Sniper Crossbow
Arthur got out of the dark, sleek car, the heavy metal door thudding shut behind him, and followed Dom.
The sweltering California heat beat down on the concrete as they walked in measured, heavy silence around to the back of the property.
A short distance behind the main house, Dom stopped his massive frame in an open, unassuming patch of dry ground.
Arthur moved closer, his supernaturally sharp eyes scanning the terrain, and finally saw that behind Dom's house lay a concealed basement entrance.
This specific kind of subterranean basement is actually very common across America.
In fact, most residential buildings in the States are strictly required by local municipal codes to have their own deep cellar.
The reasoning behind this architectural mandate is simple and deeply rooted in geography: the massive country borders both the unpredictable Pacific and the turbulent Atlantic oceans.
That unique, sprawling geography naturally spawns an unusual and devastating share of severe weather patterns, including massive tornadoes, typhoons, and hurricanes.
Tornadoes, in particular, constantly threaten America's mostly wooden private homes, easily capable of tearing them to splinters in seconds.
A subterranean basement offers solid, life-saving shelter when a violent, unpredictable twister strikes.
Naturally, the sunny, coastal city of Los Angeles doesn't see twisters quite as often as some of the central, tornado-alley states.
But they can absolutely still form without warning, dropping from the sky with lethal force.
So many cautious families who build homes in the sprawling suburbs put up a code-compliant storm cellar just to be absolutely safe.
Arthur's dark, calculating gaze immediately locked onto the heavy steel hasp.
The heavy padlock on Dom's basement door had clearly been forced, the metal violently twisted and scored with aggressive pry marks.
Reading Arthur's highly intelligent mind and noticing his sharp gaze, Dom sighed heavily.
"They pried it open violently during the federal FBI search a couple of days ago," Dom explained, his deep voice carrying a trace of lingering anger.
The towering racer absolutely hadn't had the time to fit a secure new lock yet amid the recent, chaotic federal fallout.
He bent his massive frame down, grabbed the iron handle, and effortlessly hauled open the heavy basement hatch.
A rush of cool, damp air escaped from the dark depths, and Dom quickly climbed down a sturdy wooden ladder into the shadows.
Arthur followed right behind him, his heavy tactical boots thudding softly on the wooden rungs.
The underground basement was relatively small ,about two and a half meters deep, and roughly four by four meters in overall length and width.
It looked incredibly plain and strictly utilitarian, a stark contrast to the high-octane vehicles Dom usually surrounded himself with.
Apart from the bare concrete wall where the wooden ladder leaned, each of the other three walls held a few sturdy, reinforced metal shelves.
On them sat neat, meticulously organized rows of canned food, high-calorie emergency rations, comprehensive first-aid kits, and large jugs of purified water.
In the dim corner beside the ladder, a simple plywood cubicle hid a chemical toilet for when nature called during a prolonged, terrifying lock-in.
Dom reached up and hit the light switch, illuminating the dusty air with a pale, flickering fluorescent glow.
Once Arthur was safely down on the concrete floor, Dom pulled the heavy wooden hatch completely shut above them.
"Come here," Dom instructed, his low voice echoing slightly in the small concrete room.
Dom walked to the far wall, grabbed the edge of one heavy metal shelf, and slid it smoothly aside, revealing bare, aged brickwork behind it.
With practiced, flawless ease, he pressed one particular, unassuming brick.
With a soft, mechanical click, a concealed section of the wall slid back, exposing a tiny, dark recess.
It was no more than a meter square and half a meter deep ,a very secret, highly secured little arms cache.
Arthur's dark eyes lit up at once, the faint, lethal scent of gun oil and cold steel instantly hitting his supernaturally enhanced senses.
Dom's personal collection wasn't exceptionally large, but the overall tactical quality was absolutely top-shelf.
Inside the hidden compartment sat two sleek M9s ,military-issue Beretta 92Fs.
Beside them lay a heavy Colt Python revolver, a pair of devastating Remington M870 pump-action shotguns, and a rugged M70 assault rifle.
A few high-explosive fragmentation grenades were neatly lined up on the bottom shelf.
Nestled carefully beside the firearms was a high-precision tactical crossbow, roughly half the length of a standard rifle, fitted flawlessly with an advanced infrared scope.
Arthur's calculated, predatory gaze lingered heavily on the M70 and the sleek, lethal crossbow before he turned to face Dom.
"Dom, lend me that bow for a few days," Arthur requested smoothly, his voice radiating absolute confidence.
His highly intelligent mind had already flawlessly ID'd the specialized, exotic weapon.
It was a Sniper crossbow, undeniably one of the absolute most powerful military-grade crossbows on earth.
Built meticulously by Arrow Dynamics strictly for elite special-ops teams working in the unforgiving wild, its raw, kinetic punch easily exceeds that of some short-range sniper rifles.
