Blaaargh.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gundam Wing or any song by the Smashing Pumpkins. Don't sue; I am simply an E5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

A/N: Gun info's at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!

-BEGIN FIC-

Rat-tat-tat, ka boom boom, now take that, and just a bit of this
cause I'm a watcher, and I'm a doer of none
come to save you, cause you're all mine

X.Y.U.

-- 21:59, Yesterday --

Trowa's fingers gripped the dark gray leather covered steering wheel as tightly as they could, knuckles going white under the strain with which he grasped the wheel. Leaning forward in his chair his eyes narrowed as they watched the road sprawled before him, long white stripes that separated the lanes of the freeway zooming past him in the barest hint of a moment almost seeming to meld into a solid line of color on the black asphalt. The engine of the powerful Mercedes roared like an angered jungle cat under the silver-colored hood, its distinctive voice loud and grating, seething at being driven so hard yet pining for more as it was no where near its limits though Trowa's foot was nearly implanted into the floorboard.

Trowa cursed his luck. At this time of the evening on a dark Saturday night, there was minimal traffic on the road. He would have given anything; his credit cards and the clothing right off his back, his life at the circus, his favorite lion Jub-Jub, his left nut, for a good deal of evening commuter traffic to hide himself in. Instead, he was faced with a nearly perfectly empty Interstate 710. A few random headlights flickered on the other side of the freeway, heading towards Long Beach even as he raced desperately towards the Santa Monica Freeway.

'Maybe there'll be more traffic on the 10. Please, please let there be more traffic on the 10….'

'God, if you actually exist, please listen to me right now. Let there be a way to ditch them on the 10. Please….'

'Just a truck or something to hide my exiting off this damned freeway or something! Come on!'

Turning his eyes to the rearview mirror, his lips turned into a scowl. There were three sets of headlights behind him, keeping pace with him, one set slowly beginning to gain.

'Come on, you piece of shit! Go faster!'

Trowa let up on the gas a bit, then pounded it back into the floor. The car lurched a bit, but still topped out at 160 mph.

The green-eyed youth quietly cursed American regulations and speed governors.

Glancing over, he scowled. 'And there's no way Quatre can really help, is there? Damn it all…'

Quickly pressing the switch to lower the window, Trowa reached under the seat of the rental car and felt desperately for one of the guns he knew he'd stashed there before he and his blonde companion had headed out for the Aquarium of the Pacific earlier that afternoon. 'This afternoon… why does it seem like that was a lifetime ago?' he randomly thought, even as his fingers finally connected with what they sought. Gently tugging on the gun's barrel, he lifted it free of its hiding place and tossed it into his lap. Curling his hand around the weapon's haft, he set his finger to the trigger and his knee to the steering wheel, keeping the vehicle headed in an arrow-straight line down the freeway as he desperately flipped off the safety and loaded the Kahr Arms K9. Tugging back on the top slider, he grimaced. 'Fucking hell. The damned K9.'

Turning in his seat, his right hand gripping the steering wheel and attempting to keep his path down the freeway straight, he leaned out the window and carefully aimed with his off hand.

'9mm. And only seven shots. Got to make 'em count.'

Trowa instinctively ducked and dove back into the vehicle, dropping the gun in his lap and gripping the wheel with both hands to right his path down on the road, swinging violently away from the huge cement wall that served as the center median of the 710 freeway just moments before those final inches between it and the front left fender of the expensive Mercedes slammed into it as gunshots exploded from the vehicles that were following him, one blowing out the back window of the car and the others bouncing off the trunk with sharp metallic pinging and leaving the acrid scent of hot steel hanging for but moments in the car's cabin air before it was washed out by the rapid flow of wind pouring in through the windows and escaping out the back.

'Damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it!'

Looking over, his eyes narrowed, he desperately urged the blonde to take action with his mind. 'Come on, please help out a bit here! I know you're hurting, but help out, Quatre!'

The blonde turned pain-laced blue eyes towards the brunette, and simply nodded before leaning over and picking the handgun up out of his lap. Turning in his seat, wincing at the movement, Quatre braced himself against the seat as he carefully aimed with his off hand, his right arm cradled to his chest.

The crack of a bullet leaving the small handgun's barrel met Trowa's ears. Staring in the rearview mirror, he smirked as he saw one set of headlights careen out of control, swinging violently towards the right side of the freeway and barreling without mercy at over 150 mph into the dark brick wall that ran the length of the 710. The explosion of the car flooded the night, as did the light that radiated from the fires that sprang forth from it, nearly blinding the green-eyed driver of the rental car.

