Disclaimer: The Teen Titans aren't my property…
Gunsmoke and Black Roses—Chapter Ten
"Come on… Come on, just a little… There! Got it!"
Smoke sat in his new room, working on a batch of new shotgun shells… not that there was anything wrong with his old triple aught buckshot, but… Hey, if you had the means to make bigger and better stuff, wouldn't you?
Right now, Smoke was very carefully pouring what looked like a handful of tiny, arrow-like, steel needles into a hollow shell, as opposed to the usual lead pellets that filled normal shot shells. If things went as he hoped, he would soon have some new ammo at his disposal.
After finishing the work on this shell, he tossed it into a large, cardboard box next to the workbench, which was filled with identical shells he had also painstakingly crafted, one by one. Apparently, he was fairly confident that these new cartridges would work, or else he probably wouldn't have made so many of them at one time.
After getting up and inspecting the box critically for a brief moment, Smoke nodded his approval to himself. With a soft grunt, he reached down and picked up the box, cautiously carrying it outside his room and out into the garage.
Smoke had set up a row of large bull's-eye targets across the back wall of the Titan's Tower garage. This was where he intended to test out his new gear, it seemed. The gunman had, of course, been careful to keep them as distant as possible from both the T-Car and his own Humvee, lest somebody lose a kick ass vehicle… And besides, Smoke had the distinct feeling that if he so much as put a minor scratch or dent on the T-Car, he might just wind up on the business end of a lethally hi-tech sonic cannon, courtesy of Cyborg himself.
Setting the box down, he plopped himself down on the ground and wiped his forehead, sighing heavily with fatigue. He figured that after all of the work he'd done, he might as well take a quick little break.
As he let his mind wander, he found his thoughts quickly and almost involuntarily towards a certain black-haired alien… Star's sister, Blackfire.
Smoke had absolutely no idea why he was so… enamored, with her. Sure, she was pretty… but Hell; there were a lot of pretty girls around, and yet… Smoke would've rather received just a hug from Blackfire than a full make-out with any supermodel… and he had no idea why.
He did know, however, that whenever he managed to catch so much as a glimpse of her… it felt as if he'd suddenly been hit over the head; it made him feel dizzy and light headed. He also felt choked up and unable to speak properly, at least not without fumbling over his words a bit. All of the classic symptoms were there, and if Smoke hadn't of known any better, he would've thought he was in…
… Love.
That was simply impossible. He was a genetic construct, a 'secret weapon'… he wasn't supposed to experience emotions like that. The scientists who had made him wouldn't of had any real reason to put such emotional capabilities in him… but still, it was abundantly clear that he had definitely not been what they'd expected—Rebellious and free-spirited.
And then again, didn't he feel other emotions? He felt happiness when he was around his new friends, he felt sadness when he reflected upon his abnormal origins, and he felt angry when attacked by enemies… So was it really so unlikely that he was capable of falling in love, too…?
No. It just… couldn't be. It was too wussy, too cliché, too…
… It was too good to be true, that's what it was. That was just exactly it.
Smoke reasoned to himself that the only reason he was thinking these things was an excuse to justify his illogical attraction to Blackfire.
But… Smoke knew another thing for sure: If he didn't do something about this before long, he was going to lose what semblance of sanity he had!
The young gunman knew exactly what he wanted to do, No… what he NEEDED to do… but the real question was… Was he capable of doing it?
He wanted to ask her out on a date. He had already decided that. No question about it. But as a person with limited social experience, he had absolutely, positively no idea as to how to go about it…
For instance… the scenario could go like this.
In his mind, Smoke pictured himself strutting confidently up to Blackfire, humming a song under his breath as though completely unworried, a self-assured smirk upon his face.
"Oh, Hey there, Sweetcheeks… how's about you and me go out on the town tonight?" He thought of himself saying to her with a swarthy, and somewhat arrogant tone that wasn't typical of him, whilst spinning his shotgun in one hand and wiping his hair with the other.
He was pleased with this method at first… until his daydream continued, at which point there was a loud 'SMACK!' and his imaginary self came flying down the hallway with a large, red handprint on the side of his face, thudding against a window and sliding off with a squeaky noise… Ouch.
Smoke sighed heavily and decided that the whole macho, playboy, 'superior to thou' approach…. Most assuredly wasn't the way to go…
… Especially when you consider that the object of your affections was capable of high-speed flight, amazing super strength, and energy blasts that were powerful enough to nuke a small high-rise apartment…
Smoke shivered nervously and decided to put this pesky topic out of his mind… for right now, anyways.
