My heart pounded with anticipation as I clicked the go button, starting up the diagnostic tool built into the machine. A low hum began to rise as the neural transductor flickered to life, its screen lighting up while it scanned the bionics within it.
Lines of code flashed by as both the software and hardware kicked into their start-up sequences, then smoothly transitioned to the testing phase. I could feel the grin threatening to spill out onto my face. I was further along than I'd ever managed before.
This could be the one.
There was a series of clicks and clunks as the machine finished. I didn't dare breathe, let alone move, as I waited for the report. Then, the first passes began scrolling across the vid-screen. I let out a laugh—relieved, giddy even. But before I could truly celebrate, I had one more test to run.
I held my breath and kicked off the final programme, the stress test.
Of course, I quickly realised I was going to be here a while. Taking a few deep breaths, I listened to the hum of the budget fabricator as it ramped up to a fever pitch. The mind impulse unit inside was put through its paces, straining connections and forcing far more power than I would survive through it.
It turned out that it wasn't called a mind link like I'd originally thought, but an impulse unit. I still thought my name sounded better, but I'd adopted the proper term. As with much of the tech in the Imperium, there was a spectrum: from ludicrous, that may as well be magic, to systems barely capable of turning on a bloody light.
Getting to this point had taken years. Constant failure, learning, building and iterating. A never-ending cycle of building or trading for the tools to build machines that would allow me to make some more tools to make other machines.
One of the main driving factors that allowed me to accomplish it all was I got my second fragment to tier 3. Compared to my Warrior fragment, this one was in another league. I wasn't sure what made it different—I mean, it was clearly special. Still having the golden glow of the milestone spark all those years ago, although paler by now.
Maybe it was just broader. It had certainly needed more sparks, nearly double what the Warrior fragment needed. Regardless, the information gained from it was staggering. There wasn't anything I'd come across that I didn't at least have some idea of how to fix.
Just looking at something, for instance, the sparking light above me, I could list off a dozen faults to check for. Loose wiring, bad grounding, poor insulation and more. More than anything, the spark gave me understanding. Maybe not the physics behind it, but crucial logic and fundamentals. I knew how electricity worked, so I could follow why some issues further up the corridor could be causing the sparking.
The Warrior fragment, on the other hand, was more focused. Less around knowledge and more on muscle memory. Regardless, the influx of knowledge when I got my Technician skill to tier 3 was incomparable; I genuinely thought my brain might leak out through my ears.
Still, in the end, I'd absolutely loved working through it all to make the MIU, having a blast finding and then solving problems. Many of the tools came in useful during the repairs I was doing for what felt like most of the gang by this point.
I did try to buy an MIU once, but I got laughed out of the store; at least I was by those who even knew what I was talking about. Needless to say, they were incredibly rare. Not just in the underhive but in general. For good reason. The components were delicate and incredibly finicky to build. Not something a huge assembly line with dozens, if not hundreds, of unskilled labourers working on it.
Some of the tolerances were minute, even a nanometre off and the unit was worthless.
It hadn't just taken years—it had eaten up a lot of sparks to make it a reality. One important discovery I had was that I could use the sparks to get schematics or blueprints, not just the science behind them. It made sense in hindsight, but it completely passed me by until I ran into a wall, unable to progress.
When I figured that out, it finally occurred to me. Could I gain outsider knowledge? I'd never admit it, but I did try for lightsabers. Nothing. It didn't even react, not even a flicker, like it didn't recognise the request. So it was to no avail that I could only pull the crazy tech of Warhammer from the aether, or as I was starting to fear the warp.
Either way, I'd sunk six fragments into the project—nearly a year's worth. As I feared, they were still slowing down. Although… it could have been my imagination, but I could've sworn the sparks were getting stronger. Brighter. What that could mean, I had no idea.
I kept the first few sparks deliberately broad, focused on augments and bionics as a whole. Naturally, I made sure they were compatible humans. This gave me a rock-solid foundation. I knew for a fact I wouldn't have progressed nearly as far as I had without it.
Like everything I came across, the quality varied wildly—from clunky junk that barely worked, to ones that were even better than the original limb.
The eldritch knowledge allowed me to skip many of the pitfalls I might have stumbled into, not least making sure everything I built was compatible. After that, my next sparks were more focused. I broke this into two steps: first, mind-based bionics in general—memory upgrades, psi-boosters and MIUs.
Then I burned a spark for the MIU schematics.
As with all highly focused sparks, it gave me a huge amount, but in a very specific field. Still, it was far more than expected. From the most basic models, each with their own quirks and drawbacks, all with several refined iterations. Finally, at the end, it gave… just a glimpse of what was truly possible when taken to the extreme.
With the kind of power they could handle, I could only assume they were linking to some truly colossal things—starships maybe?
I separated all the designs into three rough tiers.