The rat-tat-tat of gunfire pounded through their vehicle. Ducking, Trowa buried his head between his legs, his instincts being all that kept the car going in a straight line, his hands mercilessly tight on the steering wheel. Quatre squeaked and slipped down in his seat, sliding down and out from under his seatbelt to curl onto the floorboards, utilizing the thick presence of the car's construction and the chair to shield him. He cried out, flinging his left arm above his head as the windshield exploded into naught but millions of sharp needles of glass.

Trowa winced as he felt the glass shards cover his back, some of the sparkling projections finding the tender skin of his neck and burying themselves in his hair. Lifting his head, he stared at the blown out windshield.

'They have something that can take out safety glass with one hit… a shotgun, maybe? Or…'

A car was pulling alongside of them. A black sedan. Trowa glanced over, his eyes wary and his gaze sharp. He couldn't make out the vehicle's make, but he knew one thing for certain – its owner had removed the speed governor that had most certainly been installed. Meaning that no matter how fast he tried to go, this car could outrun him.

'Damn!'

He ducked again as a flash erupted from the other vehicle's rear driver's-side window. The glass beside him exploded outwards.

'Fucking hell!'

They were pinned down. Quatre had no chance to lift himself over the edge of the seat to open fire, and Trowa was having a hard enough time trying to drive much less think of returning fire.

Out of options, the ex-pilot did all he could think to do.

He turned sharply on the steering wheel, swinging the thick steel of the Mercedes' body into the car that rode along side of them, shoving their enemy off course and sending them hurtling into the brick wall that rode along side of them, bouncing a few times off of the impossibly hard resistance of the barrier before spinning out and flipping end over end.

The front of the Mercedes hitched and jumped.

Grabbing the wheel, Trowa tried desperately to figure out what to do.

They were airborne, having jumped over the scant curb and burst through the steel railing that lined the off-ramp of the 710 North that would have led them to the 10 West.

Trowa watched with wide, frightened eyes as the car hurtled mercilessly through empty space, heading with frightening surreal slow speed towards the hard, unforgiving pavement of the freeway below.

-- 17:23, Yesterday --

Trowa was smiling by the time they decided to head to the Scuba Café and eat before heading back outside to pet the sting rays and watch the sea lions from above, to watch the tidal pools and stare at crabs and muscles under the hot sun that hovered above in the sky.

Quatre grinned slyly at him, winking. "See? I knew that coming to the Aquarium would be relaxing."

"Yeah," Trowa replied.

He managed to not lose his stride as Quatre's arm found its way around his waist.

However, he did come to a complete stop as the bullet ricochet off the rail a few inches before Quatre, skittering away and slamming into the giant blue whale that was suspended from the ceiling, knocking a chunk of blue concrete off of its left pectoral fin.

Screams and cries of panicked people flew from the ground level of the massive building as the pieces of the huge sea creature scattered themselves noisily on the ground, fortunately not striking any wandering passers-by on their way to the ground below. Soon the entire Aquarium was overrun, people screaming that there was gunfire within the building as they ran from it, the doors being thrown open and people tearing out wailing in terror. The guards tried their damnedest to move out of the way of the fleeing mob and ready their nightsticks, their faces pale with the thought that they would be going up against an enemy wielding a gun against their mere battery weapons, that they'd be facing someone who'd have the sheer audacity to fire a weapon in a peaceful family museum on a peaceful Saturday afternoon.

Trowa's eyes were focused not on the nearest exit or on those who swarmed around him like a desperate tidal wave reaching with manic purpose for a shore to crash upon. They were desperately tracing the flight path of that bullet, looking for whoever had fired that shot.

All he could see were the heads of people taller than him streaking by as they rushed toward the doors.

Cursing, he grabbed Quatre's arm and entered the sea, swimming along with the current that dragged him inevitably towards the door.

Another shot rang out.

People screamed and ran, pushing and shoving as they went.

Trowa's grip on Quatre nearly sipped as the smaller boy staggered and fell. Tightening his tenuous hold on his pale arm, he dragged Quatre back to his feet, intent on getting him out of the Aquarium-turned-firing-range as quickly as he could.

