Detroit Become Human Guns の小説・ストーリー

Detroit~ Detroit didn’t move. He stood there, one hand resting loosely at his side, fingers curled around the gun, the other curled behind him. That was what his wife endured. The steam, the horror, the dread. Detroit wished he could kill Cornell’s body and soul, even though he'd already killed his spirit, and mind, it wasn't enough for Detroit. Cornell twisted violently. “No—no—please—please—” His voice broke, devolving into raw terror.

"They are going to brutally torture and kill my only remaining family member entirely because of your sick, twisted obsession with me!" Damien did not even flinch at my physical attack and he simply wiped the spit off his expensive shirt with his rough thumb before he reached behind his back and pulled a heavy black handgun directly out of the waistband of his tailored slacks. He racked the heavy slide with a loud, metallic click that echoed sharply through the massive bedroom and looked directly over his shoulder at his right-hand man waiting for orders.

I head inside. The cabin smells like gunpowder and iron. Men line the walls—some cleaning their guns, others sharpening blades. A few are checking their crossbows. The weapons are varied—Remington 870 shotguns, Colt AR-15s, custom hunting rifles. Crossbows. Axes. Knives. I walk past a group of men talking in low voices. "—she killed three children. Three. Drowned them in her own bathtub. Got off on an insanity plea." "Fucking unbelievable."

Hudson whispered as he pulled the big man out of his seat. Jake was on his feet, firing shots into Buzzer’s men as they reacted to the new threat. Screams rang out and people ran for cover. Buzzer pulled a gun from the back of his jeans and Jake’s hand fisted the grip of the pistol, hitting Buzzer on the jaw. The man stumbled backwards and Jake grinned as he emptied the clip into Buzzer’s chest. “I prefer this deal,” Jake said as blood bubbled in Buzzer’s mouth and the light left his eyes. He glanced around, counting his men and nodding his head. His gun went back in its holster and together they all walked outside. The Dead Dogs would stay dead.

Time was running out, and he needed to do everything in his power to prevent the unthinkable from happening. The weapon room hummed with tense energy as Steve, Marcus, and several trusted men worked feverishly. Their grim faces reflected the gravity of their situation, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. The walls around them were lined with an impressive arsenal—rifles, pistols, shotguns, and enough ammunition to wage a small war. Since there was not going to be any werewolf transforming any time soon, guns and grenades were the next best thing. The irony wasn't lost on Steve; werewolves relying on human weapons to survive was like lions using traps to hunt.

Damian I stared, my chest rising and falling like a storm about to break, as Darius walked out of that dark, stinking place with his two legs, smug and unshaken, like he owned the damn world. My hand trembled around the cold steel in my grip, the gun I had bought off some sketchy local dealer on my way here, the kind of weapon that smelled of oil and blood the moment you touched it. I didn’t even care if it misfired, didn’t care if it blew my hand clean off—because this wasn’t about me. This was about her.

The next second, it was as though a thought had struck Uncle Theo. He suddenly pulled his hand out from under my shirt and gripped it tightly. He looked like he was struggling to hold himself back as he said hoarsely, "I haven't asked you yet, but can I?" A loud gunshot rang through the air. It came from the TV, which was playing what looked like a spy movie in which both leads were hiding their real identities. One of them asked, "Who are you?"

The full moon was so bright that we probably wouldn’t even need our wolf eyes to see in the dark. Soon enough, we were in a dangerous part of the town. We were the most dangerous people on this street but men lined the corners with hoods over their faces. By the smell of it, they had a wide range of drugs, ranging from basic marijuana to heroin. Jace pulled up to this one more popular house. Music was blasting and men were scattered along the yard. They didn’t even try to hide their glocks. “Leave any guns here. We won’t need them.” Jace said.

He says and I nod. "I'm going to take her out after this do that would probably be-" I say but Denver cuts me off. "A horrible time to talk about stuff like that." He says and I immediately nod. "You're right, you're right." I tell him. Why am I acting like such a fucking little boy. You're a grown man, Alessio. We pull into the warehouse and I shut the car off. "Let's get this over with." I say and Denver pulls out two silver glock 17's before checking the magazines and chamber the rounds.

STEEL The scent of diesel and blood filled the air. The docks had fallen silent, save for the steady drone of the generator and the relentless pounding of the waves. I stood at the entrance of the warehouse, the barrel of my gun shining beneath the overhead floodlight, and observed Damian attempting to persuade one of his men to repair the jammed gate. He was older, less strong. Yet I could still perceive the same icy arrogance in his stance — that slight lift of his chin, as if the world still owed him its backbone.