I sighed and leaned back in my chair, staring at the console's monitor. Nothing was happening, hadn't been happening for a while. The new warlords made their plays yesterday, we didn't do anything about it, now back to your regularly scheduled post-apocalypse. I was really starting to understand why everyone saw this as punishment detail. I pulled up my mask as the alarm chimed, then pulled it back down and waved to Clockblocker. Not who I was looking for.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting in a chair over from me, looking uncomfortable. “Uh, how's it going?”

  “Fine,” I replied evenly. “If it's about the other day, forget about it.” Shadow Stalker had been saved, that got the 'good enough' stamp and I had moved on. Had to move on.

  “Oh, cool.” He pulled off his mask and ran his fingers through sweat-slicked curls. “Still, sorry, was blind and thought you were Grue.”

  “Mm,” I mused with a sarcastic smile. “God knows I feel so much like a seven-foot-twelve brick shithouse in bike leathers.” I flexed my biceps. “See the resemblance?”

  “It's uncanny,” Clockblocker drawled, leaning back. “Anyway, no hard feelings?” He stuck out a hand.

  “Sure,” I replied, giving his a quick shake. “As long as you cover my next console shift.” He groaned.

  “I'm gonna crash,” he said, standing and wavering.

  “Cool. Hey can you wake up Chris when you go back there? He's on soon.”

  Clockblocker gave me a thumbs up as he trudged off. I leaned forward and checked my screens, all clear. I had a feeling that was less because it was actually all clear and more no one being there to report it...or not being able to anymore. This city had been a sewer before and now was more an open cesspit. Fucking luckiest girl in the world to be born here... Born here? I hadn't--

  The mask alarm chimed, interrupting my thought. Miss Militia strode out of the elevator a moment and straight over to the console. She had her phone pressed to her ear, speaking quietly. She finished the conversation then hung up with a sigh.

  “Good evening Amaranth,” she belatedly greeted me. “How was your shift?” I offered her a shrug.

  “Fine, quiet mostly.” I stifled a yawn. “Looking forward to being done.”

  “I'm glad to hear,” Miss Militia replied, sounding genuine. “Did you have anything you wanted to use at the range today?” I nearly, nearly, asked if she could sign out a for-real machine gun...but that wasn't practical.

  “Service weapons,” I replied, a little disappointed that I had to be responsible and shit. “Uhh, just like, police and PRT sidearms. Stuff I may actually encounter, you know?” She nodded slowly.

  “That's a good place to start,” she said, eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Have you handled firearms before?” Enough.

  “A little,” I answered, lying the same amount. “Not a hell of a lot though.”

  “If you're willing,” she said, glancing at the screen. “I can go over some basics with you now, save a little time when we get to the range.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, shrugging.

  When she meant basics, she meant really basic. Using her power-generated Beretta as an example, she showed off the parts of the weapon, safety, all that stuff. Despite being such a low level lesson, I was engrossed. Miss Militia leaned into the stars and stripes, bonafide American spirit shit in costume; whether it was genuine or not, she sure as hell loved guns and that passion showed.

  “Okay, so,” I began once she'd finished. “What sidearms are standard issue around here?” She scratched her chin, thinking.

  “The local police use the Glock 20 as their service weapon,” Miss Militia said. “Though any personal firearms compatible with their magazines are also allowed to be carried; you may encounter the compact versions as well, all in 10mm Auto.”

  “Jesus,” I breathed.

  “The PRT is more interesting,” she continued, eyes glimmering. “For similar reasons as the BBPD, primarily Brutes, they selected the 10mm Auto as their ammunition of choice. However, there was no suitable pistol in production when they were formed. After some time, they found one that had been discontinued by a Californian arms firm. The PRT purchased the design, modified it extensively, and...”

