“Amaranth.” I turned my head and saw Miss Militia standing by the elevator. “May I speak with you a moment?”

I nodded and rose, saying a brief goodbye to Kid Win. He'd been telling me about his new Tinker stuff, some hovering laser drones among other things. I hadn't really been taking it in, numbed from twelve hours at the console. At least I hadn't been relegated there for the next several days on top of it..

“What's up?” I asked. She seemed to be smiling under her bandana, judging by her eyes.

“I recall you have an interest in firearms?” I stiffened, but slowly nodded. “I know you've been frustrated by our policies, and I'm sure you understand why we can't relax them.” Another nod. Why was she telling me what I already knew? “I'm heading down to the range, if you're interested you're welcome to join me.” I blinked, momentarily stunned, then my eyes widened.

“Wait seriously?” I hissed, barely believing it. “Like...is that allowed?”

“Of course it is,” Miss Militia replied, cocking her head. “All you need is permission and supervision, and I'm offering both, if you'd like.” I couldn't help but grin.

“Please tell me the PRT keeps a big arsenal,” I said as I pressed the button for the elevator. The door opened and we stepped inside.

“You won't have access to the armoury,” she chided me. “But I can take out a couple different weapons for you to try. A pistol and a rifle, maybe?”

“Or a submachine gun,” I replied, scratching my chin. “Ooor a PDW, do you guys have P90s by any chance?”

“P90s?” Miss Militia seemed a bit taken aback by my enthusiasm. “I don't think we have anything called that, can you describe it?” I thought about it.

“It's uh...” Oh god what was the P90? “It's like a rectangle shape, with a tall sight block and a bunch of round bits for gripping. Top-loading magazine, bullpup, and forward ejection, it's pretty unique.” She shook her head.

“I'll see what I can do, but that's not familiar.” I sighed.

“Too bad.” Wait a minute, I was going to the range and didn't have to pay for ammo. “Oh well. Hey, how much can I shoot?”

“I don't know,” she asked as we left the elevator and began walking through semi-familiar halls. The way to the Testing Gym, if I wasn't mistaken. “How much can you shoot?” I couldn't help but grin.

“That's a dangerous question to ask, Miss Militia.”

We walked on silently. After a minute, she stopped at a heavy looking steel door, then told me to wait outside. I did, leaning against the wall with a sigh. I'd...never shot a gun. Technically, of course, since in my current sixteen years of life the first time I'd held one was three weeks ago. But I could handle it, no problem. Maybe she'd find me an AK...

After a while, Miss Militia returned. A bulky duffel bag was slung over her shoulder, clinking quietly, and she carried two metal boxes of ammo. I offered to carry some, but apparently that wasn't allowed for some reason. I had to double check gun laws around here, this seemed way too strict.

Whatever, that just meant my arms weren't tired for shooting. While I was confident I could operate any gun Miss Militia threw at me, I wasn't so sure about my aim. Nothing would feel like I remembered it feeling, and that would mess me up for sure. Any minor advantage I could get, like not lugging twenty pounds of bullets, was great.

We finally entered the range, and it was smaller than I'd expected. Sixteen booths spaced out evenly, facing down what couldn't have been fifty meters. Okay, in the city that was a lot to be fair, but it sure wasn't a lot for shooting. I guess the PRT was much more of an urban force, and a lot of their targets would want to get...uncomfortably close. Maybe they just didn't need the practice at distance.

Miss Militia stopped at booth eight and began unpacking. She opened the ammunition boxes first, and right away I knew she'd got me a pistol and a rifle. Maybe...nine millimeter, it looked like; boring. But the rifle ammo was larger than 5.56mm or x39, what exactly did I have in store? I didn't have to wait long to find out, as the duffel was unzipped and unloaded. First, a plain looking Beretta, but then.

“Is that a fucking G36?!” Miss Militia blinked at me, startled.