He glanced back, eyes wide with shock as he heard his blonde companion cry out.

It was then that he saw the blood that was trickling down Quatre's right arm and the dark red stain that was slowly spreading its way along his right shirtsleeve, marring the light eggshell blue coloration with its dark touch. Eyes widening involuntarily, he roughly pushed the blonde in front of him, intent on using himself as a shield as he egged the boy to get moving and head towards the stairs.

Keeping his grip on Quatre's arm tight, he laid his other hand upon his unmarked shoulder, taking the loose fabric of the polo shirt in his fingers and keeping a death grip on it, pushing him roughly ahead of him, holding him upright when he staggered. "Move faster," he whispered harshly, getting a gasped, "I'm trying!" from his partner.

The crowd swept them outside and dumped them without mercy into the wide open spaces that resided outside of the glass building, right before the huge concrete sculpture with its circling waves splashing and seeping over its sides.

Fingers still entwined in Quatre's shirt, Trowa ran as quickly as he could towards the parking garage, intent on reaching their car.

Both boys screeched to a halt as a pair of black cars, one a Crown Victoria and the other a Civic, pulled directly into their flight path.

Trowa pulled Quatre sharply as he redirected their flight path, running desperately along the street as the tinted windows of those vehicles rolled down and gun barrels emerged from them.

He staggered as a gunshot ricochet off the lamppost to his left. Quatre yelped, ducking his head, trying to keep pace with his partner's longer stride and quicker run.

Looking desperately for an escape path, Trowa dragged Quatre into traffic, running between cars, ignoring the cursing and the honking of horns that was sent forth to meet him. Running as quickly as he could, hauling his blonde burden mercilessly behind him, he cut a quick path up Pine Avenue.

Quatre tugged on his arm. "There! We can hide there!"

Trowa saw instantly what he was attempting to direct his attention to.

They plunged into the Movie Theater to their left, ignoring the protests of the ticket-collecting ushers and diving behind the thick, windowless walls, gasping for breath.

As minute after minute ticked past, Trowa risked glancing around the corner. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "I think we lost them," he quietly muttered to Quatre, staring as the small, heaving boy.

"Wait…" Quatre whimpered. "Let's wait in here. Please…?"

Trowa's eyes narrowed slight, taking in his smaller heaving companion's condition. 'We should get back to the car. We need to get to a hospital,' he mused silently to himself.

Quatre clipped his head in a negative. "No hospital. Where would you check if you were trying to kill someone and knew you'd injured them?"

Trowa's eyes narrowed. 'How the hell…!'

Quatre remained silent, simply panting for breath.

Trowa's lips turned with a slight frown as he answered Quatre's inquiry. "I'd check at the nearest hospital of course. Typical tactic used when hunting one singular target." Bowing his head, he sighed. "You going to be able to hold out?"

"For awhile," Quatre groaned softly, his eyes closing tightly as he lifted his left hand to his right shoulder, squeezing harshly on the mangled flesh that lay beneath the punctured fabric in an attempt to slow the flow of blood that trickled from his wound. "For a few hours. Let's wait in here… 'least until nightfall, yes?"

"Alright." It sounded like a rational idea to Trowa.

"We should catch a movie while we're here. That new Lucas IV film is showing, and the critics say it's supposedly fabulous!"

Trowa tried not to slap his forehead.

-- 21:47, Yesterday --

Quatre's eyes were tightly closed, his teeth gritted as he leaned back in his chair.

"You should try not to move," Trowa reflexively answered, glancing over as he switched lanes, edging towards the fast lane of the freeway.

"I know that," Quatre hissed softly. "Just… get us back to the hotel, alright?"

"I'm doing that, Quatre."

The blonde nodded once.

"Why did they try now?"

"Huh?" Quatre breathed, glancing over.

"Why did they try to assassinate you today, out in public? Wouldn't that draw a bit of attention?"

"Maybe that was the point…"

Trowa frowned.

"Or maybe, because I hadn't let anyone know where I was going to be today, they figured it would be the perfect way to assassinate me. No one would know where I was. I'd simply be missing. And if they moved quickly enough to dispose of my body-"

"You'd simply remain missing," Trowa quietly finished for him, a frown touching his lips. "What I'm trying to figure out is how they knew we were going to be here. I didn't even know until you came out of the shower that we were going here today. You think-"

"The room's bugged," Quatre interrupted, shaking his head. "I was supposed to be at a meeting today in Los Angeles with Mr. Fugardi from my California Software division of Winner Industries. Not the first time I've ever ditched a meeting with him, so he's come to expect it. It pisses him off, to be sure, but most of his 'emergency' meetings are over such piddly affairs that I don't like to bother myself with them. So I figured that they'd be want to follow me to that meeting, thinking I'd be there today, to keep an eye on my activities."