Reaching back and getting up his quad shotgun, Smoke broke open the hinge on his shotgun's barrels, opened them up, and carefully removed the red-and-gold buckshot shells that were already inside. He carefully placed these shells into his jacket pocket, and then grinned at the box of blue-and-gold flechette (Needle-filled) shells inside his box, a look of pleased anticipation on his face.
As he eagerly reached down and grabbed a handful of the new ammo, his golden-hazel eyes shone with excitement. Quickly and carefully, he loaded four flechette shells into his shotgun barrels and snapped them closed again.
Taking a deep breath to slow down his racing heart, he positioned himself roughly thirty feet away from one of the larger bull's-eye targets.
Smoke took his shotgun in both hands… raised it up and placed the padded stock against his shoulder… cocked the pair of small hammers on either side… squinted one eye and aimed carefully with the other… concentrated and focused as hard as he could… and…
… … … … BLAAAAMM! … Fwweeeeeet!
The usual, mighty roar of his shotgun was, this time, accompanied by the high pitched whizzing of small projectiles hurtling forcefully through the air… the steel flechette needles.
When the smoke and steam from the ends of his barrels dissipated, he opened his eyes and observed his target.
The once-proud crosshair… now looked akin to a slice of Swiss cheese. Innumerable tiny holes were punched all the way through it, and the swarm of needles were firmly lodged about halfway in the wall behind the target…
If that big target had been a group of enemies, they would have been pierced more times than the tongue of a hooker in Tijuana…
"YEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHH BAAABY!"
Almost immediately, Smoke laughed out loud and broke into what would best be described as a cross between an Inzone victory dance, and a disco break dance…
This went on for about twenty minutes…
Twenty Minutes Later, When Smoke Manages To Calm Down…
"…Pant…Pant…. Oh Man… That was great…"
Smoke was lying on the floor, belly up and exhausted. He grabbed one of the flechette shells out of the box and twirled it fondly in his fingers.
"You, my little friend, are now officially declared safe-for-fire, easy-to-use… and appropriate for Ass Kicking."
Puckering up, he kissed the thing fondly on it's metal tip, and slid it into the front pocket on his denim overalls.
His restful victory was short lived, however…
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON DOWN HERE?"
Smoke leapt to his feet with a startled yelp, and whipped around to find himself face to face with… the most terrible beast he'd ever seen.
It's face was greenish and slimy, as though made out of goo, and it's eyes were large, round, and dark green with no visible pupils. It was covered with white fur, and had long claws, and a wild yellow mane grew from it's head.
"GAH! STAY BACK, CRITTER! OR I'LL BLAST YOUR DAMNED, DIRTY ASS TO KINGDOM COME!" Smoke screamed in fright, bringing his shotgun back up and hastily loading in more flechette rounds…
"What in the name of God are you talking about! YOU'RE the one firing off damn guns this time of night!"
"…H-Huh…?"
Wait a minute… that was a girl's voice…
Shaking and cracking open one eye, he realized that he'd jumped the gun (No pun intended, folks!) … And he had done so badly.
It was no monster… It was Terra.
The 'Slimy face' was due to a large amount of some sort of crème that she'd applied to her face. The strange eyes were due to the fact that she was wearing small slices of cucumber over them. The yellow mane was really her hair and the white fur was a white robe… she picked off a cucumber and glared angrily at him.
"What are you thinking?" She hissed. "A girl who's been stuck in rock all this time needs her beauty sleep, y'know! And you scared poor Beast Boy to death! He's got the ears of a bloodhound, after all…"
These words took a moment to penetrate Smoke's large, stony head… and another moment for his brain to digest. He did an anime style sweat drop and grinned sheepishly.
"Uuhhh… Sorry?"
Thirty Minutes Later, After Terra Finishes Chewing Smoke Out And Then Storms Back Off To Bed…
"…Damn!" Smoke muttered, going back into his room. "Must be her time of the month, or somethin'…"
Smoke placed the box of flechette shells next to his workbench. He could now say, beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were successes. Smoke pulled a small stack of sticky post-it notes from a drawer and a pen, too.
He scrawled the following memo down:
'Note to self: Soundproof garage…'Then, the gunner stuck it to the wall next to a Die Hard poster and flopped down on his camo couch. He looked over at the clock on the wall and saw 2:37 A.M.
'Holy crap, No wonder she was so pissed…' Smoke lamented mentally.
