Glock 26 Gen 5 Problems Novels & Stories

Thank you, Goddess Paranoia. My first tomahawk was in my left hand and my Glock-22 was in my right. My fear of snipers and the bend in the gully saved my life. We literally ran into each other, me and the first 7P soldier. His long barreled Type-05 was pointing past my left, his torso slammed into my pistol, ramming his front armored plate against it as it discharged.

she asks as she puts in the combination. I abhor guns but I can shoot, so I nod. "This is a Glock 26 Gen4. It has 10 in the magazine and one in the chamber ready to fire. If you've used a Glock before, you know the safety is in the trigger pull, so it's ready to go. Point and shoot." She expertly removes the magazine and the bullet in the chamber before handing it to me with the slide back. I give her an inquisitive look. She shrugs. "I was a cop and gun safety is fully embedded in my soul."

"Grab what you need." I let out a squeal of delight and begin to rummage through the throwing knives. I pick two that have a nice weight and balance to them and strap them to my hips. I grab a sword and strap it to my back. Now to the guns. I pass right by the rifles and straight to the handguns. A pink Glock 9mm catches my eye. I pick it up and aim it against an empty wall. The sight needs a bit of a tweak, but that is not something that I can't handle quickly. I strap the 9mm to my leg and turn to find my father and Osiris giving me a strange look.

"The car is⁠ armore‌d. Bul‌letproof​ glass. Reinforced chassi​s.⁠ Marco is⁠ s‍taying in the driver's sea‌t​. D‍o⁠ not o‍p‌e⁠n the d‌oor for anyone but m​e o​r Giovanni." He reached i​n⁠to t‍he bag and p​ull⁠ed out a smal​l​er gun. A com⁠pact Glock. He⁠ handed it to me.⁠ "Do yo‍u kn​ow how t‍o use this‍?"‍ ​"Point and shoot," I whispered, t‌he metal c​old and heavy in my hand.⁠ "‌Sa⁠f‍ety is o‍ff," h‍e said. "If a‌ny‍one trie⁠s to op⁠en that door‍, you‌ empty the c⁠lip. Do you understand?"

He stepped in front of Fiorella, shielding her. "Finish your drink, have something to eat, then go home. Father knows you're with me." Fiorella blushed and nodded, taking a small bite of cake that Caius fed her. Only after all that did he bother to look at me. "Wait." Caius stood up. "The gun you cleaned last time. The weighting is off." I paused. "What's wrong with it?" "The trigger pull is too heavy. The sight is off by three millimeters." He spoke to me like a screw-up, a subordinate. "How many times have I told you? Details are life and death."

He nodded his head in permission. If you need protection, let it be mine, not his. Upon receiving permission, Helena's nimble fingers disassembled the weapon with the familiarity of a veteran. Click, clack. In seconds, the parts were separated. She picked up the barrel and frame, analyzing the internal structure with eyes wide with disbelief. “A SIG Sauer P226?” She looked at him, shocked. “I made some personal modifications to the trigger and recoil spring,” Henrique replied, his expression impassive, as if he were talking about changing the oil in his car. “Now it's safer, more accurate, and won't jam in your hand.”

Mira shook her head, her earlier excitement tempered into focused attention. Christopher opened a locked case and pulled out a handgun. Even Jems, who knew nothing about guns, could tell it was beautiful in a dangerous way, all clean lines and matte black metal. "Glock 19," Christopher said, handling it with practiced ease. "Nine millimeter, semi-automatic. Standard issue for a lot of police departments. Reliable, relatively simple to use, and good for learning." He ejected the magazine with a smooth click, showed them it was empty, then racked the slide back to prove there wasn't a round in the chamber. Every movement was deliberate and purposeful.

He doesn't notice — couldn't notice — how my gaze quickly cuts to the rearview mirrors, checking the discreet presence of my men. My leather bag rests between us on the car seat, seemingly harmless — just another expensive designer accessory. But I know the weight it carries. The Glock 26, compact and deadly, is fitted into the special holster sewn into the lining. And beside it, wrapped in black silk, is the razor my mother gave me.

After a relaxing journey, the pilot announces we’ll be landing soon, so I get up and open the right drawer of the cabinet opposite the bed. I pull out the sleek black case and open it using fingerprint ID. Nestled safely inside is my old reliable Wilson Combat EDC X9. I love this gun. My father still maintains his gun of choice is far better, but whatever. This is the gun for me. 9mm calibre, 7.6” length with a 4” barrel and a beautifully ornate G10 starburst grip and beavertail that houses the grip safety. Weighing at 2.38lb with a 15+1 capacity, it’s definitely my gun of choice.

“I’ve seen pictures. I recall one from Central Park.” My stomach suddenly twisted. “Wrong place, wrong time.” “Ten millimeter. Most likely shot from a Glock 20. Automatic with a magazine that holds fifteen rounds, yet only one shot was fired.” Oren and I stared at Luca. None of that was common knowledge. “How? How do you know that?” I asked. “Family,” Vincent replied. “What are you saying?” Oren asked. “When family, even those we haven’t seen in years, is threatened in our backyard, we look into it.”