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Read The Fucking Manual; RTFM, baby.
Topic Started: Feb 3 2011, 07:33 PM (967 Views)
Dr. Nic
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How cute.
[ *  * ]
[Girl #101 - Sofia Martelli. Continued from Fabuleux

One-shot thread.]

"Piece of shit!"

Sofia was still fuming from her encounter at the cliffs. Janet was still alive and Sofia was busy beating herself up over that little fact. She hated that she couldn't finish what she started, that she couldn't end that bitch when she had the opportunity. She hated that she was actually being forced to think about what she had done and what she was going to do, but every time it reared its ugly head, she shook of the feelings of guilt and remorse. They were obstacles, that's all. They were obstacles in her path and her path was one of anger and revenge. She was going to make everyone pay for what they did. Everyone.

But for now, she was just focused on making her tools work. Can't break down obstacles without the right tools for the job, after all. And her tools were a lead pipe and this beautiful, lovely and sleek shotgun. She had time to marvel at the weapon now that she was alone, going over it with a cloth rag and making sure it was cleaned to a spit shine. The lines and the powerful curves, the feel of metal in her hands and the way it seemed to conform to her fingers when she gripped it. God, it reminded her of her car back home. That lovely, powerful machine, a product of the 80s in every way.

But this black baby was brand new. She swore she could almost smell the new gun on it. Reminded her of new car.

"Beautiful piece of shit, but a piece of shit none-the-less."

She tried to talk herself out of her brief love affair with the piece of weaponry in front of her. No matter how beautiful it was or how much she admired the craftsmanship in it, it still didn't work when she fired it back at the cliffs. Janet fucking moved between the raindrops then, that lucky little bitch. Sofia was planted on a stump with the shotgun in her lap and the manual open in front of her on a log she managed to drag over to where she had set up her camp. There was a nice breeze today, so Sofia held the booklet down with rocks and sticks to keep it from blowing away. Can't lose the manual now.

"Right. It's clean, so it didn't jam."

Sofia lifted the weapon off of her lap and ran the rag down the underside of the weapon, caressing the synthetic black body and the fore-end, running her fingers across the ridges. She stared down the ghost ring sight and marveled for a moment before she caught something in the manual.

Selector ring?

"What the hell is a selector ring?"

She examined the weapon further and read the manual as slowly and clearly as she could with the weapon in her hands, looking at the pictures provided.

"...I'm a fucking moron."

With her right hand, she took hold of the fore-end and in her left, the grip of the gun. She kept her finger off the trigger, but aimed it at a nearby stump. With a little strength, she pulled back the fore-end and pumped the shotgun, reacting with disbelief as the empty shell flew from the weapon. It was that fucking simple. She'd done it before when she loaded the damn thing and yet she still didn't think to do it when confronting Janet. She didn't quite know why, but when she thought about it now, she must have assumed the weapon was semi-automatic instead of pump action.

Sofia didn't have any reason to suspect it was both.

It was the first time she'd ever actually used a shotgun instead of just watched one be used, how could she know? But now that she knew, she continued to pump the shotgun until every shell had been ejected and opened the bolt, checking to make sure it was empty.

"Good."

She locked the bolt into place and continued to look the weapon over, reading the manual twice over for good measure as she examined every part of her new weapon. This was her gun. This was her tool. This would become part of her. And just as she had explored her own body when she was younger and explored her car when she first got it, she would explore this new tool again and again until she knew it like the back of her hand. She would get to know this weapon just as well as she knew every erogenous zone on her own body or every single curve on that beautiful Cadillac back home. Fingering the strap loops at each end of the gun, she let a little grin slip out before she snapped up John's daypack and lay it down on the log in front of her.

With her fingers wrapped around the lead pipe, she swung hard at the bag.

The plastic connectors snapped under the power of the impact and she repeated this at the other end, breaking the connections between the straps and the bag itself. She tore the strap off of the dufflebag and straightened out the fabric, smoothing it out with her hands a few times.

"This should work perfectly."

She threaded the fabric through the loops on the synthetic body of the gun, at the stock and below the selector ring. Pulling it through, she adjusted the length and tied them off once she was satisfied with how it hung from her shoulder. That was perfect. It hung from her shoulder better than a purse ever did. It felt natural to have that powerful bit of metal hanging at her side.

It was almost a turn on, having it so close to her at all times.

Now that it hung at her side, she picked up the manual and thumbed through it one last time. She read the manual for every power tool she used, she read the owners manual for her car and her scooter. She read the manual for everything she ever used that came with a manual, and this new weapon was no different. She went through that manual three or four times already, making sure she knew everything she needed to know about the weapon before she moved on from her campsite. How to clean it, how to operate it, how to change the action from semi-automatic to pump-action, where the bolt lock was and where the safety was, how to adjust the sights. She even learned how to take it apart and put it back together again, not that she'd ever try that without being absolutely sure she wouldn't need it anytime soon.