A heavy, armor-piercing bolt fired from its taut strings can literally punch cleanly through thick elephant hide and effortlessly shatter solid bone.
Its effective tactical range is a staggering 180 meters, maxing out at about 300 meters.
But its raw stopping power and near-total silence make it vastly preferable to a loud, echoing rifle in many stealth and infiltration situations.
Arthur's [Shooting] skill had recently, successfully reached a terrifying Lv4.
When it miraculously leveled up, his supernaturally enhanced mind completely absorbed massive amounts of complex, tactical know-how on SMGs, assault rifles, shotguns, and sniper rifles.
And, highly conveniently for this exact, critical moment, he completely understood advanced tactical bows and crossbows as well.
With this sleek Sniper securely in his calloused hands, he logically figured he'd be absolutely deadly after just a few short minutes of physical handling and calibration.
Dom looked genuinely surprised, his thick brow furrowing deeply in profound, silent confusion.
He naturally assumed Arthur was in some kind of serious, highly lethal trouble if he desperately needed heavy, military-grade hardware.
Dom, despite his imposing stature and terrifying street reputation, wasn't quite as hot-headed and violent as he looked.
Though a notorious, highly wanted California highway bandit, in all their chaotic years of high-speed heists, he and his loyal crew had only ever hijacked corporate cargo.
At the absolute worst, they had merely knocked a stubborn driver out or given him a few minor bruises during a brief scuffle.
They had absolutely never put anyone in a hospital bed, let alone sent someone to a cold, early grave.
So while, exactly like many cautious americans, he kept weapons at home for defense ,some of them highly illegal ,there weren't very many.
And he rarely ever touched them outside of an absolute, life-threatening emergency.
"You like it? It's completely yours," Dom said, his deep voice carrying a tone of heavy respect.
The Sniper had been a generous, highly expensive gift from an underworld partner a few lucrative years back.
This specific, high-tech piece of lethal engineering isn't cheap at all ,you absolutely can't get it on the black market for less than fifty or sixty thousand US dollars.
After Dom originally received it, he only took it out a single time, years ago, when he and his buddies went on a quiet, extended hunting vacation in the mountains.
He vastly prefers the raw, kinetic feedback and intimidating spread of old-school, pump-action shotguns over a highly complex, high-precision crossbow exactly like this.
So ever since that trip, the expensive, silent weapon had stayed securely locked away in Dom's dark basement, completely unused again.
Seeing exactly how much Arthur genuinely appreciated the weapon, he simply gave it to him without a single second thought.
", Great!" Arthur nodded, his calloused fingers tracing the cold composite frame with lethal intent.
He perfectly knew the staggering financial value of the Sniper crossbow, but he absolutely didn't stand on polite ceremony with Dom.
Steve's heavily fortified luxury villa is absolutely no safe zone; it was swarming with armed mercenaries.
Storming into that hornet's nest alone to violently rescue someone is no easy, simple task, and he desperately needed every single tactical advantage he could get.
After thinking it over with cold, ruthless calculation, he reached into the cache and took two high-explosive grenades from the shelf as well.
"Just for some extra self-defense," Arthur explained smoothly, pocketing the heavy ordnance.
Dom finally showed raw emotion, his posture stiffening slightly in the dim light.
He didn't physically stop Arthur from aggressively taking the lethal grenades, but he looked at the younger man with a gravely serious expression.
"Exactly what kind of massive trouble are you in right now?" Dom asked, genuine concern lacing his deep rumble.
"Is it incredibly dangerous?"
Arthur shook his handsome head smoothly, maintaining a flawless mask of absolute, unwavering calm.
"A close friend of mine accidentally crossed some ruthless gangsters ,it might be a bit of a messy, violent hassle."
"It's not really highly dangerous, I am just actively buying myself some solid, explosive insurance."
Only then did Dom's tense, imposing expression finally ease.
His absolute best street fighter, Vince, was only a minor notch below him in raw brawling power and physical endurance.
Yet the aggressive Vince had been flawlessly, brutally dropped by Arthur in just a few calculated punches, or so the terrified crew had told him.
Vince's tough buddies had fared absolutely no better when they arrogantly went looking for physical trouble.
Arthur had handled them just as easily and brutally, barely breaking a single drop of sweat.
So Dom felt supremely, completely confident in Arthur's lethal combat skills and logically assumed it was only a minor, manageable scrape.
He nodded slowly, helped Arthur securely pack the heavy Sniper crossbow into its tactical case, and generously threw in the few dozen armor-piercing bolts he had left, quiver and all.
Arthur didn't linger in the dim, cramped basement for another moment.
He said a firm, respectful goodbye to Dom, carried the heavy tactical case out to his car, and drove aggressively off into the afternoon heat.
He still had significantly more gear to gather before meticulously executing another highly dangerous night visit to Steve's fortified villa.
And, if tactically possible, he desperately needed to spring Stella Bridger, who he strongly suspected had been violently captured by the treacherous sociopath.