Target of Opportunity

First off, it doesn't really matter what my name is, does it? In this neighborhood, people don't much use formal names anyways. When you're a dealer and small-time thug like me, it's probably for the best everybody only knows me as Buzz.

That's a nickname I picked up while in the army during the first Gulf War, the first and last time I got out of this shitty ghetto I call a home. They taught me how to shoot better, but otherwise the Army did me no good. And I didn't do it any good, either. My file shows lots of drinking and fighting, even an Absent Without Leave. I got dishonorably discharged. But all that seems like a lifetime ago.

So I've been back here in Calhoun City, which is this shitty town in the southern USA. There's no jobs here. Everything is stench and decay. I'm sure things can't be so bad in the white area of town, in the suburbs. But down here where we black people have to live, it's a hard life.

Like alot of people I know, I support myself by selling and stealing what I can, not that there's much around to steal. So far I've been pretty good about keeping myself out of my product, but it seems to provide the only bliss on offer these days.

Otherwise, I'm still a mean shot and a big guy, but nobody really trusts me so I don't get much protection work. Even the gangs say I'm too crazy.

I ain't got no wife, not even a girlfriend. No kids. No property worth anything. Pretty much I just been hanging out, getting older and fatter, waiting to die.

Until today.

It was evening time and the sun had set. I was out picking up more blow from my distributor when the lights went out in Calhoun. All of them. And they never came back on.

I know for a fact it was scary for most of them law-abiding citizens when civilization crumbled that night. But for people like me, it was a dream come true. Now it was my time.

I checked my 9mm I carry in my waistband. Loaded.

Tonight is going to be fun.