Steampunk Pistol Novels & Stories

I said before picking up a hand cannon of a pistol, "What's this one?" "That would be the PZ 600, the bullets underneath are as natural as you are, anything you hit with that will go down, money-back guarantee." I tied the holster to my side and all the ammunition in my bag, before setting the gun in the holster. Jameson and Damien were gathering stuff, Jameson just picking out what looked good while Damien was more methodical with his choices. Then I saw it, a weapon so perfect it didn't even look real. There was a scythe on the back wall, split in color down the middle, one side silver the other side gold.

"For the robot one." He looked at Vesper Thorne. "I don't have a white tuxedo," Cyprian grunted. "But I have this." He tossed Vesper a sleek, suppressed pistol. "Don't scratch it." Vesper caught it. He checked the chamber. "You're a peach, Cyprian." Modern Vespera caught the rifle. She checked the sights. She looked at her team. The Council of Vesperas. A Demon Queen. A Mob Boss. A Cyborg.

“Fine. You want in, you’re in.” They went to the armory room in the back of the club. Metal shelves lined with firearms, ammunition, and knives gleamed in the low light. Amy’s fingers skimmed along the collection before she pulled down a polished Colt 1911 and a snub-nosed revolver. Isadora grinned and took her favorites — a black Beretta M1951 and a sawed-off shotgun with a worn leather strap. “You ever notice,” Isadora said as she checked the Beretta’s magazine, “that people like us never really retire?”

APG MARK I. Unlike any weapon the boy had seen: compact, thick-barrelled, utilitarian enough to be beautiful. Metal filmed with humidity. A technician in wire frames and surgeon’s steadiness loaded red-banded armour-piercing rounds with the care of a sacristan, thumb pressing each cartridge into a curved magazine that swallowed them like oaths. A nearby soldier barked without looking up. “Nicht rennen, Junge!” (No running, boy!) Stephanos didn’t answer. He broke for the deeper tunnels where the camp’s lights thinned and the labyrinth began to keep its own counsel—where secrets went to ground and the world above learned to forget.