AN: I own nothing
Inspired by Fallout, Mad Max, and pretty much anything with a Wasteland
Memories
Nick was seven when his world fell apart. He had woken up from a nightmare and was walking around his home, turning on all the lights to make sure the beasts from his dreams hadn't crawled from his mind. When he got to the living room he saw his neighbor, a leopard named Zeko, stood outside the sliding glass door. His eyes where cloudy grey, not like his usual gold. He held Nick's gaze for a moment. Like he was confused, but in a moment he flew into a blind fury. He threw himself against the door snarling.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" he roared as he assaulted the thin pain of glass. Nick was paralyzed with fear. All he could do was stare as the glass fractured. He screamed as the door shattered into a brilliant shower of glass and Zeko lunged at him.
The New World
Nick sucked in a sharp breath as he opened his eyes. He had been having that dream at least once a week for twenty years, it didn't male him scream anymore. His coat was slick from a cold sweat. His undershirt and boxers clung to his fur. Nick sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his cot. He scratched his chest and looked around the cluttered room. Since the world had ended he had become something akin to a hoarder, pulling anything that might even be slightly useful from the wreckage of the world before.
The hovel he had built for himself in one of the many gas stations in the greater Meridian-Zootopia Area was full of things he had collected. To outsiders it was an insane jumbled sea of miscellaneous shit jammed together with no rhyme or reason, but Nick knew every fine grain of said shit. Nick had an endless list of things he planed on building to make his life just a little bit easier, and thus and endless demand for scrap. He spent the first four hours of his waking day scrounging for anything he could get his paws on.
He got up and navigated the junk labyrinth to his store room. He looked around the dimly lit concrete room at the hodgepodge of steamer trunks, footlockers, and chifferobes. Nick started at a worn out mahogany wardrobe that was a sonofabitch to drag there. He pulled open the doors and selected a pair of urban camo BDU pants, a grey long sleeved shirt, an urban camo hooded field jacket, a black nylon belt with a holster for a revolver, and a tactical vest of the same color. He turned and looked at the grimy mirror on the left door. He stared at the scar that ran from his nose to just below his right eye.
"Fuckin Zeko." Nick growled. The fox scavenger walked to the line of footlockers. He knelt at one that was marked with a strip of duct tape with: 5.56 sharpied on it. He popped open the metal chest and grinned at the stacks of fully loaded polymer 'true thirty' mags. He began loading up the pouches of his vest with magazines, ending with twelve (six in the pouches in his front, six on his back). Nick did some quick math in his head, he had six hundred rounds, a bit overkill but that was good. He scooted down to the line of boxes, ending at one marked 357. Nick popped it open and grabbed eight speed re-loaders. He crossed to an oak wardrobe with a crude picture of a gun doodled on the door. He pulled it open and looked inside.
He scanned the collection of firearms and other weapons. He selected his favorite long-arm: the Colt M4A1 assault carbine. He clipped the sling on and slung it so it hung over his right shoulder. Nick then grabbed a nickle plated Ruger Varquero and stuck it in his holster. Satisfied, the scavenger closed up his containers and wound his way to the front door.
A smug smile crept across his face as he stared at the array of locks that kept the world outside. Nick went to work disengaging the deadbolts and slide chains, when he was done he placed a paw on the knob, nearly forgetting three very important parts of his loadout. His sunshades, which he immediately threw on, his m6 combat boots (sure they where a little uncomfortable, but it beat getting tetanus) which he stuffed his feet in, and his KA-BAR knife with a duct tape and cloth wrapped handle. That, Nick stuck into the sheath on his chest rig.
Nick gave himself one last once over before heading out for the day's scavenge.