering around corners, whispering to each other. "He can't be gone for long. He always comes back." "Maybe he's hiding in the market?" "Or disguised as a delivery cart?" They paused, eyes narrowing at a passing fruit vendor. "Nope. Definitely not."

News crews had started picking up the story. 'Mystery Merchant Cart Disappears, Operators Panic' flashed across holo-screens. Interviews ran with witnesses describing "people running with clipboards" and "officers arguing over coffee." Analysts speculated wildly, some suggesting the city might collapse entirely if the cart didn't return.

At a corner café, a small crowd of office workers watched the news with disbelief. "Do you think it's really gone?" one asked. "I heard LGD is sending drones now," another said, sipping a tepid latte. "Drones. For coffee."

Rumors spread faster than any official notice. One faction claimed the cart had been kidnapped. Another swore it had been holed up in an abandoned warehouse, guarded by armed cats. Requests for information flooded every office, every communications channel. Everyone wanted the coffee. Everyone needed the coffee.

And through it all, the city continued. People walked by, oblivious, while the factions scurried, bickered, and brainstormed increasingly ridiculous ways to secure a single can of a self-heating drink.

 

[Tenno]

A Customer's Musings

Living in a city can be Noisy, cramped, and smelly. Even more so in a Mobile City like Lungmen, a thriving hub of exchange and commerce. From the highest of luxuries to the smallest of oddities, anything can be found here. Especially oddities, like the strange cart parked in front of my building.

A cart that strangely looks to be made of wood, yet behaves like a normal vehicle. Strange, eccentric even. But also, unique in a way a lone tree stands in the middle of a paved highway.

But that isnt even the strangest thing about it. It's the products being sold that take that spot. Like the candies that give you a little pick-me-up, to candy cigars that have all the traits of a cigar except the bad ones, like bad-smelling smoke. Or the boxed lunches and meals that can make you feel less hungry, as strange as that sounds.

Tried those candies myself when I needed the extra energy during work. Gave me just enough to make it back home to my bed before crashing. Been a loyal customer for 2 weeks now.

And speaking of customers, I've been noticing a lot of people just standing way off. Looking busy trying to blend in, or at least trying to. I mean, they all choose to stand in the spots where they have a place to hide in, and are almost always fully covered. It doesn't take a genius to realize that they were spies. But who's? i dont know, and I'd rather not know.

Besides suspected criminals, other groups also started buying. Like the cops, a bunch of high society student types from some school? assembly? i dont know. And a branch of a medical company. Hell i even saw that one idol, Sora I think, with her co-workers at the cart.

At this rate, some big names are gonna start showing up. Which means more trouble, more opportunities for the cart, and maybe some entertainment for me as I watch from my second-floor window. No one knows.

All I know is that the carts been consistent, and will stay consistent.

Also, might ask if he's thinking of adding coffee to his list of products. Hoping to replace my unhealthy coffee addiction with his healthy coffee, hopefully.