The Gunroom Novels & Stories

Chapter Nine You’re the Bullet, I’m the Gun 04:48 P.M. Cain’s private war room — Underground bunker, Safehouse Delta The smell of iron hung thick in the air. A long metal table stood at the center. Maps, weapons, surveillance photos. A bottle of whiskey half-drained. Bloodstained gloves. Two guns, one still warm. Cain paced slowly, shirtless, his body a canvas of new bruises and old rage. Saxon sat in the far corner, wrapped in a black robe, barefoot, silent. Watching him.

"Well come one, I'll show you," The group had already begun to split up and go to shooting ranges. The man lead her to the one on their right and followed the rest of the group as they walked to the side where there were little bunkers. Inside the bunkers were shelves and shelves of different guns and ammunition. Gwen thought it was weird that they were just here out in the open but she didn't say anything and just followed the man. He picked up what looked like a rifle and then a box of ammunition to go with it. "Come on,"

I still didn’t mind pulling the trigger and the pay was damn good. I parked my bike in the basement lot of HQ and took my helmet off. I surveyed the parking area, scanning it for the rest of my team’s vehicles. Inside the elevator, I inserted my ID card into the slot and the elevator doors closed and started to move. The doors opened on the 20th floor of the building and I walked to the ammunition room. I handed the rifle back to Ross, who was in charge of allocating weapons. “Hey, Jericho,” Ross said as I put the case down on the counter. “Back so soon?”

before today. The door shuts behind me, a moment later, it opens and closes again. "What are you doing?” “I thought it was high time I learned to use this,” I say without looking at him. “Please tell me that thing isn’t loaded?” “Can’t tell you that” I look around the room, at the far side is the space for shooting, there's a glass case with guns lining the walls, and a table beside it are some magazines. I'm standing on blue mats spread across the floor in front of me is another case of weapons, housing knives, I head to the gun part there are targets positioned around the room, a few are a few feet and in a line on one side, and some others positioned at random.

And with the way things were going, he might, one day, be forced to sneak it out GREZZO. He walked to his favorite shooting hall. Favorite because only a few people ever used it and he was one of the few. He nodded at the burly guard standing at the entrance. The guard handed him a cartridge and ushered him into the hall. His eyes roamed the grey hall. Florescent bulbs flickered overhead, giving it an eerie feel. Dried blood dotted the floor and stained the walls. His eyes found his mark. His human Mark.

The shooting range was nothing like what Jems expected. She'd imagined something loud and chaotic, full of tough-looking men firing weapons in every direction like some action movie. Instead, Christopher brought them to a private indoor facility on the outskirts of the city, sleek, professional, and almost clinical. The air smelled like gun oil and something metallic she couldn't identify. The walls were reinforced concrete, thick enough to swallow sound, and the only noise was the distant rhythmic pop, pop, pop of someone practicing in one of the far lanes.

A flight of stairs led them into the basement where they crossed numerous doors housing various facilities behind them before they arrived at their current destination: the shooting range. The room was like any other indoor shooting range with five targets on either side separated by counters and pillars. Serafina took the goggles and earmuffs her brother handed her from one of the counters before she watched him stand before a counter. His gun outstretched as he inhaled deeply, fixing his gaze on the target and pulling the trigger with an exhale.

That will hurt like a bitch. To my right is a wall with guns, every shape and size you can dream of. Beside the wall with all the guns, there is another bookcase. This one is almost overflowing with different types of silver bullets. When I look over my shoulder, I see a large screen showing different angles of the borders and forest surrounding the eclipse pack. Below the screen is some sort of control panel and a colour-coded map of the pack. Yeah, this isn’t a vault. It’s a war room.

"Target the basement door. Minimal yield. And try not to hit the structural supports, I'd like the roof to stay on my head for at least five more minutes. I have a shampoo appointment tomorrow." “Charging railgun. Zzt-Zzt-Zzt. Fire.” The slug blew the door off its hinges. It flew across the room, crashing into the command center inside with a satisfying crunch. We ran through the smoke. The room was filled with terrified men, scrambling for weapons. But Armano and I were already there. We fired with precision, dropping their weapons, disarming them before they could even aim. "Drop the guns!" I shouted. "Unless you want to find out if the railgun has another round! Spoiler: It does!"

Tactical Eyewear and over-the-ear muffs. We walk towards the double doors. Dale says it is to keep the noise from the range from deafening the people in the lobby; there’s almost always a small hallway with two heavy pressurized doors. Following the rule, we don’t open both doors at the same time. We enter the first, let it close completely, and then open the second to enter the firing line. Once inside the firing line, a long rectangular room, shooters stand in individual booths, separated by thick, bulletproof glass.