"So your decision to go to the Aquarium was to throw them off your trail, since you suspected they were hovering over you?"

"Exactly," Quatre breathed, shaking his head. "Room's got to be bugged. Or the new Mercedes is being electronically traced."

"I doubt that. I ran over it this morning to make certain there weren't any tracking devices on it."

"Then maybe it would be best to avoid our hotel…"

Trowa sighed, shaking his head. "You might be right. Where to go instead?"

"To the hotel you and James occupied when you were first here. Do remember where it's located?"

"Yes, I do," Trowa groaned. "Fabulous. You want to meet up with him, don't you?"

"He should be back there by now, planning his next maneuver."

"What if he's already gone on to the next step of whatever it is he's thinking of doing?"

"Then we'll have an empty hotel room all to ourselves, won't we?"

Trowa subconsciously gulped.

Reaching forward, he let his fingers brush over the buttons of the radio, seeking the power switch to flood the car with something besides the sound of his own pounding heart and his companion's soft humming.

His eyes settled on the rearview mirror as he leaned forward. They widened considerably.

Three sets of headlights were gaining on him quickly.

Pressing his foot to the floor on the accelerator, he scowled. 'Rude California drivers. Always have to crawl up on your-'

He swerved violently as a gun barrel emerged from the passenger side window of one of the pursuing cars, seen only by the flash of light that came with the discharge of the weapon.

The passenger side mirror exploded. Both boys stared at it in horror.

"Go, Trowa, go!" Quatre yelled, staring at him with panicked blue eyes.

"I'm going!" Trowa barked even as he slammed his foot against the floor, praying that he'd be able to outrun their pursuit.

As the needle edged towards 160 mph, he looked into the mirror and realized that trying to outrun them would be more difficult to do than he originally thought. They were still right on his tail.

-- 22:18, Yesterday --

Trowa slowly lifted his head away from the steadily deflating airbag. His first instinct was to shake his head to ward off the parade of dancing stars that circled it, his second to check on his partner.

Quatre groaned from the floor of the passenger side, having been pinned firmly into place by the deployed airbag, which had fortunately not taken his head off with its violent eruption from its storage place.

"You alright?" Trowa quietly asked.

"Surprisingly yes… what happened?" Quatre shakily whimpered.

"We… went off the exchange."

"And we're alive?"

"Yeah…" Trowa breathed as he stretched, his foot touching the accelerator. He gasped and gripped the wheel, his foot leaping off the pedal as the car lurched forward. "And we landed upright," he said in obvious shock, his voice carrying what could almost be defined as a laugh.

"Trowa?"

"Yes, Quatre?"

"Remind me to buy Mercedes in the future. Fuck Bentley."

Trowa nodded once, his hands lightly caressing the steering wheel. "I'm sorry for thinking you were a piece of shit earlier. You're a good car."

"Trowa, let's get to that hotel before they pick up on the fact that we're still alive. And before the authorities arrive to investigate this mess."

Trowa nodded. "Sure thing."

The injured, battered remains of what was once a Mercedes Benz began to hobble down the freeway as quickly as it could on its bent axle and its one deflated tire.

-- 02:46 --

Trowa frowned as he stepped out of the beaten vehicle he'd been forcing to roll down the freeway for the last approximate four hours. His arms crossed over his t-shirt-clad chest, bare arms going goose-pimply in the chill of the night, he walked around the vehicle to stand by the silver Harley Davidson V-Rod that sat in the same parking place he recalled James landing it in when they'd returned from his impromptu meeting with Xavier Johnson in the low desert outside of Barstow.

"Apparently he's still here," he murmured to himself. "Meaning I'm going to have to deal with him once more. But also, this means that we might be able to garner some information from him, as he always seems to be on top of what's going on concerning this supposed 'game.' Might be advantageous."

"He's not here," Quatre called as he walked towards him, his careful footfalls carrying him from the hotel's office towards the wrecked Mercedes and the tall youth that stood by it. "He hasn't checked out yet, but there's been no activity on his room key since you two arrived at two in the afternoon four days ago. The day before you two met me at the beach, actually."

