Many years ago...

RPC Stormavsirkel

The shell was not supposed to be there. The Commandant had brought his old '87 scatter pipe to the rage the day before along with a stock of hand-loaded black power shells for it. One had tumbled form the shell pouch and become mixed with the the regular smokeless shells. Had anyone spotted the differences there would have been no issues. No one did.

The gun should not have been there. RPC trainees were given training with the basic handguns - revolvers, auto loaders, and laser alike – so that they could carry one safely on graduation and that was it. This was to be a sampler day, with other firearms available for the trainees to try under close supervision by instructors and range masters. Shotguns and rifles were present and mostly accounted for, but one instructor had two trainees to keep track of. A shotgun was mislaid at a firing station. Had the proper safety procedures been followed then the extra shotgun would have been found.

The free fire section should not have been permitted. The RPC trainees had spent no more then half an hour with the rifles and shotguns. They had the basics of firearms safety masted long ago but had not near enough time with the new weapons to be truly familiar with them.

Funi'Happ'Sen found himself at a firing station with a shotgun and a box of shells. One looked a bit odd but he shrugged it off. It was the right size and fed into the tube of the pump-action shotgun just fine. The free fire section was coming up and he would get a full minute to blast away down range before swapping over to rifles and having to learn those. Shotgun fully loaded and with one in the chamber he braced against his shoulder on the rest and waited for the command to commence fire.

The command came and shots began to blast out. Funi'Happ'Sen pulled the heavy trigger, rode the recoil, worked the slide, and grinned with glee. Laser pistols made for a pretty light show when they hit the paper targets but they felt like a toy. This was a real weapon. The kick against his shoulder and the belch of flame from the muzzle filled Funi'Happ'Sen with a savage satisfaction. He pulled the heavy trigger again and had to stifle a laugh. This was the most fun he had had since coming to RPC Stormavsirkel.

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The instructor looked away to check on his other charge. Funi'Happ'Sen raced the slide again and the misplaced shell entered the chamber. He decided to try rapid fire with the last four shells. It would take too long to reload and fire again before the minute was up. Funi'Happ'Sen leaned into the shotgun and pressed it against the rest to reduce as much recoil as possible. He pulled the trigger and started to work the slide. Funi'Happ'Sen had though he had heard his shotgun fire but could not be sure in the chorus of gunfire.

Funi'Happ'Sen's shotgun had not fired. The hammer had fallen and struck the primer squarely. The primer had dutifully flashed over into the propellant. The black powder had only smoldered instead of instantly detonating. If Funi'Happ'Sen had had even the slightest experience with black powder firearms or a little more time with the shotgun's manual of arms or paid a bit more attention to his own weapon he would have perhaps noticed the lack of shot going down range and reacted accordingly.

Instead Funi'Happ'Sen had worked the slide. The shell, black powder still smoldering, was thrown free of the weapon in a looping arc that took it just past and below Funi'Happ'Sen's right ear. The tumble agitated the smoldering black powder just enough for the shell to discharge. The shock wave struck first, obliterating Funi'Happ'Sen's eardrum. Old fashioned double ought lead buckshot struck next, tearing through skin and muscle from the lobe of Funi'Happ'Sen's ear forward across his cheek, shattering his zygomatic arch and tearing away parts of his face and nose.

The instructor, to his credit, reacted instantly to the scream of pain. Medics were bellowed for, weapons were made safe. Trainees milled around, confused at how one of their own had bin injured and hampering the movement of the adults. One trainee had locked up stiff, propped against the side of their firing lane. The adults ignored him because his weapon had been properly made safe, locked open on an empty chamber on the bench. Suddenly the trainee takes three steps so that he can clearly see Funi'Happ'Sen thrashing on the ground. He proclaims a psionic incantation in a loud clear voice and two things happen at once.

Funi'Happ'Sen can feel the mangled side of his face close up and scar over. His right ear registers sound again. Blood stops pouring from his head as he lays helpless and stunned.

The other thing is that the entire area is plunged into utter darkness. Everyone recognizes it for what it is: a psion pushing their limits and losing control of all of the power that they are channeling. When the light returns a moment later Funi'Happ'Sen realizes that his is the only person who saw the trainee actually perform the invocation. He does not even know the other trainee's name only that he owns the boy his life and either undying hatred or thanks. Only the future would tell.