At the bottom level, many of them were barely powerful enough to switch a vid-screen on and off. No feedback and a high latency. These got better until you reached the more useful ones on this bottom tier. Able to link to firearms or similar tech, offering some sensory feedback.
Then came the mid-grade stuff. Again, a wide spectrum, but this level could handle much larger systems—vehicles, trucks, transports, maybe even tanks. And finally, the truly stupid ones, those that I had no idea the use of.
Functionally, all the levels did the same—link a mind to machine. The various models had slight differences, but at their core they remained unchanged. With the exception of the wireless units, but they were horrendously complex, both in the MIU and the connection attached to the technology. To build one? I'd need way better tools, which were so far out of reach. For now, anyway.
What truly set the tiers apart was how much cognitive load the MIU could handle. The more that could be offloaded from your mind, the better. Afterall the bigger the system, the more strain it puts on the mind. Without serious mental reinforcement or support, just linking to the more powerful systems could liquify your mind.
They also had firewalls and guardrails—to stop your consciousness from drifting too deep, getting lost or stuck inside the machine, slowly breaking down until all that was left were mere fragments of you.
Mine sat nicely in the middle of all that—near the peak of the bottom tier. It was this low mainly because it lacked power, meaning it couldn't handle larger systems. But it was perfect for my needs, tailored for fine detail work, allowing me to control technology with minute precision, as naturally as I would with my hands, with a decent amount of sensory feedback too.
Better in fact.
The main problem with it was its bespoke design, making it a one-off, unique. An artisan's piece, not an industrial unit churned out by the hundreds. Which meant I would never find replacement parts. I'd have to fabricate them each time.
No matter how careful I was, I couldn't make everything perfectly. I had to tweak some of the designs which meant parts that would normally slot together didn't. Not a huge loss. What would I replace it with anyway? I couldn't get one in the first place.
Besides, I wasn't sure I'd ever allow something in my head that I hadn't personally built. That just seemed to be asking for trouble.
With the MIU finally installed, I could use my neural transductor to its full potential. I was halfway through making it when I thought to ask the question of how I was actually going to get it installed. After a lot of swearing, I tweaked my design slightly. The original was meant to be installed inside the skull—hidden from sight. It was even meant to have some shielding from scanners and any other interference. That and a connection tube in my arm so I could interface with the machine I wanted to.
But with that minor oversight, a slight problem appeared—there was no one skilled enough to install it, except for a few surgeons from higher up. Flesh sculptures, they were called. But they all lived in the Fortress. The headquarters of the Ash Stalkers… the gang we were at war with.
So… not the greatest timing. I didn't change the design too much, just added a connector of sorts that would clamp onto the base of my skull. Tiny filaments would lock into my nerve system, allowing me to use it to its full capacity. It had some protection, but nowhere near what it would have had compared to the original design. Plus, it was hideous to look at.
Still, it would be a good interim and let me test it before fully installing it. So, it wasn't all bad. The connector was already in place; all that was left was to slot in the impulse unit. Hands sweating slightly, I used a piece of polished metal as a mirror and slotted it in.
The connector folded out like a disk drive, allowing me to place the unit on it and then was pulled deep within the machine, locking firmly in place.
The connector itself was a boxy, ugly thing—bulky and uncomfortable, restricting the movement of my neck as it stuck out a few centimetres from my skin. But it activated, doing its job—as in the back of my mind, a new sensation blossomed into life. It felt almost like discovering a new limb. Like a numb hand suddenly regained feeling.
It couldn't do much for now, I'd need to plug into a machine first, but just feeling it there idling in the background was satisfying.
Turning away from the workbench, I took in the rest of my room, or what could be seen of it, that is. Every square inch was taken up by tools, both those used in the creation of my impulse unit and those useful for repairing the equipment brought to me.
Crates of scrap were piled high to the ceiling, ranging from spare autogun parts to focusing crystals for lasguns. But I knew where everything was. Organised chaos, I liked to call it…. though calling anything 'chaos' was not a good idea.
Most of the tools and scrap came from trades or for services rendered through my repair shop, which was what it had become over the years. People from all over the gang come to me to fix stuff: anything from a jammed gun to more complex systems like the filtration pump for our water supply.
I was glad I had reached tier 3 before tackling that one—there wasn't a chance in hell I'd have managed to fix it without that influx of knowledge. It also convinced me to grow tall with my sparks, rather than spreading them out too thinly. At least for now.
Having one of the captains knocking on my door was a nerve-racking experience. Thane, one of the techys that kept much of the technology running, had asked me to take a look at something. After that first success, it became a far more regular occurrence.
I didn't earn much in terms of material wealth, just what was needed to finish the job, but the respect and legitimacy I gained more than made up for it. It also gave me some peace of mind that the higher-ups knew about me, so I wasn't stepping on anyone's toes, which had been a growing concern of mine.
A quick glance at my wrist chrono told me I still had several hours before I needed to head to the gathering point.
