What Does Armed Mean On Blink の小説・ストーリー

< Octavia > I watched him walk away. I wasn’t sure who he was. I had never met him before. ‘’Is that a problem?’’ Bree asked, watching me. I could hear the panic in her voice and I was beginning to regret telling her what I had noticed. ‘’I don’t think so. We just need to know they know we’re armed.’’

She followed closely behind him and the two disappeared into the forest. "Did you notice?" Weaver asked and Alex nodded. "Her brother is blind. That's probably why she thought it best to talk it out." Alex said and Weaver nodded. "Don't tell the others about the male being blind. It'll provoke some of the others to try and run him off." Alex said and Weaver nodded in understanding. "I'll take a group to start setting up markers upon our new territory." Wever said and Alex nodded wondering how someone who couldn't see had survived this long. He had help from his sister but he didn't seem to rely on her. . . .

I asked, barely above a whisper. He hesitated, his eyes darting to the timer. I could see his throat move as he swallowed hard. “Answer me,” I said, louder this time. He sighed shakily. “Yes… it’s bad. It’s a Crimson Ultra Charge, my lady. Military grade. One of the deadliest kinds.” My blood ran cold.. “Get me out of here,” I snapped, my voice rising. Blake ran a hand through his hair, scanning the straps and wires. “We have to stay calm…”

As Arla ran into the house, Liam's eyes caught sight of one of his guards staring lustfully at her. A surge of fury coursed through him. He swiftly drew his gun and, in a flash, shot the guard's arm. The man fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding limb and whimpering in pain. With a cold, dispassionate expression, Liam gestured to his bodyguards, who quickly dragged the injured man away to face the consequences of his disobedience.

I scan each blandly beautiful face with their designer make-up and designer bodies. None are familiar... ... and I pass over. ... Great green eyes, in alabaster skin set in a sea of copper-red hair... Get a grip... ... Armed figures patrol the shore and the moorings. More figures stand by the gates, also armed... What are they carrying? Some kind of semi-automatic rifle... Or are they SMGs? It hardly matters. Nothing they have is remotely capable of the range needed to hit me, even if they knew where to aim.

His hands, concealed behind him, casually brush against the handles of his trusty firearms, snugly nestled in the back holster. But that isn't all, for he's also armed with a retractable batten and a hunter's knife, ready to strike at a moment's notice. He came here packing, ready to take on every mother fucker that has the balls to cross me and surprisingly, Blake has been the only one to do so. I drag Blake into the middle of the dance floor. The thick scent of curiosity hangs in the air as everyone starts to circle us. Some smile while others stare at one another with their brows raised before their attention returns to us.

Oliver coughed in pain, and stared at Arman in pain, “Fuck! Shoot him!” Everyone was shocked, and the five armed men were about to shoot Arman—But Arman's Ten bodyguards showed up and got into a big fight with Oliver’s men in the parking lot. Seeing them fighting in clean black suits was breathtaking, and I saw Arman trying to close his eyes and calm himself. I doubted that he had something on his nails, and it was thick black claws. I said softly, "Arman? Your nails...." Arman said grunting his teeth, “Come with me….”

They ducked behind the container just as bullets slammed into the metal. Sparks flew. “His backup,” Adrian muttered. “How many?” “Enough.” Not reassuring. Not even close. Her pulse raced as she peeked around the edge— Two men. Armed. Positioned between them and the vehicle. Guarding him. Of course. “He’s not running,” she said. “No,” Adrian replied. “He’s finishing this.” The countdown. Her chest tightened. “How much time?” she asked. Adrian checked the device in his hand— The mirrored feed.

The air seemed to vibrate with tension, heavy with the weight of unspoken words, as if the very act of destroying the knife had become a declaration of intent, a statement of my capabilities “Bold of you to assume we have provoked them at all.” Blaze said. My eyebrow arched upward in a subtle, inquiring gesture. “Cryomancers never attack unless provoked, it’s not in their nature.” My response was measured and neutral, carefully calibrated to avoid any hint of sarcasm or provocation. Blaze's reaction, however, was telling. His eyes, those piercing, intense orbs, betrayed a flicker of concern, a glimmer of worry that he couldn't quite conceal.

"That's why you get along so well with him. “I'll do my best to guide the conversation to where we care tomorrow. Being around Bram, I believe if we're worthy enough, he'll mind getting us well armed too. Like those other two guard dogs. "It doesn't travel." I smiled at the extravagant idea. "Maybe not anytime soon, of course, but you never know." He grumbled without looking at me. "I noticed too. "Then there is a possibility that they are more blind than we think." He whispered. "I hope so." I was silent for a while. "Do you think those guys out there are armed? "Perhaps, but I don't think so. Bram can make weapons available only in the most necessary cases." I looked at him for a moment.