  A pistol appeared in her hand. It looked...well, there was nothing for it but unique. Shaped like a CZ-75, but thick with eighteen 'c's. The barrel poked out the end of the slide, with a significant muzzle brake attached. The thing looked like it could be used as a bludgeon as much as a gun, and that was a fucking feature to me.

  “This is the HA-1, the first service pistol the PRT used.” It changed into one that looked much more reasonable, and therefore less fun. “The HA-2B, currently issued. Yes, there were complaints about the aesthetics, but not about the weight. It also integrates a system to dampen recoil that's slightly more elegant than the old one.”

  “So the PRT just...makes their own guns?”

  “We contract a civilian corporation,” she corrected me. “Though there is a development team that works directly with them to ensure the quality of production.”

  “That's...” I took a deep breath. “So fucking cool.”

  “I thought you might think so.” The pistol vanished from her hand and the more familiar Beretta appeared at her hip.

  “Can we try all of 'em?”

  “I don't believe we have an HA-1 in inventory,” Miss Militia replied evenly. “But the others, certainly.”

  “Awesome.” I couldn't keep the grin on my face. It was...nice to have something to look forward to, even when the threat of it slipping away hung over it all.

  “Hey Amaranth, Miss Militia ma'am.” I turned and saw Chris hastily donning his mask. “Uhh, sorry I'm late.” I checked my watch.

  “Dude, you're ten minutes early.” He frowned, checked his own watch, then groaned. “It's cool, I'm not complaining.”

  “But I am,” he muttered. “Only got a couple hours of sleep.”

  “Ah, repairs?” Chris nodded. “Sucks.” He nodded, plopping down in the chair after I rose.

  “S'fine,” he said, setting an energy drink on the desk with a 'clink'. “I got the best solution.”

  “Hell yeah.” I stretched, then followed Miss Militia to the elevator. “See you Kid Win.”

  “See ya Amaranth.”

  The elevator doors closed behind us and we headed up. My guts squirmed, partially with nerves, partly anticipation. There wasn't a day I woke up that I didn't want to immediately go back to sleep...except now. Now I hoped this was a range trip that would never end.

  I waited outside the armoury as Miss Militia collected the weapons I'd requested. She returned a moment later and I fell in behind her again. Despite the promise of a fun evening at the range, I was clammy. Any time I wasn't actively distracting myself, I found my gaze fixing on her intact stomach or uninjured throat. Once I thought I saw blood but...no, she was fine. She would stay fine, if I had anything to say about it.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  That was partly was this visit was about. My combat skills were, frankly, lacking. In the mess the city had been since Leviathan, there simply wasn't time to get me fully trained. It didn't help that my power had basically no fighting chance outside a range best described as intimate; not a way I wanted to do things.

  So, a little bit of reach out and touch. Sure the PRT wasn't going to issue me with a gun, cowards that they were, but Brockton Bay was Brockton Bay. One way or another, I could get my hands on one if need be.

  My last range day came to mind and an uncomfortable sense of deja vu made my guts squirm. It felt...weird, doing things the same way twice. Technically I hadn't this time, I'd asked her for this after all. Still, some part of me didn't like it. The far larger part of me that just wanted to shoot guns won out as we entered the range and took a booth.

  “Alright,” Miss Militia said, unpacking a pair of pistols from her carrying case. “Shall we?”

  One looked like a larger version of the pistol I'd found in the cop car, the Glock presumably. The other was exactly the same as what Miss Militia showed me earlier, the HA-2B. I gestured to the Glock and got a nod, then picked it up, flicked the magazine release, and racked the slide. Satisfied, I offered it to Miss Militia.

  “Good,” she said, taking it and loading a magazine. “Safety first and always.” She briefly touched on the usual RSO stuff and rules, then finally returned the Glock.

  I adjusted the target, setting it at the five meter mark first; no point in just missing a bunch of rounds off the bat, I'd start slow. I didn't really have time for that but...that wasn't really true. I had oodles of time, myriads of time. I could go back and back and back and shoot and shoot and shoot until I could give the best PRT squaddie a run for their money.

