No Step On Slime

Prologue: The Van and the Man

Hello, welcome to No Step On Slime. I'm the author, CampbelSoupDestroyer, and I am glad you decided to click on this fanfiction piece.

As a disclaimer:  I own none of the characters from Tensei Shitara Slime Datta Ken / That Time I Got Reincarnated As A Slime. The other character involved is one of my own creation, you can see her design on the upper left of the front cover.

As for what this story will contain in regards to more controversial content: This story will not include any content intended for mature audiences. There will be moderate amounts of violence, a healthy amount of profanity, and some real-life political undertones are used to create the setting.

Hope you enjoy.

. . . . .

The only thing that was tempering my impatience was the prospect of a full wallet after this transaction was over. The box of completed Armalite-pattern lower receivers was waiting on the counter, and the guy I was selling it to was a dealer whom I had known for a long time.

I paid no attention to the television nestled in the corner of the store. The news anchor was blabbering about the latest civil unrest and celebrity news, in the same sentence. Now was a little different than previous years, for most people. But not for me.

The year was 2028. Another contentious election was on the horizon. As much as I cared little for politics on a scale larger than the state level, that was not the case for a lot of other politically-active individuals.

Everything a decade ago was comparably more peaceful, but the violence had grown to such a level, and been normalized to such an extent, that everyone had learned to live with it.

It was far from a civil war. There weren't any hard lines drawn in the ground, nor were there established factions with concrete leaders. Most of it was sporadic bursts of violence: A shootout here, bombing there. One day you'd hear news of a federal building getting firebombed, another an armed rural group occupying a highway.

But it sure as hell was far from anything you'd call peaceful. A few years back a newscaster alluded the unrest to the Irish Troubles of thirty years ago. While the political motivations and organizations involved were far from similar, the name stuck.

Henceforth, it was called the American Troubles.

Nobody felt safe. Everyone and their mother wanted to buy a gun. At least that guaranteed a living wage for me: I would fabricate the receivers for rifles and sell them to licensed dealers for good money. I could make even more if I dabbled in the black market and did business with the more dubious groups.

That would only invite trouble. I strictly did all my transactions through legal and trusted channels.

My buddy, Hector Lornie, walked up to the counter with the sheet of paper in hand. He was a longtime friend of mine and a very reputable firearms dealer in these parts. His family passed this particular firearm store down for generations, so it has quite the reputation in these parts

"Got it filled out," he said. "Sorry but I don't got much cash on me. You  able to take a check instead?"

I much preferred paper money over a check, but I nodded anyway. No point in being picky. He scribbled out a few thousand dollars and a signature on the slip of paper and handed it to me.

"You need any ammo? I'm willing to sell some to you at the more... normal prices, since we've done business and you've helped me quite a bit," Hector asked.