Steampunk Pistol Novels & Stories

“Yeah. Something small. Something that fits in a purse and don’t forget.. it should be fully fucking loaded.” He nodded slowly. Honestly, I was really hoping he understood exactly what kind of “small” I meant, and led me toward the glass case at the back. Rows of handguns sat gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and for a second I just stared at them, feeling something settle in my chest that almost felt like calm. If they wanted a war, I’d give them one. “This one’s popular with women your size,” he said, sliding a compact black pistol across the counter and over to me. “Easy grip, light recoil.”

it cried out as he clawed at it. The dark woods rustled in front of her and she drew her knees up to her chest, huddling in fear. Now what could be coming after her? A white man stepped out wearing a steampunkish getup that made him look a lot like Jeremy Rinner from Hansel & Gretel. He leveled his weapon that looked like a small crossbow had successfully mated with a larger assault rifle. The man pulled the trigger once and another bolt flew into the back of the writhing werewolf. The werewolf screamed in agony and the girl actually cheered. "Yeah! Karma's a bitch, ain't it!" she yelled in elation, pumping a fist in the air at her savior.

We put on our goggles, head-pieces and gloves and made our way towards the counter where Charles provided us with our guns. "Which model is this?" Trevor asked as he ran his fingers over the metallic body of pistol. "Automag Four, .45 Winchester Magnum Cartridge." I responded. Trevor nodded in approval, "I personally prefer 5 but this will do nicely too." I grinned. "You know, I kept the bullet from the first time you taught me how to shoot."

Timothy was dumbfounded when Caspian snatched the pistol from his hands. He couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. He had simply burst into laughter and his pistol was already in Caspian's hands. Before anyone could realize what had happened, Caspian had disassembled the pistol into metal scraps. "You're still too young to be playing with guns!" Caspian said as he tossed the disassembled parts away. To a battle-worn soldier like Lord Caspian, a pistol was, at best, a toy.

Whatever the job calls for. To the right were all my favorite weapons. All of them were clean, organized and dusted which I actually care about. Knives were all balanced and personalized. I’ve got daggers tucked into false books and one coated in clear poison that kills in under three minutes. There were guns too like compact pistols, modified Glocks, even a matte-black sniper rifle broken down in a case under the floor tiles. Full magazines stacked in metal drawers. All untraceable. All mine. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to go unnoticed when you wear a smile and carry juice boxes in your purse.

Honestly, they could have gone for a mustang, this beat up Mercedes was not the Caroni way but she was a beggar now, not a chooser. It was clean, that was something at least. The second thing she noticed was the compartment in the middle of the back seat. She pulled it open straight away and a fleet of weapons greeted her, guns, knives, daggers, military grade grenades, the works. She didn’t make time to establish all of it, just the Sauer P320 that had a rubber grip that was lined with gold. It stood out like a sparkling beacon. She knew this gun.

He reached out and snatched the smoking rifle from the hands of a trembling Ironhead ganger who looked barely out of his teens. "You aren't holding a scrap-pipe nail gun anymore, kid," Leo scolded, his tone stern but not cruel. He effortlessly checked the rifle's chamber with his massive, armored fingers. "This is a mil-spec kinetic driver. It has recoil. It has bullet drop. If you jerk the trigger like you're trying to snap a chicken's neck, you're going to shoot the guy standing next to you." Leo turned to the disorganized line of forty gangers and laborers standing in the mud. They were wearing a mismatch of dirty rags and high-end, composite-weave ballistic vests. It looked like a mediev

“Next door, my lord. “Give me something small, destructive, and perhaps silent. I think the pistol will do. - Well, I'll pick up something excellent for you, you definitely won't find something like this among people, a symbiosis of technology and fine materials, I'll go to the warehouse. - Gudeauard returns with a shiny pistol in his hands and a few extra clips. The novelty is almost silent, while it releases explosive charges with a special filling, tears the body and seriously slows down the healing of the wound. - with a gleam in his eyes, the keeper holds out the weapon to the vampire. Brook-ta-man looks at the trunk with interest. - Added Baltic Ghoul saliva to suppress regeneration? t

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