Chapter 5-1

The next day, I got a text message from Miss Militia. Apparently, the PRT had approved her request to get me some time on the firing ranges. I was already smiling before I realized what I was doing. Seriously, what's wrong with me? Since when did I develop an obsession with guns?

I shook my head and pushed the matter aside. Now was not the time.

The firing range on the Rig was barebones, in my opinion. Enough space for about four people at the same time, but that's about it. I suppose it made sense. Only a handful of the heroes actually used firearms and the PRT troopers probably had their own firing range at the PRT Headquarters. As far as I knew, the only ones who'd use this range regularly were Miss Militia, Kid Win, the handful of troopers permanently stationed here, and now me.

Today, early in the morning, the range was completely empty apart from Miss Militia standing silently in front of one of the targets. She motioned me to come over and handed me some ear and eye protection.

As a ball of greenish energy in her hand morphed into a pistol, she said: "Before I let you handle a firearm, I need to explain a few things to you." Her tone was deadly serious. It made me stand to attention without even realizing it.

"Okay."

"First: a firearm is a privilege and a responsibility, not a right. You abuse it, you lose it. Two: a gun is a tool designed with only one purpose in mind: killing things. Never forget that. Respect its power and remember that this little gizmo can end someone's life whether you want it to or not. Three: a gun is never truly safe. Safeties can malfunction or there could still be a bullet in the chamber without you realizing it. Assume that a fully assembled gun is always dangerous. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Be careful with guns, for your own sake and everyone else's. Got it."

She seemed to smile, but only a little. "Very good. Before you do anything else, make sure the firing range itself is clear. If there's anyone in front of or behind your target, wait until they go away. Don't even try to aim unless you're sure you can't hit anyone who doesn't deserve it. That applies to future fieldwork too, by the way."

I nodded in response. She was right, I suppose.

"Now that the range is clear and I'm sure that I won't shoot someone by accident, I can remove the gun's safety. Remember that the gun can fire now, so don't put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Make sure the barrel is always pointing in the direction of the target, or at the very least, away from other people." Miss Militia took aim, standing side-ways while holding the gun in one hand. "Now, I aim down the sights, take a deep breath, and pull the trigger." Calmly, she put six rounds in the target.

Incidentally, while guns were really loud, the sound didn't bother me as much as loud noises usually did. Weird.

Miss Militia put the safety back on before pressing a button and making the paper target rush towards us. All rounds were in the chest area of the human silhouette printed on it. Most were centered around the heart. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that she was good with firearms. Guns were her gimmick, after all.

She replaced the target and handed me the gun. "Now you try. There are six shots left in this magazine. Hit the target the best you can."

I nodded. I looked at the gun in my hands. The weight felt strangely comfortable. Strange, since I've never touched a gun in my life before. I took aim, using one hand to direct the weapon and the other to brace myself for the recoil. Then, with the flick of a finger, I removed the safety and pulled the trigger.

The first shot struck the target's right shoulder. Totally nonlethal. I had to aim lower.

The second shot struck the right leg. I compensated too much. Again, nonlethal. On top of that, the target would still be able to shoot back.

The third shot struck somewhere in the abdomen. If the target were real, he would die from internal hemorrhaging without immediate medical attention.

The fourth shot stuck straight through the heart. Just what I was aiming for, but more likely to be luck rather than skill. Again.

The fifth shot punctured a lung. Painful, but not immediately fatal.

The sixth shot hit the spleen. Internal hemorrhaging would probably kill the target soon, but it could still be possible that he'd shoot back in an adrenaline-filled fit of rage.

The gun clicked empty. I put the safety back on and placed it on the table in front of me.

"Hmm." Miss Militia said as the paper target came rushing towards us again. "Not bad for a first timer."

"I can do better than that." I said, unsure if I really deserved the praise. "No, I need to do better than that."

"You can't be an expert without practice, Taylor. Just hitting the paper is impressive enough."

"In two of the instances, the target would still have been able to shoot back quite easily. Only one was actually on target. Now, if he shoots back, that's not really a problem for me, but anyone else? Sure, I'm hard to kill, but the other Wards might not be that lucky."

Miss Militia gave me a look I couldn't quite place. Pity? Concern? I need to get better at reading faces. "Let's try that again, shall we?" The gun in my hands dematerialized and reformed in her hand, fully loaded. She replaced the target and handed me the gun. I nodded and put the full magazine into the target.

These twelve were a lot better than my first six. At least I was able to hit center mass consistently now, and three of them actually managed to pierce the heart. It was nowhere near good enough for my tastes, but it would suffice for now. Practice makes perfect, after all, and assuming that I'd have perfect aim the first time I've ever fired a gun would be ridiculous.

The weapon on the table disintegrated again and transformed into a revolver in Miss Militia's hand. "Try this."

I took the gun and emptied its six rounds into a fresh target. Like the previous time, the first two shots were rather off, but the rest were at least able to hit the target after I've compensated for the recoil. At least I wasn't any worse with this thing.

Different weapons were tried: a shotgun, a SMG, a crossbow, a massive pistol, an assault rifle which kicked like a horse, and some sort of bolt-action rifle. The results were more or less the same: first few shots were off, the rest were decent.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Miss Militia asked.

"I'm not sure what to think about this." I said, looking at the rifle in my hands. "I mean, I can sort of hit a stationary target at twenty yards, sure, but if they were actually moving or shooting back…I don't know. I'm going to need a lot more practice if my aim's going to be half-decent."

The heroine rubbed the bridge of her nose. I wasn't sure what to make of that gesture.

