Novel & Cerita Steampunk Pistol

Alex and Lucca rushed forward, as did Khalid, and in less than two minutes all the enemies had been overpowered, some dead, but many were alive and would be interrogated. This pistol was something I had ordered from Khalid, because it was special, the bullets were made to kill werewolves, because they contained silver, wolfsbane and some other poisons. So even if I missed a vital area, my enemy would be weakened enough for me to aim again. Khalid approached and offered me a handkerchief and I wiped enough off my face, then turned to the cameras.

Kambiri replied "It's alright," He said. "So they gave you guys these pistols? I wish the bullets can ever finish, it is a very dangerous gun" Kamdiri said as he picks up the pistol which was on top of the ground and closed to him. "Yes, the pistol is special, billions of dollars were squandered in making of this pistol, the bullets don't run dry, you don't fix bullets to it," One of the men on black said. "Wow, we really have great equipment to attack the Vanguard city, which will be happening soon," Kambiri said in excitement.

The man mumbled with a hoarse voice, bringing his head down and looking sideways to continue making his list — something he was doing before she showed up. "El Depredador, Sobek Special, Double Clutch sniper guns, El Rubi and Ciervo Macho shutguns as well. I'm hoping you'd have the aforementioned here tonight." She gruffed, dropping a cheque on the table before him. He lifted up his head slowly to take a closer look at her as she drew near to him with those words coming out from a young teenager's lips.

We stay like that for a few seconds before I pull away from him. "Did you bring it?" I ask him, and he starts to nod his head frantically. "Yes, I did." He makes a gesture and removes something from the inner pocket of his jacket. He takes out a gun. "Is it in there?" I ask him, and he nods. "The bullets are made of thallium encased in grinded wolfsbane." Oliver says as he hands me the gun. The metal is cold and heavy to hold. Exactly how I imagined it to be. I hold it in my arms and flex it around, checking it.

She asked herself as she looked at the weapon in her hand. “Why would he need a pistol like this?” She asked herself again. It didn’t look like a normal pistol. She opened the chamber to see everything finely crafted. She was probably being delusional right now, but she was awed at its design. She took one of the bullets and bought it closer to her nose. Indeed it was filled with gunpowder. She turned the bullet around see TP carved on it as well. Same italic font except smaller in size to go with the small size of the bullet.

“What are you waiting for, young lady? Come in and pick your gun.” “O… Okay. Right away,” Sotiria answered tremblingly and entered the shop. She picked a silver mini pistol. The pistol was a tad shorter than her palm, and it fit into her pocket perfectly. The shop owner said that although the pistol was small in size and light in weight, it was incredibly powerful. If three people were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, she could penetrate the heads of all three at the same time with a single shot. It was also the most expensive pistol in his shop, and it cost more than 2 Black coins.

All alone, for as long as I could remember. Considering everything that had happened, I suppose what came next was inevitable. I grabbed my shirt and wiped my face. Glanced up and saw them, arranged in orderly piles on shelves under the sales counter. Hand guns. Pistols. Old revolvers and a few shotguns. I didn’t know what kind of pawn shop sells used guns. Didn’t know if it was legal, or if they had to do background checks or anything, or if they needed a license to sell them. But I was getting the idea by then, you understand, that no license existed for what Handy’s sold, and there they were. Hand guns, pistols, revolvers, shot guns and some rifles, all stacked neatly. And of course, sitt

“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?”

Years of practice had turned moving silently, even in the supposed safety of his room, into second nature. Shawn reached into the drawer again and removed a different weapon. He stuffed the Springfield into the belt of his pants for a moment as he inspected the new weapon. The sleek black pistol had no hammer and none of the usual trimmings that most weapons display. "Just some tourists, a gang of bikers," Catherine grumbled. "But they act weird."

I walked over to the workbench and pulled back the cloth. On the table rested three objects, each one a dark extension of my vision. The first was a pistol. But not just any pistol. It was organic, almost alive, its lines flowing like frozen water in motion. The metal wasn’t ordinary cold steel, but a dark alloy that absorbed light, a shade of blue so deep it looked like the bottom of the ocean at midnight. The surfaces were worked with patterns that resembled veins, as if the weapon had been grown rather than manufactured. The sound of a doorbell echoed through the Arsenal. The buyers had arrived.