“I'm surprised you know what it is,” she replied, popping open its bipod and setting it down. “But yes, a G36KS to be exact. Some of these were made for the KSK, specifically for their operations against Gesellschaft. The PRT acquired them for similar reasons: problematic Brutes.” That was...shockingly brutal. “It fires full-power .308 cartridges, with a recoil system that allows it to feel like a far smaller round, despite the fifteen-inch barrel.” I nodded slowly, already drooling over the thought of firing a G36 in Real Fuckin' Nato. Then, Miss Militia pulled out a drum magazine.

“Ohhh my god.” I reached out for it, and she passed it over with a smile that showed in her eyes. Oh holy drum mag, blessed be thy capacity. “Can I start loading?”

“You can,” she said, grabbing a pistol magazine and beginning to load it herself. “I'll go over the safety basics while we do.” I nodded in agreement and began slipping rounds into my mag. “First, always treat your firearm like it's loaded, even if you just cleared it. Keep the barrel pointed downrange at all times, and do not point it at someone. These are dangerous weapons, Amaranth. Just because we're parahumans doesn't mean we're exempt from the laws of physics. A metal slug travelling at high speed is as deadly to me as any regular person.” I neglected to remind her I'd been shot just yesterday, I didn't want to ruin the mood. “I'll be the RSO, the range safety officer. I have to ask to you follow my commands, just to make sure we don't get hurt. If I call 'cease fire', you put your weapon on safe and put it down, no matter what. Just the same, you won't load, or begin shooting until given permission. And take it slow, I'm not sure what sort of experience you have, but I doubt it included machine guns.” Oh you'd be surprised...

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“I have some,” I replied. “But I'll be careful and follow your orders, promise.” She patted my shoulder as she finished a second magazine.

“Then we'll have a good time.” Miss Militia's power flashed, appearing as a carbine slung at her hip. “You have a hundred rounds for each weapon, I'll just be observing.” Oh hell yeah. Also oh shit, I'd put a hundred rounds into this drum mag and boy did it feel like it.

“Awesome,” I replied, setting it down with a dull 'thunk'. “I...guess I'll start with a pistol, and save the fun stuff for last?” She nodded and removed the G36 and the mag from the table, leaving me with the plain old Beretta.

I stepped up and grabbed the earmuffs sitting there. With my projection they didn't form a perfect seal, but it would probably be enough to avoid the worst hearing damage. Miss Militia stepped into the booth next to me and gave me some basic instructions on the pistol; where the safety was, how to load, clearing stoppages, and so on. I nodded along, eyes locked on the firearm. Finally, she passed it to me.

It was heavier than I expected, but that made sense. It was all steel, where those Glocks had been polymer. I got permission to load, and did in a pretty smooth motion if I did say so myself. The slide snapped into place, and like that I was ready. I took aim at a target sitting maybe a dozen meters out, focusing on my breathing, keeping my arms steady, and aligning the three posts of the sight. Finally, Miss Militia gave permission to fire, and I slowly squeezed the trigger.

My hands bucked back and up with the pistol. I blinked, that felt...way softer than I expected. I looked over at Miss Militia, who just gave me a nod, so I took aim again. Once more, I squeezed the trigger and my hands rose, but the recoil just...didn't feel right. I flicked on the safety and checked the slide. The spring seemed fine, light if anything. I tapped my foot briefly, thinking, then perked up.

I took aim again, taking the safety off as the sights aligned with the center of the circular target. I took a deep breath, focusing on standing still, then squeezed the trigger one more time. The slide flew back, making me blink, but the pistol itself hadn't actually moved. And I'd felt practically nothing when it actually fired.

“Huh,” I mused aloud, safetying the pistol and setting it down.

“What's the matter, Amaranth?”

“Nothing just...” I found a grin touching my face. “I think I'll be able to use guns pretty well.”

“Oh?” Miss Militia cocked her head. “Why do you say that?”

“Watch this.” I turned and raised the Beretta, one-handed. It took a second longer to steady my aim, but I rapidly pulled the trigger, over and over. It barely wavered in my hand. I looked at her and grinned as I reloaded. “I think it's my projection.”

“Don't do something like that again,” she said gravely. “You need to keep control of your weapon at all times.”

“I was in control,” I argued. “You saw, it didn't move at all.”

