Zero Point Gravity Gun Novels & Stories

Waverly raised her pistol and fired it without hesitation. In an instant, Giselle's face was distorted. She covered her ears in discomfort and knelt on the ground painfully. Her face was pale, without a trace of blood. It was the Thunder Gun designed by Joseph. Fortunately, it could hurt people with control. It could also injure and kill people. With different sound waves, the result was different. Waverly didn't press on the trigger for too long. After all, she didn't want to hurt anyone. If Joseph came out and saw her hurt his mother, he would definitely not let her go.

The boy’s followers opened fire on Crane. Two rounds hit his chest. He staggered back. Shocked. The boy spoke: “You made us. But you never owned us.” Crane tried to raise the remote again. Charlotte’s shot caught him in the hand. He dropped it. Screamed. Robert stepped forward. “Target down. Control unit deactivated.” Elias grabbed the remote. Looked at the still, silent clone version in the containment unit. And hit the kill switch. Version Zero went limp. Eyes wide open.

He acted on instinct. The sudden shift to Zero-G gave him the opening. The pressure was gone. The pain was still there, but his body was light as a feather. Jack coiled his legs against the ground—which offered a split second of friction before he floated—and launched himself. He didn't aim for Valerius’s head. He aimed for the suit. Valerius’s gravity suit had an external power coupling on the back—a thick, armored spine that glowed blue. Jack tackled Valerius in mid-air, the two of them spinning like a top amidst the floating debris and holographic rainbows.

The weapon was a beast, compact, lethal, designed for his company's black-market clients who demanded precision in chaos. He squeezed the trigger, bursts of rounds shredding the paper targets at the far end of the enclosed range. Bullet casings ejected in a hot cascade, clinking against the concrete floor. Satisfied with the recoil and accuracy, Ronan lowered the gun, flipping up his goggles to reveal piercing green eyes that scanned the damage. 'Effective,' he muttered, the word barely audible over the fading echo.

Elle was lying on the table, a halo of blue light surrounding her head. "Stop!" I yelled, pointing my silver handgun, the one that was supposed to be out of juice. Silas laughed. "I told you, it’s empty, Hazel." "I know," I said. I didn't point it at him. I pointed it at a large tank of cooling liquid next to the computer. "But I don't need a bullet to break a tank." I threw the heavy metal gun with all my might. It smashed into the glass tank. Cold, blue liquid poured out, flooding the floor.

“Think on it. When you are tired of being a pawn in their games, come find us.” He began to fade, his form dissolving into a swirl of shadow and green mist. “Oh, and a gift,” his voice echoed from the dissolving darkness. “For the puppy.” The grenade clattered onto the metal grating between Zero and me. It was old, military-grade, and it hummed with the same sickly green energy as the creatures. Zero’s eyes met mine across the distance. There was no time to run. No time to throw it. There was only the hum, and the light, and the choice.

"The wood... it’s been treated with the same mineral-oil that my grandfather used for the first press-rollers." ​In the center of the old kitchen, beneath a trapdoor hidden under a heavy cast-iron stove, we found the stairs. They didn't lead to a cellar; they led to a cathedral of stone and copper. ​This was the Vance Zero-Point. ​The room was filled with hundreds of glass jars, each containing a different iteration of "Indigo." But in the center of the room sat a device that defied every law of the Architect. It was a Gravitational Press—a machine that didn't use gears or electricity, but the subtle tidal forces of the earth itself to move the plate.

I peeked at Noah's screen. Adrian sat in his European office. He wore a crisp white shirt and smoked a thick Cuban cigar. He looked unbothered by Noah's rage. "I removed the firing pin," Adrian argued, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke. "It is perfectly safe. The gun serves as a teething toy. Pure gold is hypoallergenic. It builds jaw strength. She needs a proper grip." Noah gripped the phone tight enough to crack the glass screen. "A teething toy," Noah repeated, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying register. "You sent my unborn daughter a weapon of mass destruction to chew on."

I froze. A gun.

He squeezed the trigger. Click. The gun did not fire. The man frowned. He racked the slide. A bullet ejected. He tried again. Click. "What the hell?" the man panicked. "Dorian," I whispered. From the darkened interior of the van Dorian lowered his hand. He was holding a small black device. A magnetic pulse generator. It had jammed the firing pins of every mechanical weapon within fifty feet. "Your guns do not work," I told the mob. "But my claws do."