Instantly, several double-barreled sentry guns popped out of the ceiling of the Armory and trained on us. A few other Volunteers side-eyed the situation, but most kept to themselves as they perused the shop. They didn’t want to get involved.
The hollow but firm voice of Colonel Peacekeeper called out.
“Remember, soldiers. No violence of any kind is tolerated within this establishment of deadly weapons and mass destruction. If you want to test your wares, use the Firing Range or the Dojo.”
The distasteful man’s snarl melted into a sideways grin. He held up the butterfly knife, gave it a little twirl, and dematerialized it. After a delay, the sentry guns retreated as well.
“Yeah, yeah, Colonel. In that case, noob, hows about a friendly malenky test instead? My worst shot against you in the Firing Range. Revolvers only, since that seems to be your veshch. Is that a five shooter? Best out of five shots on a clean target. We filly for Crystals.”
A test? Filly? Are you saying you want to wager with Crystals? No way. I only have ten, and I am not giving them up.
“It’ll be a double bet. You win, we’s give you twenty. My veck wins, we’s take yours.”
I felt an unusual twitch somewhere deep within me, as if the words ‘double bet’ activated some reflex. An almost irresistible urge. It was even money, so to speak. But I had to be smart.
I only have five shots. I can’t afford to waste them.
“You gloopy nazz! Ammo is infinite in the Firing Range. If you can score higher than Buzzcut, you’ll be twenty Crystals richer.”
I looked to the side at the Volunteer apparently called Buzzcut. He had similar generic features as my avatar. Did that mean he hadn’t been in The Collective very long? I saw pale skin. A silver grill over his teeth. Extremely close-cropped brown hair. He was twitchy, materializing and dematerializing a small revolver over and over.
Double if I win? Fine.
I followed the group to the back of the room and through the door to the Firing Range. There were many lanes, most of them occupied by Volunteers testing out all manner of ranged weapons. The cacophony was incredible. At the end of the row, Buzzcut and I took our places before two empty lanes.
Buzzcut scanned his wrist barcode under a red light and I did the same. Two fresh targets appeared at the end of the lanes. Each target depicted the dark silhouette of a human torso, with concentric circles around the head and chest with various point values assigned.
“Remember, noob. Best score after five shots. You lose? We’s take your Crystals and whatever else you’re carrying.”
That wasn’t the deal!
The man just sneered, turning back to watch his goon.
Buzzcut raised his firearm. It was a larger caliber, with a longer barrel than the one I had just seen him holding a minute ago. Shiva. Had I been played?
A crack from his revolver, and a hole punched through the target to the center left of the torso. Scoring an 8.
Shiva, Shiva, Shiva…
I quickly opened my menu and equipped the snubnosed revolver, materializing it into my hand. I tested the weight, felt the cool metal and sturdy material of the handle. On some level it felt comfortable there, as if a muscle memory encoded in my cerebellum in some distant place activated. Maybe this wasn’t my first time handling a gun.
I held the revolver out in front of me with both hands, steadying myself, and fired. I missed the target entirely.
The leader of the cobras laughed derisively.
“Eight to nil. Four shots left!”
Buzzcut lined up another shot. 7, puncturing the target’s shoulder.
Looking down at the gun in my hands, I noticed the spent cartridge rematerialize in the cylinder. Infinite ammo in the Firing Range, indeed. Good to know.
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I readied another shot. This time I hit the target, but outside of the concentric circles. Scoreless.
“Fifteen to nil!”
Buzzcut aimed again. He pulled back the trigger and - missed! The leader was not pleased.
“Buzzcut, you fragface!”
I had a chance, however slim. Three shots left.
I narrowed my eyes and took a breath, holding it. I tried to visualize the revolver as an extension of my body, imagining an invisible line stretching from the barrel through the empty space of the lane. I fired.
A hit! A low gut shot. 7 points.
The cobras murmured. I also noticed several other Volunteers pressing themselves up against the bulletproof windows behind us, watching the competition.
15 to 7.
Buzzcut fired again. Another 7 points.
I inhaled, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. Another hit! 7 points this time, hitting the target to the wide right of the navel.
The score was 22 to 14.
We each had taken four shots, with only one left in the match. Many of the other Volunteers in the range had stopped shooting, curious to see the outcome. I wondered who they were rooting for. The ringleader was not pleased.
“If you frag this up Buzzcut, so help me…”
Buzzcut ran his tongue across the metal on his teeth. He shifted his weight from one leg to another. He carefully aimed his revolver and… missed!
There was a murmur from the growing crowd. I got the sense that these 'cobras' weren’t very popular with the other Volunteers. The possibility of seeing one or two of them embarrassed must have appealed to some.
This was it. All or nothing. I had to score at least an 8 to tie. So far I had two misses and two mediocre hits. Why had I agreed to this foolishness?
I raised my hands again, trying to disguise a nervous trembling as I clutched the weapon. I looked down the diminutive iron sights at the target that seemed so far away. The fact that I had managed to hit the target at all from this distance with this weapon was remarkable. What a stupid mistake!
But then–something strange happened. A tingling sensation like an icy fog coalesced around my right arm, and then my left arm. I felt the odd chill enveloping my fingers. I looked but saw nothing there, but I felt it. My trembling stopped.
Subtly, almost imperceptibly, my arms slightly rose of their own accord, aiming the revolver higher on the target than I intended. What was going on?! It felt like my body was being hijacked! But by who? Or what?
CRACK!
Without thinking, I fired the revolver. A premature, involuntary release.
The crowd was silent. My eyes shot up to the target in dread.
It was a bullseye. In the head of the target.
10 points! I won the match, 24 to 22! I couldn’t believe it. And the sensation of cold fog was gone. Evaporated. But in the moment I was so excited I didn’t notice.
The cobras stared at me in quiet disbelief and the crowd murmured enthusiastically. I made a play of blowing smoke off the barrel of my gun before dematerializing it and turned to face the gang.
Well? I’ll be taking those twenty Crystals now.
“What? We’s didn’t agree to that.”
Excuse me? You said it was a double bet, even money. Ten of my Crystals if I lost, twenty of yours if I won.
“You're bezoomny. We’s ain’t said nothing of the sort, noob.”
Some of the bystanders closest to us started to interject.
“If it isn’t true, Razor, open up your History and prove it.”
“Yeah! Don’t try to change the deal now. Show us your History!”
These Volunteers were genuinely standing up for me. Or at least standing against ‘Razor.’ I realized that if he opened up and shared his History, it would hold a record of every word he ever said in The Collective, including our little bet.
His steel lower jaw quivering with rage, Razor turned his black marble eyes back onto me.
“Frag it. Not worth the hassle. Twenty Crystals? Might as well be zero.”
He materialized twenty small gleaming crystalline geometric shapes and unceremoniously dumped them into my waiting hands. I fumbled, trying to not let any slip through my fingers. I desperately tried to add them to my inventory again and again.
[Alert! Account storage full.]
[Alert! Account storage full.]
[Alert! Account storage full.]
No!
The man called Razor glared with sheer malice.
“Better not drop those, little noob…”
Some of the other Volunteers, realizing my predicament, motioned for me to leave. A few shouted words of encouragement or advice.
“Hurry! Get those Crystals out of here.”
“Get your arse to the Data Forge!”
I nodded. If I dropped these, or somebody tried to steal them from me on the way, I could lose them all. Twenty precious Crystals. Desperately clutching the clinking, shimmering treasures in my cupped hands, I hurried out of the Armory and made a mad dash for the Data Forge.