Knight walked into the “Tons o’ Guns” store in the north side of Millennium City, also known as the City Center. He saw a couple of men at the counter, chatting away, so he went to look at some of the wares.
He had left his blades at home, but carried his guns. He was looking for something more powerful than the revolvers he had bought for training – these guns were pew pew pistols. He wanted a semi-automatic, or even an automatic.
“Can I help you?” The man behind the counter was balding, but had a beard and looked like he was more knowledgeable than Knight.
“I wanna semi-automatic. An’ some special accessories.”
“Are you looking for power or accuracy?”
“Both’d be nice,” Knight said, peering in the case as the man came over to him.
The man chuckled, “Accuracy comes with practice. Are you hunting?”
“You could say that.”
The man gave him a sideways look.
“I’m huntin’ Purple Gang down in Westside an’ shit like tha’.”
“Ah. Good luck with that.” The man pulled out a tray of guns. “Here’s some Desert Eagles if you want power, but they have enough kickback to knock you back a mile.”
“No,” Knight said. “I wan’ some’in long barrelled. Better ac’racy.”
“Absolutely,” said the man. “Semi-automatic?”
“Got any automatics?”
“It’s illegal for me to sell them.”
“Mr., ah…”
“Raymond. Call me Ray.”
“Ray, then.”
The two men regarded each other over the counter. No words were spoken, but Ray put the guns back in their case and bent down, going underneath the counter. “I can’t guarantee I have extra magazines for all these.”
“‘s okay. I’ll hunt ’round for ’em.”
“And I don’t ask where they’re from, but I guarantee that they work.”
“Good ’nuff f’r me.”
He picked up a few, checked the magazine. “Want to fire some? I have a range downstairs.”
“Tha’d be nice.”
Ray went to the door and turned the sign to “CLOSED”. The man he had been chatting with had disappeared; Knight cursed himself for not paying attention, knowing that something like that would get him killed.
Ray stood at the top of a set of well-lit stairs, and Knight went first. As he approached the bottom, the lights went on and he saw that there was a long range that probably encompassed the cellar of the buildings next door. Ray handed Knight a set of earphones and glasses, and then put on a pair himself.
Knight had only started using guns a couple of months ago, and had luckily developed some good habits. He aimed the pistol downrange, loaded the magazine in and slid the bullet into the barrel. He aimed and fired, and the kickback was more than he was used to. He took a wider, firmer stance, and fired again. It took the full magazine before he was comfortable with it.
He went through most of the guns that Ray had brought down, picking out two from the pile. They had serious fire power, but the accuracy would depend upon his practice, he knew that.
After he went back upstairs, they started negotiating price. He traded in his revolvers and they kept bargaining. Finally they came to an agreement, and Knight put the money on the table. “Don’t say where you got these from.”
“‘Course not,” Knight said, putting the new guns in the holster. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Sure, Knight.”
“Got any silver bullets?”