"You're serious?" Trowa questioned, arching a brow. "The last time this door was opened was when we returned from the mall?"

"Apparently, if that's what you were doing at two in the afternoon about four days ago," Quatre said with a nod.

Trowa experimentally tried his room key.

The light flickered green.

'I'll be damned. He really hasn't checked out. And he hasn't been back since we departed together. That explains why the motorcycle hasn't moved since he parked it after getting that other car to carry his surfboard to the beach.'

The pair of them walked into the room. Trowa stared, eyes wide.

The room laid in complete disarray as he remembered it being. Opened packages of Macaroni and Cheese sat on the small kitchenette's sink counter, their yawning tops pointed towards the door, the walls, the mirror. The microwavable rice cooker and pasta maker they'd purchased for the sole purpose of cooking their precious Mac and Cheese sat on the table that occupied the small hotel room, its orange contents showing the spread of mold across its lumpy, hardened surface. A half-emptied bottle of 7-up sat opened next to the bed by the far wall, and a package of Oreo cookies laid opened on the bed.

Trowa wandered over and stuffed one of the now stale cookies into his mouth before continuing to look around the room.

Beer bottles were scattered everywhere around the room, sitting on the dresser, the table, on the nightstand and peeking out from under the bed's ruffle.

Trowa shook his head, wondering why exactly they'd seen fit to chase housekeeping away and leave cleaning to themselves.

'Oh yeah, because we were afraid of our stuff being infiltrated. Because we're both paranoid as hell, for the right reasons.'

Shirts laid sprawled across the floor, sleeves spread in disarray. Jeans were piled in a massive heap in the corner by the microfridge. The pungent smell off old beer and cigarette ash permeated the entire living space, seeming to have seeped into the walls themselves.

"Nothing's been touched."

Quatre hissed softly, walking towards the dresser, shaking his head. "Then he really hasn't returned. I know he wouldn't be one to leave something like this behind, though. Maybe he was intending on returning and got held up?"

"Maybe he had something to complete before he returned."

"Might be in trouble."

"I doubt that," Trowa said with a shake of his head and a frown on his lips. "Mr. Waverly seems very capable. He's probably out doing whatever it is he does when he's not involved with one of your plots."

"But if he were, he would have taken this…"

"Who cares? Let's take it. We can use the extra fire power."

Quatre frowned and sighed but took Trowa's advice anyway. His arms sagged under the weight of the Springfield Armory SAR-8 (1). "Extra firepower, Trowa? You realize this isn't for combat use."

Trowa smirked and nodded. "I know exactly what that's used for, and I know that the moment we find out who's behind this I'll be putting that to use."

Quatre simply nodded.

"It's one hell of a sniper rifle, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

-- 03:05 --

Trowa sighed as he pushed the small microphone into his ear channel. Fingering the device, he turned the volume switch up a notch.

He wasn't receiving anything but static at the moment.

'Did Xavier find the bug James placed?' he silently wondered, his eyes narrowing as he glanced over at his partner.

Quatre laid curled on his bed, his upper body bare of the soft fabric of his stained shirt but wrapped heavily in gauze and ace bandages. Sprawled on his stomach, his right arm laying limply by his side even as his left curled around his pillow to cuddle it fondly, he offered Trowa a clear view of the bandages that had begun to show the slightest tinge of discoloration caused by the slow leaking of the wound they covered.

He'd bound his blonde companion as well as he could, using what few medicinal supplies he could find in the pig sty he and James Waverly had temporarily called home.

Neosporin, gauze and ace bandages were all he could find.

'The man didn't even have the decency to get some Band-Aids,' Trowa thought as he huffed in disgust.

A few Motrin would have been nice, too. Something to ease Quatre's obvious pain as he attempted to sleep.

Thanks to Quatre's quick action, the wound had already formed a nice clot by the time Trowa was forced to attack it with a pair of tweezers and a wash cloth. The bullet he'd pulled had impacted smoothly on the bone that laid underneath Quatre's deceptively hard muscles, failing to burrow into the hard white material, instead flattening its nose upon it.

A 9mm bullet. Standard tip.

Something loaded into a handgun.

Trowa reflected on the attack at the Aquarium, frowning as the realization that he'd failed to hear a single sound preceding the ping of the bullet bouncing off the metal rail bare inches before Quatre's body settled into his brain.