Of course, she wasn't finished with it just yet.

Sitting back down on the stump, she laid the weapon back down in her lap and closed the bolt, flipping it over and picking up the shells that were sitting next to her. She had fourteen of them left. She'd have to keep track of that. But the gun should be able to hold at least half that at one time. One at a time, she loaded the shells into the shotgun until she could no longer get any more in. Only five?

"Oh, wait."

Flipping the weapon back around, she pumped it once to bring a shell into the chamber and slid the last one into the tube, making the final count of shells in the weapon six. A decent amount and definitely more than she should need if she encountered any more obstacles. She only needed one for John and that is all she should need for anyone else she ran in to. But before she did anything, she needed to make sure the gun was in the right action. Pumping it was certainly enjoyable, but being able to fire it with ever squeeze of the trigger was a lovely notion. Her hand found the selector ring in an instant and without hesitation, she turned it and slid the fore-end into place, locking the action in.

"Semi-automatic shotguns. Wonderful things."

Eight shells were still sitting there on the log. Grabbing her bag, Sofia went to stuff them into her own daypack, but her first aid kit fell out before she could do anything. Seeing the little container full of medical supplies reminded her that her face still stung from those scratch marks. That bitch Janet got her filthy hands on Sofia during the fight and managed to scratch the hell out of her face, leaving some nasty little cuts across her face.

If that bitch scarred me...

Rooting around in her personal bag, Sofia dug out her little make-up kit and used its small, almost useless mirror to get a closer look at the cuts on her face. They didn't look good and stung something fierce as she touched them.

"Bitch."

There wasn't much she could do at this point as they had already begun scabbing over. She scraped at them, cleaned them and cleared them of dirt before applying the antiseptic from the first aid kit. Some of the bigger cuts she tried to close with the butterfly stitches provided, but she settled with simply cleaning the smaller ones. It was bit tough to apply everything properly, especially since she didn't have any bigger mirrors, but she did the best she could with what she had and was quite satisfied with how things turned out. At least she wouldn't have to worry about infections or scars, so long as she took care of the wounds.

As she was putting everything away, something in the first aid kit caught Sofia's eye. A pair of little scissors and some thread with a needle. Apparently provided for more serious stitches, she had something else in mind for the new tools.

Immediately, she went to work on taking apart John's daypack, being careful with what she cut as she broke it down. She sewed a few things together and made the bag significantly smaller, but made a point of adding a rather long strap to the bag. By the time she was finished, at least an hour had gone by. But the time spent on her little project was worth it as she stood up and wrapped the strap around her waist, tying it tight and adjusting the new, smaller pack that hung at her hip.

"Cute."

After checking to make sure the zipper worked properly, Sofia dropped the shotgun shells into the bag and sat back down on her stump. She considered the day to have been well spent, putting a bit of hard work in to make sure she was prepared for anything that came her way. Now, all she had to do was sit back and relax with the shotgun hanging from her shoulder and the makeshift little bag at her side. She pondered the possibility of making that shotgun into a sawed-off, but shook her head at the idea. Not only did she lack the tools, she lacked the desire to maim her new weapon like that. It would be like chopping off one of her own fingers by this point. No, she wouldn't maim her new tool like that, but she would make it her own. Slipping a hand into her personal bag, she pulled out her nail file and then pulled the shotgun into her lap.

"Here. You need a name."

Toward the end of the barrel, Sofia scratched in a little mark, nothing more than a lonely little line. Next, she moved her attention to the fore-end of the gun, starting to scratch more than one little line into the side of the synthetic body of the gun.

"T."

She muttered under her breath after she finished each scratch.

"O."

She bit her lip.

"N."

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a break before she continued.

"Y."

This wasn't her weapon. This wasn't her tool. This wasn't even part of her own body. This was her partner.

"I'll make them pay, Tony. We'll make them pay. I promise."

But for now, all she had to do was relax. It was getting awfully late. She'll get back on the road tomorrow. After a good nights sleep, she'll get back to business.

Tomorrow.

[Girl #101 and Gun #01 - Sofia Martelli and Tony. Concluded in Enter the Deathsquad.]

[End of thread]
Edited by Dr. Nic, Feb 10 2011, 07:24 AM.
Boy #??? - Joshua Edwards
Hanging out somewhere, playing his heart out.
Writer and local retail slave at the comic book store.

Girl #??? - Viktoriya "Vika" Starikova
Floating in the void, unfinished and half-formed.
Hot headed member of the soft ball team, secretly wishing she could fly.

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