Steampunk Pistol の小説・ストーリー

The matte-black survivors were caught in the wake, their bodies dissolving into silver dust as they were pulled upward. Dante drew his custom obsidian sidearm, firing into the sky, but the bullets simply vanished into the light. From the belly of the ship, a dozen silver tethers—long, jagged harpoons made of liquid metal—launched toward the balcony. They moved like snakes, seeking the heat of our shared nervous system.

He kept his palm tucked inside his jacket on a Manton-made pistol. A sharp cry above was his only warning to sidestep as a chamber pot was emptied overhead. He moved into a yellow pool of light, bumping into a ragged whore. "Care for a quickie, love?" The woman's painted face was a mask of disease and hardship. Blankenship cursed and ducked back into the shelter of the shadows. Something squirmed under his boot. He kicked out, sending a rat scurrying. The next turn he took was down Dorset Street, his fingers curled around the handle of his pistol as he approached a tavern called The Black Boar's Head.

"Then you don't rule at all." He stepped back. His hand moved with a frantic, twitching speed. The safety catch disengaged with a sharp, metallic snap. The sound traveled through the desert air, hitting me with a pressure wave. It was dry. Final. Mechanical. Kaine drew his pistol. The Barzil-steel frame was heavy and cold. The capacitor in the grip glowed a low, hungry red. He aimed it at my chest. Right over the silver wolf pin. "Then I'll rule by force," Kaine said.

With her hands up the air, she stood still waiting help. "Zitizzz!" A tiny sound put the guards into confusion. Swivelling around, not aware of what made the noise that seemed to be familiar to them, a loud blast raised dust from the ground before the guards and suddenly snipe sounds and bullets flying all around. Steven slowly walked out with a weapon in his hand, strangely created as its looks seemed like a hand canon. Heavy metals as body and surrounding the tip of the weapon. "What the fuck is that?" Khloe asked as she struggled to see through the thick dust and misty environment.

Eason picked up the pistol to take a look at it. It was a new model widely circulated on the black market; light and had a powerful long-range shot.

Cylo went left, and Ivo went right. They were armed with special pistols that could fire needles coated with poison. With these pistols, they could move more quietly but still effectively incapacitate the guards. “Tsk, first I have to incapacitate you guys,” muttered Ivo, who had found several guards who were still unaware of his presence. He fired two needle bullets at someone who was on guard until the guard immediately collapsed to the ground. There was no excessive noise, and everything was completely silent. It turned out that these pistols were really effective at incapacitating guards like this.

Please-please. Pouches, clips, and cold metal. My fingers closed around the smooth grip of the sting gun. I yanked it free, flipped the safety with a snap, and leveled it at his chest—heaving, ragged, and far too close. The bright red barrel trembled slightly in my grip, but my aim didn’t falter. Pow! Theo’s glassy eyes widened as the neuro-sting darts hit his nude chest with a sickening thk-thk.

Reva watched the huge steamers, plies and plies of iron and shining guns. She asked him, “Is this what you do?” “Yes, I make weapons,” She nodded and went to see the guns, that were being polished by his pack members. She’s the only person looked different compared to the others. They were dirty and sweaty in the heat. Viktor smiled seeing her curiosity and stood behind watching her every move.

The two walked into the cabin one after another, where three more people were already present - two of Alexander's bodyguards and a man who seemed to be the boatman. In the center of the cabin were two large wooden crates. As Alexander approached, the bodyguards opened the crates for him. Inside the waist-high crates were neatly arranged firearms. Alexander casually picked up a pistol, turned it over a couple of times, and tossed it to Ethan. Ethan might not be well-versed in real estate, but firearms were his forte. "Glock 19, 9mm caliber, compact, lightweight, easy for concealed carry." "You seem to know your stuff," Alexander noted.

This clearing belonged entirely to the Queen. Brandon backed away until his steel cuirass pressed against the hot, vibrating brass boiler of the central steam-gun. Realizing his men were entirely broken, his hand crept down to the hilt of his own weapon—a heavy, single-edged imperial saber fitted with a small pneumatic piston along the spine to increase its cleaving power.