Zero Point Gravity Gun Novels & Stories

Then I snapped off a small belt from a stack at the side and slapped it into my waist. “Activate kinetic forcefield,” I shouted as I lifted my blaster and cocked it. A shimmering blue barrier flickered around me, visible for about half-a-second before vanishing. I took in a deep breath and sighed as I slowly stepped out onto the ramp. The song faded behind me and my feet landed on the snow-blanketed ground. The rocks cracked under my boot and the strong smell of metal and nitrogen hit me, stinging my lungs. The weight of my gun lessened as I slowly stepped away from the ship. The gravity here was lighter than earth’s.

I raised my head just as the first zinc-plated enforcer dropped from the darkness of the ceiling girders. He didn't use a parachute or a cable. He landed directly on the central concrete walkway, his four-toed magnetic claws punching two-inch craters into the solid masonry with a concussive bang that shook the marrow in my shins. His jaw was split wide open, the silver data-ports beneath his zinc teeth spitting a thin stream of blue lubricant as his three-layered blue quartz lens spun wildly inside its socket, trying to lock its tracking solution through the dense, white sulfur smoke.

He gradually gained a foothold in the American underworld with a Thompson submachine gun. The submachine gun, known as the Chicago typewriter, became the spiritual heritage of the Zanos. It was said that until the year before last, this submachine gun was hung in the center of the wall of the main hall of Zano Manor. It was not until the new generation of Zano leaders decided to clean up that the gun was taken down from the wall. However, taking down this gun did not mean that the Zanos’ would retire.

Charles was still stubbornly trapped in his delusions, and he screamed, "Just wait a little more! I have to be right, my superpower lets me see the future!" Having lost her trust in him, Iris shook her hand out of his grip and ran straight out the door. However, the weather outside had already become -94°F, and there was no more electricity and water, much less any transportation, so she had no choice but to return to the Dennings. Sipping another warm cup of milk tea, I activated my generator. Because of the weather, the surveillance footage was cut out more often than not, but I could tell what was going on at their place through the comments in real time.

Jim grunted through clenched teeth, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort of resisting the grasp of gravity as over three hundred pounds of weight, stretched through his woman’s bleeding wrists, swung in the storm gales beneath him. Marcus’ finger twitched on the trigger, but before he discharged the Glock, Johansen let go. With gravity pulling at thirty-two feet per second, it took less than two seconds for the doctor to hit the bottom, his head cracking against the stony floor.

The only difference between the two is Promethians have nerve cords that stick out of the back of their heads going to their hips For his weapon, Clayton uses a modified Magnus 12-inch barrel – a Type 1 Gatling gun code-named as the “Trencher”. This firearm could fire over 2400 rounds per second and uses a 90mm Pandemonium-class caliber round – an impact-based high explosive round. This gun can create trenches on its own compared to all of its counterparts. This new type can destroy a bunker by firing just a quarter of its magazine in contrast to anti-air batteries used against tanks that look like a windup toy.

"Oh, that won't help." Zamonte spoke before the tickle in Ravyn's arm returned and spread all over her. She felt strangely relaxed and felt the gun heavier in her hand. *bang* *bang* Ravyn tried to focus on firing Drive Ammo at Zamonte in order to intimidate him. But it turns out that the two hands supporting the gun didn't have enough strength to weigh it and fire simultaneously. The compressed air, when fired, points to the ground and pushes Ravyn back, knocking her down. Before Ravyn hit the ground, Zamonte's arms had already supported her.

she whispered. Amy froze. Ellie’s hand slid into Amy’s coat, found the gun at her waist, cocked it with trained precision and raised it. One shot, the crack of it shattered through the club like thunder. The man behind Amy screamed, blood exploded from his shoulder and he dropped the weapon. Amy spun around, eyes wide the man was on the ground, writhing, screaming, arm mangled. Amy didn’t hesitate, she stepped forward, fired one clean shot into his hand—shattering bone, the gun went flying. Silence in the club, absolute silence.

Siete states and grabs one of the guns to demonstrate. He raised the gun aiming toward a metal panel and with one pull of the trigger, the weapon blasted a flash of blue-white light that pierced a perfect smoking hole in the steel. It didn’t make any prominent loud noise except from the low thrum but the destruction power of the weapon was formidable. I took the gun from Siete and weighed it in my hands. I can’t help but smirk in disbelief. Ever the same powerhouse as they have been. I’m half-impressed and angered about the gap between us.