The pistols were like dead weights in Daniel’s hands, his fingers and muscles hurt from pulling the trigger over and over again.
The revolvers reloaded on their own accord, and he stuck them back in his chaps. The smoking hot barrel burned against his thigh.
The bodies had piled around him in the bank. He didn’t have time to register them as Red Lightning tagged him and said, “C’mon, we got the leader to get.”
He had to concentrate to make sure that the bullets were dum-dums. Otherwise, and he knew this from experience, the ammunition in the pistols would change to armor-piercing hollow-points, and destruction would cover the floor he would stand in. Pools of blood would be at his feet, dead eyes staring up at him. He didn’t need to do that.
“Rubber bullets,” he whispered, and plucked the pistols from his holsters. They were like living creatures in his hands – in fact, they were. They had their own wants. If he shot at an innocent, the bullet would ricochet harmlessly away. If he shot at a criminal, they’d be dead. They were possessed, his brother Joey had said.
His brother got them from his grandfather, who got them from his father. His own father had wanted nothing to do with magic guns. Daniel’s dad couldn’t blame him, not after he saw what they did. But he had an obligation to his brother, may he rest in peace.
Red Lightning led the charge into the vault, and Pistolero backed him up. When they defeated Freon, Red Lightning came up to him. “Want to try for another? I heard that Psimon might be at the museum.”
Daniel sighed. It never ended.
((Another character met Red Lightning, only briefly. Unfortunately didn’t get to talk to him afterward.))
((Yes, I know this is crap.))