Part Six: Super Soakers
"There's no way in hell I'm using that!" she flat out told her third mentor. The gun he held was longer than his arm and was wider as well.
He rolled his eyes, "Duh," he pulled out a paintball gun, tossing it to her, "you're using that until I'm sure you won't shoot me."
She raised an eyebrow but then nodded.
"It's filled with pigs' blood capsules," he warned, "To simulate the real deal; getcha used to the gore you'll see." He grinned and suddenly she didn't feel safe being around him, "But they told you I'd show you firepower so…"
He pulled out a small seemingly normal nine millimeter gun, the classic cop gun, saying, "The names don't matter yet…just watch."
He aimed at an oak and shot; as soon as the ammo hit the tree withered and died.
"That's a stunner for Humongasaurs, deadly for anything smaller," he smirked, holstering the gun before kneeling to a case, explaining, "This is the next level," he quickly put the sniper rifle together, "Galvanian modified human M-16 sniper rifle; when you go into a situation you better pray to your god that it's a friend watching your back with one of these."
He lined up the shot and took it, the targeted tree going up in a small, rather pretty mushroom cloud. He grinned, dismantled the weapon and packed it away, moving passed the next three weapon stages and straight to the last. He pulled the tarp off the weapon, it was half his height and matched his width, grinning like mad, "This's the Big Kids' toy; known only as The Vaporizer, illegal for even Plumbers to use. But you need to see it in action…Don't blink…" he lined up the shot and took it. Or at least she though he did because one split second the targeted tree was there and the next it had vanished.
"A hundred percent lethal," he spoke gleefully, excitedly, "a hundred percent of the time. Usually you won't know what hit you. Nobody knows if it's painful or not."
She gulped, eyeing the missing tree's spot fearfully.
"This's war," he intoned, "almost anything goes. It's kill or be killed. Which one are you?"
"Kill." She squeaked.
"I didn't hear you," he cupped his hand around his ear, "which one are you?"
"Kill." She found her steady firm voice and nearly shouted her answer.
He nodded, grinning, "Good choice. Now see that target," he pointed to a human shaped paper target that had a large golden blotch where the heart would have been and a blue blotch on the forehead. The target was a good half a football field away. "Shoot to kill."
She nodded, kneeling on one knee as she had been taught to. She lined up the shot, the chip in her allowing her to squint and zoom in with her left eye like a camera's lens. She pulled the trigger and the recoil slammed the gun into her shoulder, probably bruising it. But her shot was true as the capsule hit the heart circle.
With rapid movements she exhausted her ammo supply, each capsule hitting where she had wanted them to.
She grinned up at her shocked mentor, "More please?"
He scowled at her, gave her a bigger gun and was incensed when she repeated her perfect performance.
So this almost comical routine was repeated until he threw up his hands in disgusted frustration, declared she didn't need training from him, stormed away (leaving the weapons), got into his car, and tore off.
"I'm sorry?"