“But you did,” Miss Militia countered. “Holding a pistol like that, recoil or not, takes endurance you don't have.” She flicked a button on the wall, and the paper target rapidly zipped towards us. It stopped and she pointed. “Look, even if you didn't feel the recoil, your shots are all over the place.” I grimaced.

“Sorry.” That was what I'd been worried about. “I'll...stick to the basics.” She nodded.

“That's for the best.” She grabbed the pistol and loaded another magazine, then checked the safety before handing it to me. I ejected, then slid the magazine back in, checked the slide, and made sure the safety was on. “You can continue when you're ready.”

And I did, dumping mag after mag into the new target she put out for me. I was slowly getting used to it, the sounds, the smells, the weight of it in my hands. I was almost disappointed when I finally ran out of ammo. Almost, because that meant I got to move on to something a little bigger.

“Now,” Miss Militia said, hefting the rifle onto the table. “This one it quite a bit different, as you can see.” She pointed out the safety, and the different modes of fire. Semi and burst, a weird combination in my opinion. “Recoil and ammunition management,” she explained when I asked about an automatic fire mode. “It's very easy to fire for too long, I'm certainly not innocent off it. For me that means nothing, but for a human PRT officer who can only carry so much, it could be life and death.” Damn, that was heavy.

I picked up the rifle and set it on its bipod, it was a lot heavier than it looked. Probably the hundred, full-powered rifle cartridges in the magazine. Well, I could definitely lighten that load. I took a moment to fiddle with the controls, making sure I knew what things felt like before I had to actually use them. The recoil spring was stiff, and it took me two hands to get the damn thing cocked. But finally, I settled the butt against my shoulder and waited for the go ahead.

When it finally came, the first shot was almost instant. The sharp 'crack' echoed briefly in the room and brought a smile to my face. Almost no recoil. Even with a bipod, I'd expect that to slap my shoulder silly, but it felt like a light tap. I fired another, then another, speeding up until I was squeezing the trigger as fast as I could. After a few more shots, I stopped; this wasn't where the real fun of the rifle was.

The fire selector clicked as I flicked it to burst. Settling the rifle back into my shoulder, I aimed down the sight again. The red dot lined up with the center of the target, or the ragged hole where it was. I slowly squeezed the trigger and was rewarded with a long bark from the weapon. A staccato of three impacts struck my shoulder in turn, but didn't even shift me.

My heart beat faster with every burst that exploded from my rifle. The rattling of the frame against my shoulder was almost like a massage, far more gentle than recoil had any right to be. Finally, a real benefit to having a power this shitty. Actually, I'd probably be a hell of a point-man between my power and not being affected by recoil. Good luck shooting the first person through when bullets just fall off her.

I squeezed the trigger as quickly as I could, letting off burst after burst as quick as I could. It wasn't quite automatic, but damn if it wasn't fun to shoot like this. Too soon though, the bolt flew back and stopped. I racked it and tried to fire again, only getting a simple 'click'. Empty. I sighed and racked the bolt to the rear, then unloaded the magazine and stepped back from the booth.

“How was that?” Miss Militia asked as I removed my ear pro. I offered her a grin she couldn't see behind my mask.

“Awesome!” I replied, practically vibrating. “Like, I'd have preferred to just hold down the trigger and dump the mag like 'bwaaaaa', but this was still so cool.” I was grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

“Maybe next time I'll sign out an automatic weapon,” she replied warmly as she began packing up the guns.

“Next time?” My heart beat quicker. Had I heard her right?

“Sure,” Miss Militia said with a shrug. “Everyone needs an outlet. For some people its training, others find therapy works for them, for me...” She shrugged. “I do recommend you see the duty therapist when you have the opportunity, but this is a little closer at hand.”

“Thanks.” I helped her clean the spent brass and we dumped it into the ammo boxes. “Really, um, thank you. I...needed the break.” My shoulders didn't feel half as tense as they had earlier today, and I actually felt...good.

“You're welcome,” she replied, hefting the duffel. “Now come on, you're helping me carry this stuff back.”

“Yes ma'am!” I said brightly, grabbing the ammo cans and falling in behind her. I was definitely looking forward to next time.