"Guess this is why you don't let Wards take guns to the field, huh?" I added.

She shook her head. "You…Have you ever used a gun before in your life?"

"No, ma'm."

"Have you ever seen someone use a gun?"

"Unless movies count, no. Why do you ask?"

"Because most first-timers here are lucky to even hit the target at all." Miss Militia held up a finger, making sure I couldn't interrupt. "I wasn't finished. There's also the way you stand. Did you notice how I stood sideways and held the gun in one hand?"

"Yeah?"

"They do it in movies a lot. It looks cool, but it's also very stupid if you try that in a real firefight. Holding a pistol with two hands, exactly like you did, lets you shoot a lot more accurately. Since Hollywood doesn't care about things like realism, where did you learn how to do it? Or, for that matter, how to use a M-16 or a M-1903 Springfield Rifle."

That…was a very good question and the thought was starting to scare the crap out of me. I had to admit, I had no idea what I was doing. And yet…when I picked up the gun, it all just fell in place. The motions just came to me. "I…I don't know. I just…"

"Did what came naturally? Did what felt right? Followed your instincts?" Miss Militia finished for me. It was probably as close to the truth as I was ever going to get. "That's usually what you hear when you ask someone how they're using their powers."

But I didn't have… No. Miss Militia was the expert here. If she thought what I did was impossible, then I had no reason to question it. That left only one explanation for my new-found skills. I had another power. A power that somehow lets me figure out guns.

"You knew, didn't you." I said, unsure of what I should be feeling right now.

Miss Militia nodded. "I didn't know, but I had my suspicions."

"How?"

"The way you handled that containment foam launcher two days ago. It's a finicky thing and no one gets it right the first time. Well, no one except you, it seems."

I stared at the weapon for a while, not sure what to think anymore. Having a gun sense just feels out of place, somehow. The implications were worrying, to say the least.

"You okay?" Miss Militia asked. "Most people get excited when they discover a new aspect of their power."

"I'm not sure… I read yesterday that our trigger event usually determines what powers we get. Apparently, it's like the universe handing you a toolbox that lets you get out of the situation that got you to trigger in the first place."

"Well, nobody really knows for sure." She said, shrugging. She'd probably heard the theories too at some point. "There're only theories when it comes to trigger events."

"But what if they're right and I…" I shook my head and tried to calm myself a little. "Look, I've got a sound control power that lets me track someone down while staying hidden, I've got some sort of armor that lets me shrug off most forms of damage, and I've got a power that makes me really good at shooting people. I got these powers after a two year long bullying campaign started by three people whose names are burned into my brain. So if I'm right about trigger events…" I saw Miss Militia cringe. She probably connected the dots in her head.

"You're not an assassin waiting to happen, Taylor."

"Maybe, maybe not, but it's like the universe is trying to tell me something, and I don't really like what I'm hearing."

Miss Militia sighed. "Powers don't make people bad, Taylor. Some villains like to make the 'my power made me do it' excuse as an insanity defense, but ultimately we make our own choices. Take me, for instance. What's stopping me from summoning a shoulder-mounted nuke launcher and blowing up the city?"

"Shoulder-mounted nuke launcher?" Half of me wondered what kind of lunatic would invent such a thing. The other half wondered what it would be like to fire one.

There's something seriously wrong with me, isn't there?

"No, I'm not letting you shoot one and don't you dare look disappointed." The heroine said sternly. "Look, my point is that if you were going to shoot up your school, you'd have done so already. I like to think I'm a good judge of character and you don't strike me as the kind of person to suddenly develop an urge to chop up your bullies and make a fashionable hat out of their body parts."

I suppose she knew better than I did. That didn't mean I could get complacent, though. Emma had been my friend for years until one day when she pulled a one-eighty on me without warning. If something like that happened to me… Well, I wouldn't be the first hero to go nuts and turn into a monster.

Let's just hope that never happens.

Armsmaster stomped into the firing range.

Miss Militia frowned. Why was she frowning? "Armsmaster."

"Miss Militia. Taylor." He answered absentmindedly before examining the targets I'd spent all morning shooting up. "Hmm. Impressive. Not the best shooting I've ever seen, but certainly better than what could be expected from a fifteen year old. Looks like Miss Militia was right about you, Taylor."

Miss Militia's answer was surprisingly terse. "Yes, I was."

Armsmaster simply nodded and turned to me again. "Meet me in the gym in a couple of minutes. I'd like to test something."

"Yes, sir." I answered and the hero stomped out of the room again. Miss Militia still had that annoyed look on her face, though. "Something wrong?"

"No, not at all." She obviously lied. I wonder what was bugging her and if it had anything to do with me. Probably not, though. There could be a thousand reasons why someone like Armsmaster pissed her off. "You got your orders, Taylor. Go on."

"Okay then. See you later."

I went to the gym and found Armsmaster doing a warm-up in his sportswear. Even without his armor and helmet, he still had this aura of strength and authority.

"Taylor." He said, sounding just slightly more excited than usual. That could either be really good, or really bad. "Good. Get on the mat."

"What do you need?" Not that I really needed to ask. I think I already knew what was going to happen, and that is was going to suck.

"Well, Miss Militia's test in the firing range confirmed her suspicions: you apparently have an innate understanding of guns. I want to know if that extends to other kinds of weapons as well." He walked over to a nearby stand and picked up a pair of training halberds. He threw one of them my way.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" I said as I caught the halberd and swung it experimentally.

Armsmaster never answered my question. He simply raised his weapon and said: "Defend yourself."