Lock Shock And Barrel Novels & Stories

"I won't be going. The company wants me to liaise with one of our clients." The police officer didn't believe in Thomas' flimsy excuse. "You can return home once you're done giving your statement at the station. You can liaise with your client as long as you want after that." Thomas swallowed nervously. He swept his gaze over the living room and suddenly pointed at Oliver, who was crawling on the ground. "Look! Isn't Ollie holding the missing money?"

“Come see if you don’t believe me.” My legs took me towards him. They shook the whole time, and I hid my trembling hands around my waist. I stopped beside him and knew he was right before I bent down. I knew that the padlock he held in his hand was ours, the one we so lovingly carved our initials into. The one I painstakingly carved a deer’s print into so we’d always remember it was ours. So if we ever found it, we would know. It was unmistakable. A generic lock like so many others, yet so unique.

“Tonight the western quay and the eastern fence will run four circuits; the inner ring stays unchanged. If they’re ‘tuning’ in the outskirts, the two decoy pegs will give different errors—they won’t know which is the ‘real’ beat.” “Let’s not place the third bait yet,” Mae notes. “We need a reserve in case one gets damaged.” “Agreed.” ⸻ Eight minutes before lock-down, the run begins. In the storage, the bolts slide into place without a sound. In the armory, doors don’t knock. In the kitchen, the last dish slides onto the lowest shelf just as the servant hall door settles soft. On the edge of the Khan Hall, Rhaell gives a barely audible tap—“signal”—then silence.

"You invented weapons?" "Yes. Pistols to be specific." He pulled out a pistol from his belt that looked quite unique. "This is my latest invention." He held out the flintlock and she took it to investigate what could be unique about it. It was lighter than the usual ones, but she guessed that it was the lock technique that was different. "What is different about this flintlock?" "This I call the snakelock. Everything is mechanical and it doesn't need to be filled with anything but bullets. The barrel rotates automatically, making firing several bullets after another faster."

A gasp and I watched his eyes roll into his head as shot went off and quickly, I ducked down into the chair as more shots were fired. "Where is she? I told you to shoot her first you idiot" A voice I recognised all too well said, it was the bar-girl or something called Barbara. My hands went straight to my purse and I cursed when I found out the purse I had brought out was the chain locking one I loved but it had a problem, it made noise whenever it's opened and sound wasn't what would help me here. I felt my heart rate fly up as the feeling of doom began to set into my bones.

Conrad suggested and grabbed a vast rusted padlock. Garret and I stood behind Conrad, looking over his shoulder. Despite his werewolf strength, Conrad had difficulty breaking the lock. It seemed to resist him as if waiting for a worthy person to open it. "Maybe I'll try it?" Garrett volunteered after Conrad had been struggling with the lock for over twenty minutes. With undisguised shame, Conrad stepped aside, giving Garrett room to show off. He rolled up his sleeves and decided to crush the padlock instead of tearing it. However, this attempt also did not produce any results. He only managed to achieve more calluses on his already calloused hands.

The sound of iron hitting the ground tells me to buy chains, “12 to 0.551 hexagonal link steel chain with titanium reinforcements, almost impossible to cut or break.” Steel chains? Impossible to cut or break? What do you need them for? Who are you going to subdue with them? Are you also seeking protection for your mansion? I huff, becoming overwhelmed again. “Perfect,” he sounds satisfied, it was what I needed, I'll have to find out why, “And the locks?” “Four combination locks, stainless steel, Sir. Just as you asked for them. Is there anything else I can offered you ?” The girl asked.

Without having a thumb, getting the padlock open was going to be a problem. "Come on, Abby, think!" I thought, eyes darting around for any sign of an alternative route or tool that could help me break the lock. Then, it hit me – I remembered seeing a discarded crowbar near one of the toppled tables just a few moments ago. Racing back to retrieve it, I clutched it tightly in my maw.

"Mister Locke, I know it is not my place to request this upon you, but you can't just screw all of Rostead over for your own personal gain." "Oh, really? What, are you going to stop me? Do you want to kill me? I've dominated the economy for two whole decades. God knows how many people want me dead! It's a pity they all ended up dead, and you're going to meet the same fate as them, Wilbur Penn!" Having finished his response, Locke suddenly reached out with his right hand. His arm extended a dozen or so meters, grabbing Wilbur and raising him into the air. A powerful, terrifying aura filled the room. Wilbur summoned the thunder cleaver, swinging it out and chopping Locke's arm clean off before