  I didn't want to. I knew how much this shit was getting to me, how I flinched anytime I got in the shower, how my heart raced even thinking about the Crater Lake. Worse, now I knew Jack would come after me. I still didn't know how he knew, maybe Cherish or something, but it didn't really matter. I raised my pistol, took aim, and began firing.

  Going through the trials once sounded like it would be the worst hell imaginable, going through it more... I couldn't, I'd rather die. I would die, over and over again until it stuck or I broke the brick wall. Or went crazy. I mean...well, got substantially worse. I ejected the now spent magazine and loaded another.

  God I didn't want to die, or really if I did just didn't want to come back. But I would, without a choice. I dumped the magazine into the target, pushed it further out, and reloaded. If I had to choose between coming back and just...going, it was an easy one. The issue then was how? I fired the last round and went to reload, frowning when it didn't fit.

  “That's all for the Glock,” Miss Militia spoke up. I sighed and cleared the thing, then set it down.

  “Sorry,” I said, pressing the button to bring the target back.

  “What for?” she asked, cocking her head. “You handled that safely and surprisingly well, considering the cartridge.”

  “Oh, that's just my projection,” I answered the unspoken question of 'how', ignoring the other. “Not sure how, but it stops me from feeling recoil.” And didn't stop me from being thrown around...was there some kind of threshold where it stopped functioning? Huh.

  “Interesting.” She loaded the next pistol and set it on the table. “I wonder if it works on larger firearms.” I shrugged.

  “Probably.” Definitely. “As long as it's in contact with my projection.”

  I frowned, considering that a second. I could probably push it out a little from my shoulder, stop myself feeling it entirely. Too bad I didn't have a rifle on this visit. Well, there was always the dreaded next time...

  “You can continue when you're ready, Amaranth.”

  I nodded and took down the target I'd filled with holes. My aim certainly wasn't the best, but at the five and seven meter marks I'd got everything in the circle. I replaced it with a fresh one, then pushed it back out to the seven meter distance again. With a nod from Miss Militia, I picked up the pistol and took aim.

  It was a bit heavier than the Glock, but my hands wrapped much more comfortably around the grip. The frame was substantial, but not so blocky, almost like it had been built for hands or something. I flicked the safety, just above the trigger guard, and rested my finger on the trigger. I took up the slack, breathing out slowly and squeezing it.

  The slide flew back, but otherwise it didn't move. I fired again, and just like before the pistol barely shifted. Part of that was my projection of course; the Glock hadn't bounced around much either, but it had. With this one the frame didn't so much as twitch. I finished the magazine and reloaded before dumping another mag into the target, then glanced at Miss Militia.

  “How good is that recoil system?” I had to ask.

  “May I?” I cleared the pistol, then handed it to her. “Thank you.” She loaded it, took aim, then dumped the entire magazine in barely a second. She quickly cleared it, put it down, then brought the target back. “As you can see, not a single shot outside the 9-ring. Of course I have much more experience, but the mechanism certainly helps.”

  “No kidding.” It had barely moved even when she was firing it. “Is it Tinker-made?” She shook her head.

  “The 2B,” Miss Militia began, holding it up. “Did have assistance from Dragon with redesigning the buffer. Halved the weight, doubled the effectiveness, and still kept it simple enough to be maintained in the field.”

  “Best Tinker in the world,” I said, shaking my head; I actually believed it.

  “Without question,” she agreed easily. “There's a reason the company is called 'Heroic Arms'.”

  “Wait seriously?” She nodded and I snorted. “That's goofy.”

  “But accurate,” Miss Militia countered. I couldn't argue that. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Oh, yeah, it's cool.” I frowned, realizing I'd managed to burn through the ammo she'd brought along already. “Dammit.”

  “I'll bring more next time,” she said. I flinched when she laid a hand on my shoulder.

