Jjk Weapons Novels & Stories

"Alright, your mistake is forgiven this time. Quickly choose your weapons." Edward and Richard immediately headed to the weapon storage room, selecting which firearms they would use for this practice. They all had enjoyed shooting as a sport since their university days, especially Kenzi and Kaivan. Both of them were most skilled in using various types of firearms, from short-barreled to long-barreled ones. For this practice session, Kenzi, Edward, and Richard all chose the same Glock Meyer 22 pistol, made in Austria. Meanwhile, Kaivan chose the long-barreled H&K MP5, produced in Germany.

Ben Carter stared in horror at the horde rushing towards them like zombies outside the window. “Jack!” Aria suddenly screamed, “Right! Three o’clock! High energy! It’s the Council’s ‘puppet’!” A group of men in black, blending into the National Guard, ignored the chaotic gangsters, moving with ghostly speed, raising a specially made weapon that gleamed with silver light! “It’s ‘Aconite’ poison gas and ‘Silver Core’ armor-piercing rounds!” Jack instantly recognized the weapons; they were specifically designed for hunting werewolves!

"Military, contract work, the whole spectrum. Diego handles breach and clear. Wallace does locks, alarms, and anything mechanical. Kim's our tech, handling cameras, comms, and drones. And I run point." "What about weapons?" Ethan asked. "Depends what you've got access to," Diego said, speaking for the first time, his voice a low rumble. "We don't carry across borders with us. Too risky." "I've arranged for equipment," Ethan said. He walked to a locked case sitting against the wall and entered a code, the latches clicking open. Inside, nestled in foam cutouts, were a PSS pistol, the silent Soviet-era design, nearly undetectable when fired, a compact crossbow with a quiver of bolts, and an air

"Keep building the zombie legion. We're going to prepare a few more surprises for our enemies." ... After leaving the lab, Jake made his way to his pocket dimension to inspect his weapons stockpile. [Universal Rounds: 190,000] [Universal Sniper Rounds: 10,000] [Explosives: 5,000] [Howitzer Shells: 3,000] "Plenty of quantity, but the quality could still use some work." Aside from Universal Rounds, he planned to synthesize the rest of his ammunition. As for why he wasn't upgrading the Universal Rounds, it was because the 1130 CIWS burned through ammunition too fast — upgrading them wouldn't leave many left, and the Universal Rounds already packed enough punch as they were.

No toys or anything around. "Where is your son?" Jasmine stopped dead in her tracks. A cold air swept through her spine making goosebumps grow on her skin. She had been avoiding the idea of even talking about him. The kind of emotions that swelled up within her were not warm or welcoming at all; there were cold, dark, and void of anything positive. "I don't know." She said blankly, then continued on cleaning a weapon in her hand. There was an OKC (Ontario Knife Company) marine combat knife, a Usmc marine tactical combat knife, a black Smith and Wesson's firearm and about a dozen bullets.

He muttered, and without waiting for any response, he yanked his coat off the rack. They all followed without hesitation. This was targeted. This was about him. And there would be consequences. __________ Johny's Penthouse—Weapons Room The underground armory was lined with weapons—Glock 19s, tactical knives, assault rifles, and grenades. The air was thick with the scent of gun oil and something heavier: anticipation. Johny stood at the center, his movements precise, methodical. A Glock slid into his holster. A tactical knife strapped to his belt. A backup firearm at his ankle.

he says but takes one of the guns I picked up from the crash anyway. I approach the wall of weapons and reach for one of the black drones. This thing is awesome. It has a camera and an open space. They have eight of them and they look expensive. The smaller white ones look like toys. "You can have those," Leelie says jogging over to us. "They're too obvious. They make a lot of noise," "Jayk won't get mad?" I ask her. "I don't see why he would. That and you deserve it for tonight and all the other shit you've been doing for us. Let him try and take 'em from you," she smirks.

The attacked from his morning breath first made him flinch, which he quickly shrugged off, and went on with adjusting the waistline of his trouser. The left halve of the trailer housed a mattress, clothes and other junks he could find, while the other were a kitchenette, an old table, and his weapons. He then walked over to the right end of the trailer where sat the lazy rickety old looking table with a coarse honey-brown surface, and a limping leg supported by a slightly smaller wood right underneath. His eyes carefully went over the items on it: a disembodied Glock 17 9mm pistol, a weapon with the rare antique class of the past age -near extinct; an army knife with one smooth razor sharp e

She walked towards the table and peered down on the varieties of gun ranging from the pistol to the machine gun. "These are my babies." Jessy grinned devilishly at her. Her hands introduced the guns. "Here is the rifle, it's a bit rusty for learners, this one's called a shotgun. And this is the magnum, the revolver and here is my favourite Uzi." Jessy pointed the Uzi submachine gun at Dale. "Please don't joke with these things." Dale begged but Jessy was now acting so serious. "I said get down!" Jessy shouted in a louder tone. "On your knees."

He looked like devil in uniform—unrealistically broad, calm, dangerous in a way that made the mounted lions in the hunting room look like playful kittens. Weapons were next. He laid them out on the well-lived oak table as if we were playing cards: Glock 17, black polymer, grip rough enough to sandpaper fingerprints. Heckler & Koch MP5, compact, folding stock, whisper suppressor already mounted. Ka-Bar knives, edges blackened, sheaths worn smooth from too many last resorts. A pouch of grenades that looked like toys until you imagined your lungs shredded across a wall. I ran a finger along the Glock’s slide. It was cold, simple and honest. Tools of death are always more honest than the mouths