But he had work to do…
He walked over to his workbench again, and opened a drawer. He pulled out a little something he'd been working on for a while now…
It was a large, pointed, lead slug… like the type one would fire from a rifle. Although not visible from the outside, Smoke had also taken the liberty of filling it's insides with high explosives and toxic chemicals…
Smiling, Smoke pulled out several more of these and stuck them into his jacket pocket as well. Reaching down into the drawer one last time, he pulled out a large, black flashlight.
Smoke exited his room, left the garage area, carefully and stealthily made his way to the entrance, and went outside. He didn't want to wake anyone up this time…
He walked… and walked… and then, he walked some more until he was absolutely certain he wouldn't disturb anyone in the Tower…
He removed his Sniper Rifle from his side holster. With a chuckle, he levered a few of these slugs into the rifle chamber and looked around.
It was pitch black in the night, but Smoke's genetically enhanced eyesight allowed him to see with perfect 20/20 vision, even at great distances.
He spotted a massive boulder propped up against a rocky ledge… With a few quick calculations, Smoke decided that it was almost a quarter of a mile away from his current location…
Taking aim through the scope of his rifle… he focused on the boulder, put all other thoughts from his mind…
With a deafening gunshot, the night was illuminated for a split second by the flaming tongues of sparks and smoke that lashed out violently from the rifle's barrel…
A couple of seconds later, the huge, solid stone boulder in the distance… just exploded into tiny fragments that fell through the air and pelted the ground like hail, kicking up dirt and debris high into the night sky. The entire area around it went up in lights as if someone had turned on a massive neon sign. A second later, the light vanished suddenly and a cloud of smoke, dust, and fumes began rising from the area where the big rock had been.
So, what do you get when you cross a sniper rifle with a grenade launcher? Smoke's new explosive slug ammo, apparently.
Smoke went inside again, and made his way quietly into his room.
There were a couple more things yet that needed to be done before the intrepid young amateur gunsmith could rest…
First, Smoke reached into a cubby on his work bench, and pulled out… a pair of laser sights.
He opened up a drawer and produced a small welding torch as well…
Then, he removed the revolvers from his holsters and emptied the bullets out, putting them in his pockets for right now. He laid the dual weapons down on the flat surface of the bench, and began welding the laser sights to the undersides of the barrels… the dimmed room flickered to life with the torch's light…
One Hour Later…
"Whew… Done at last!" Smoke said, wiping perspiration from his forehead.
He examined his side arms proudly. The laser sights had been attached successfully to the guns, without looking awkward. He had smoothed out the edges and polished the entire weapons… and when he tested them out, the bright red pinpoints on the wall and the narrow beams coming from his pistols let him know that they worked flawlessly.
Smoke had to admit, it took a brave or foolish man to jury rig dangerous revolvers without fear of getting hurt… but hey, maybe he was a bit of both.
Last but not least, Smoke needed to test out one last thing…
He got his trusty chainsaw, and placed it on the bench.
The other day when he'd gone out with Sub-Zero, he had realized how awkward it was to walk around with a 60" (Five Foot!) chainsaw…
So, he'd installed a new 'Switchblade' mechanism into the beavertooth that allowed Smoke to retract the blade back into the body of the saw, and then 'Spring out' like a switchblade knife when needed.
He tested it out by flipping a dial on the side. The blade cranked slowly back into the body with a soft, grating rumble. Then, when he flipped it back, the blade suddenly thrust itself back into place with a razor-like noise.
Smoke looked around at his new gear, and smiled. This was going to come in handy… no doubt about it. And for some strange reason he didn't really know… he had a nervous feeling that he was going to need all the firepower he could get soon.
Smoke laid down on the camo couch, took off his jacket and rolled it up as a pillow, and covered himself over with a black mesh tarp as a blanket. He needed his sleep, too. For tomorrow, he took on the greatest challenge of all…
Attempting to ask a Tamaranean out on a date… and not Starfire.
Okay… I know, I know, not a lot happened in this chapter… but don't worry, because I guarantee next chapter will be more exciting. As for Smoke's new stuff, I hope those ideas were as cool as they were when I first thought of them…
Anyway, next chapter Wagner (Whom in his demented, robotic, supervillain-ness now calls himself, Dr. Myntull) comes back to haunt Smoke and the rest with a vengeance… and possibly screw up things for Smoke, if Blackfire agrees to a date…
Read, Review, and Tell me your opinions… they really help. On that note, I'd just like to thank everybody that's reviewed so far, from the bottom of my heart. My first fic was twice as long as this one is now when I finished it, and already I have more reviews for this one than for the first one! THANK YOU!
So anyway, I hope to update again soon…
--The Mad Phantom…