  “Sure,” I replied a bit tersely. “Next time.”

  “Is anything the matter?” I chewed my lower lip, tapping my foot.

  “What do you know about powers?” I asked before I could stop myself, voice low. Her eyes narrowed.

  “How do you mean?” I sighed.

  “I don't know just...”

  “Is it about yesterday?” I swallowed and nodded slowly. “I see. Come with me.”

  She quickly packed the pistols away and I followed her out. I wiped a bead of sweat that stung at my eye, glancing from camera to camera as we passed them. I'd have to be careful, make sure Miss Militia didn't record any of this. I knew what happened if she did...or at least if what I said made its way to the man himself. It had before, it could easily again.

  We dropped off the guns and continued to the elevator, taking it down. I swallowed and shuffled back a bit, not sure where this was going, not sure I wanted to. We stopped on a rather fortified looking floor, walked a bit further down, then Miss Militia led me inside a small room off to one side. It was surprisingly nice, wood paneling, soft light, even a probably fake plant. She moved the chairs so it was less an interrogation and more a conversation, then took a seat and gestured for me to do the same.

  “How can I help?” Miss Militia asked, pulling down her mask. I was taken aback.

  “Um,” I hesitated as I sat down. “Uh, is this...secure?” She nodded.

  “A room for more...private conversations,” she explained. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

  “I do,” I replied with a sigh. “Powers are...weird, right?”

  “They certainly can be,” Miss Militia said, leaning back in her chair. “Are yours troubling you?”

  “What? No.” I shook my head. “I mean, like, it does weird things sometimes but otherwise it's fine.” Besides being kinda shit.

  “I'm glad to hear.” There was a beat of silence. “And your other?” I grimaced.

  “I don't...know how to explain it.” I tugged at a lock of hair that had escaped my hood. “Just remember things sometimes.”

  “Do you get much advanced warning?” Yeah, a couple years in fact.

  “It's random.” Not totally a lie, the shit I remembered about Worm sure fucking seemed it sometimes. Yes, Riley's tea party with Damsel was vital but did I know how long I had to survive against the Nine? Fuck no. “I'll just...try and tell you when it happens?”

  “That would be for the best,” Miss Militia said with a nod.

  “Sorry, I wish I could explain it better.” Or tell you the whole story.

  “It's alright,” she replied smoothly. “Powers and their expressions sometimes require...adjustment. I certainly had my share of troubles.” I raised my head and arched a brow.

  “You had trouble?”

  “Even beyond the airport gate,” she said with a smile. “Imagine you're eight, going to your parents' church for the first time. You're wearing an itchy little sundress that your mother said looked cute and your father shrugged at. You have a pistol hidden in the ruffle because you can't ever let go of it.” I nodded, it...wasn't a pretty picture. “Now imagine, in the middle of sermon, suddenly you have an assault rifle in your hands. You never intended to use it, never intended it to be there, and yet...”

  “Jesus.”

  “Well he was certainly there,” Miss Militia said dryly. “Of course I don't expect you to share the same issues that I had, I only mean that many of us can relate. You know I don't sleep?”

  “Oh yeah.” I vaguely recalled something like that. “That...sucks?”

  “It has good and bad parts,” she replied evenly. “Can you think of anything similar?” I die and come back to life.

  “I mean, I have trouble sleeping sometimes,” I answered. “Not the same thing, I think.”

  “Mmm, I'm sorry to hear that Amaranth.” Her hand rested on top of mine. “Have you spoken to Gallant about scheduling counselling?”

  “Not yet.” I winced. “Maybe...maybe soon, I guess.” That was a hell of a maybe, but Miss Militia nodded and gave my hand a squeeze.

  “I can't guarantee it will work, but it certainly helped me.” I couldn't help but smile.

  “Thanks.”

  “You're very welcome.” There was a beat of silence. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” I took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

  “I'm good,” I lied with a genuine smile. “I'm good.”