Novel & Cerita The Gunroom

Taren's POV The shooting room was on the second floor, exactly where Mateo said it would be. It was longer than I expected, with bare concrete walls and a low ceiling. The smell hit me the moment I walked in. Gun oil, spent powder, and the faint metallic edge that clings to a room where weapons are used regularly, and the windows stay shut. Strip lights ran the full length of the ceiling. At the far end, a track system held paper targets, motorised and set to move on a timer.

"I'm going to check the ammo supply. Don't leave this room." The heavy door slams shut. I’m alone. Eleni. The name hangs in the air, heavy and secret. I look at the gun. I look at the target. I’m not reloading. I walk to the back of the range. There’s a small office there—a glass-walled cubicle where they keep the targets and the cleaning supplies. I push the door open. It smells of stale coffee and dust. A metal desk sits in the corner, covered in paperwork and boxes of ammo.

They alighted from the car and went to the booth to take out there ammunition. Together, the three of them entered into the warehouse with there guns and other equipment, three men were seated playing cards when they entered the first room,Rainbow nodded

The air inside the small cabin grew noticeably colder the deeper we traveled into the ground. The doors finally slid open with a soft chime. We stepped out into a long, brightly lit concrete tunnel. The walls were thick and entirely devoid of any decorative trim or paint. I followed Kade down the tunnel until we reached a massive steel door. He punched a six-digit code into a rusted keypad on the wall and pulled the heavy handle downward. We stepped into the underground armory and firing range. The room smelled strongly of sharp gunpowder and pungent gun oil. The space was incredibly large, featuring four separate shooting lanes divided by thick ballistic glass. The back wall was lined with

“Let’s keep moving.” They exited and followed another hallway that smelled faintly of gun oil and leather. Neva pushed open another heavy door. “This is the weapons floor,” she said, and Calla stepped into a cavernous room lined with racks of firearms, everything from sleek pistols to military-grade rifles. The walls gleamed with meticulously polished blades, and a glass case in the corner displayed antique weapons that looked more ceremonial than practical. A group of men stood in formation while a tall, broad-shouldered instructor barked orders. They glanced up at Calla, offering subtle nods before resuming their drills.

My jaw literally drops on the floor, heart slamming against my ribcage. The place is wide, bearing that familiar look of a standardized CEO office with a large mahogany desk and swivel chair, a mini fridge, flowers, artworks, overhead light that chases away shadows, a black leather couch, coffee table, carpet, and many more I can't name. However, none of these sends a barrage of chills down my spine except the hundreds of guns I see lined up on the shelves that span across the room— Glocks, RPGs, revolvers, MK 47, muzzleloaders, and many more.

Its strategic positioning allowed for a comprehensive view of both the car's interior and the entrance of the hotel. With unified determination, we strode purposefully through the hotel's corridors, our destination fixed on room number 15. Upon arrival, I cautiously retrieved the key and silently unlocked the door, gently pushing it open just a crack. Anticipation filled the air as we braced ourselves for the expected eruption of gunfire. True to my instincts, the sound of bullets being discharged pierced the silence, though their muted report suggested the use of a suppressor, ensuring that the chaos remained contained within the confines of the room. After five succinct shots, the hail of

Naomi’s Pov The gear room in the safehouse was cramped, lit by a single hanging bulb that flickered every few minutes. Metal shelves lined the walls, stacked with vests, ammo, radios, and a mess of equipment that only made sense to people who lived in Cassian’s world. Rubio sorted through a crate on the floor, cursing under his breath at tangled wires. Mara checked her guns on the small workbench, cleaning each one with practiced ease. And Cassian…

The door opened with a soft hiss, and he pushed it open to reveal a huge underground room lit with soft, fluorescent lights. I stepped inside, my eyes widening in shock. The room was lined with weapons: guns, knives, and other equipment I couldn't even name, line upon line of them. At one end, targets and training dummies were set up; another section seemed dedicated to tactical gear. A full-scale armory, right beneath the surface, completely hidden from view. I stood there, frozen, taking in the sheer scale of it all. "This… this is where you train?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from the vast collection.

The air smelled of candle wax and gun oil. At the end of the hallway, double doors hung slightly ajar. My pulse thumped hard once. I raised my pistol and pushed the door open with my foot. What had once been a ballroom was now a fucking armory. Crates of rifles. Ammo stacked high. Kevlar vests. Enough firepower for a small army. Elizabeth sucked in a breath. “Jesus.” My lip curled. “He’s preparing for war.” Raphael spat a curse. “This isn’t a hideout. It’s a staging ground.”