A handgun with a silencer, then.

Something that could easily be carried into a public place. Something that could possibly make it past the lax security around the commonly peaceful family museum. Something very unlike the huge, monstrously powerful and deadly accurate weapons that were scattered around the hotel room he was sitting in.

Nothing like the M-4 (2), which as indicated by its collapsible stock and its giant night-vision telescope sight and stand to support its massive weight when taking aim while sprawled across the ground was definitely not a civilian model.

Nothing like the fully automatic Calico Liberty 100 Carbine Series rifle (3) with its 100 round magazines and its silencer screwed onto the end of its barrel.

Nothing like the DS Arms SA58 rifle (4), another fully automatic weapon, with its OZ serial number still printed across its butt.

It had been an assassin's weapon, but one that had to be used at close range.

Trowa silently thanked whatever god would listen to him for that fact. It had made their pursuer a bit sloppier, having the additional pressure of being in the area its target was in, having the additional worry of being discovered settled upon its head.

If it had been someone truly well equipped, Quatre could have been removed from across the rooftop of the Long Beach Civic Center across the street.

If it had been the assassin he used to room with, his blonde companion would have been dead.

Trowa turned up the volume on the receiver as the static finally broke.

He narrowed his eyes as he listened to the conversation that poured over the microphone in the absence of the loud engine noise that Trowa realized had been dominating earlier.

"He failed?"

Trowa narrowed his eyes. 'Xavier.'

"- s, he d i-. They ma – ip away in do – n," a voice Trowa failed to recognize said, breathing just outside of the small receiver's limited range for clarity.

"Hmm. Well, this is pro - ng to be an interesting de - ment, isn't it?" Xavier's voice answered, before continuing with, "And wha – f the other one?"

"Se – red, for th – me bei -."

"Perfect."

The loud roar of the engine being started was nearly deafening. Trowa quickly fished the microphone out of his ear and tossed it onto the table, rubbing his ear after it exited the channel and wincing. Reaching over, he calmly turned the receiver off.

'Secured…?'

'Interesting development?'

'What the fuck is going on?'

Trowa scowled. 'He lied, of course. I knew that. James knew that and told me as much. They were trying to abolish any trust between us…'

'Maybe to separate us…?'

'Secured….'

'What kind of a world of shit are we in now?'

Trowa laid his head on the table, staring out the window, his eyes focused on the pristinely clear night and the twinkling stars that littered the black expanse of sky outside as Quatre's soft breathing warmly echoed in his ears from behind him.

tbc...

1) Springfield Armory SAR-8: Caliber: 7.62 MM, 308; Action: Semi-Automatic; Barrel: 18"; Weight: 10 pounds; Length: 40.38"; Stock: Synthetic; Price: POR (price on request: IOW, expensive!); Misc: Features include: protected front post sights and rotary-style adjustable rear aperture.

2) Baer Custom Ultimate AR M-4 Flattop Model: Caliber: .223; Barrel: 16"; Stock: Civilian model standard stock, law enforcement model available with collapsible stock (used in fic); Finish: Baer Coat finish on upper, lower barrel and free float system; Price: $2,195; Misc: Jewell 2 stage trigger standard (optional single stage trigger available (used in fic), LBC 4-way free float Picatinney rail system (12" standard), guaranteed to shoot 1/2" groups (1/2 MOA), many optional equipment features are available for the state-of-the-art M4.

3) Calico Liberty 50 & 100 (used in fic) Carbine Series: Caliber: 9mm Para. (50 or 100 (used in fic) round magazines); Action: Semi-automatic (adjusted – locking pin removed, made fully automatic for fic) retarded blowback, CETME type; Barrel: 16"; Weight: 7 pounds; Length: 34.5" overall; Stock: Glass filled, impact resistant polymer; Finish: Black and phosphate; Price $860 to $925; Misc: Helical fed magazine, ambidextrous safety, static cocking handle, rotating sear/striker block safety.

4) DS Arms SA58 Rifles: Caliber: 308 Win.; Capacity: 20 shot detachable box magazine; Barrel: 16.25"; Weight 8.25 pounds; Length: 38.25"; Stock: Synthetic; Finish: Military matte black; Price: $1,595; Misc: Features include: last shot bolt hold open, elevation adjustable protected post front sight and tilting block locking system.