Nodding to myself, I moved to the door, shrugging on my armour as I went. With the unit now installed, I was eager to put it through its paces. There wasn't much I could interface to; most tech needed a dedicated connector to allow it. The only thing I'd rigged was on my gun.
It had gone through countless iterations over the years, but it was an absolute beast by this point. Affectionately called "The Monster" by those who'd seen it in action. Picking it up from the doorway, I made my way to the gun range for some testing.
The original unwieldy rifle had only grown larger—evolving from a standard-looking sniper rifle to the odd contraption now resting in my hands. Wires, magnets and coils sprawled across the gun, but everything was carefully maintained. Despite appearances, it was sturdier than it looked—which was fortunate, given how many knocks it took just moving it around. It had doubled in size, going from just over a metre to well over two.
But it was more than worth it. I'd turned it into a budget coil gun—able to charge the internal capacitor and fire slugs at varying velocities, depending on the target. At the higher setting, few things could stop it. Many had learned that the hard way.
This did come with a slight increase in noise, but the helmet I'd picked up from the armoury helped sort that out—mostly. The helmet even had its own vox system courtesy of Lanto. That and the built-in respirator made it easily one of my most prized possessions.
Breathing with it, even if it wasn't fresh air, just slightly less polluted, was an absolute godsent.
Reaching the gun range, I got set up, loading the gun, then pulling the flexi-cable from the connector on my neck and slotted it into the gun. I'd already installed the necessary tech to allow the impulse unit to interface with it. The only other gun I could connect to was my relic pistol, which already had the capability built in when I found it.
As soon as the cable clicked into place, my awareness surged into the gun. I could feel each capacitor; the flow of electricity was through them, how the magnetic fields were contained within the weapon or how full the battery pack was and so much more.
I could even change it all with just a thought. I played with each system, boosting capacitor output and then dialling it back, adjusting the weapon's power—all without touching the knobs and dials I'd installed for that very reason.
When I lay down to shoot, I barely needed to look through the scope. I could almost feel where it was aiming. The connection wasn't perfect, so I still used the scope to verify, but it was a strange sensation—one that gave me way more peripheral vision since I didn't have to stay glued to the optics.
It was a huge advantage; I'd nearly died several times just because I'd lost track of my surroundings while sniping. That wouldn't happen again.
I pressed the gun into my shoulder, then mentally squeezed the trigger.
The first shot was slightly off, but by the third, I was hitting like normal and by the fourteenth, I was better than ever. It felt like there was a laser pointer guiding my aim. It felt like cheating, or I'd switched to easy mode. And I was loving it.
Keeping an eye on the time, I put both the gun and my mind through their paces. I moved around deliberately, getting used to the tethered connection. I got tangled a few times but quickly adapted. Eventually, I ran the cable through my clothes and out of my sleeve to make connecting easier.
That's where the fully embedded connecting wires would go once I found someone to perform the surgery. The Mind Impulse Unit wasn't just a chip in your head but an extensive modification throughout the body. But the neural hardware was the most vital and also the hardest to make.
After about an hour of shooting, I had to stop. The dull throb in my head had grown into a full-blown headache, flaring if I pushed too hard. It wasn't unbearable, but I could only assume it would get worse with extended use. My thoughts were also slowing, like my brain had been running full-tilt for hours.
Normally, I could shoot for hours. But after only an hour or two with the MIU, my mind was already getting sluggish. Hopefully, I could train that like any muscle and build up stamina. Otherwise, I would have to save it for critical shots.
Either way, my time was up. I packed up, grabbed some more ammo and headed to the meeting point. As I walked, my boots clanging on the metal floors, I poked around my mind, getting used to the ever-present sensation of the impulse unit. Disconnected, it had fallen dormant, but I could still sense it, faintly.
I gasped, stopping dead in my tracks. Several people cursed as they swerved to avoid me, but I barely registered them. My entire focus was on the fragments: just sitting there was a new spark. Brighter than most I'd ever received and clearly tilted towards crafting.
Grinning, I poked it—it was as I expected: earned for crafting an advanced new item.
I laughed, in slight disbelief. It was my first one for crafting, and I'd been starting to doubt if I could even gain one. Since it leaned heavily into tech, I decided to leave it for now and pick it tonight. I wasn't sure what I wanted, and more to the point, I didn't fancy knocking myself out and turning up late.
As I passed other gang members in the corridors, many of whom I didn't recognise, it reminded me how short life was for most of them. Even if they made it through the rookie levels. They were still at high risk as soldiers. Only sergeants and captains, the step above soldiers or veterans, who'd survived long enough, gained access to the more advanced tech. Thereby increasing your survival rate.
Unless, of course, you had the capital to gain it by yourself.
The mortality rate had only climbed as the gang war escalated. What started as a few skirmishes had grown into an all-out war, with hundreds of bodies thrown into the meat grinder to hold or seize territory. Even other gangs had been pulled in too, particularly the Trodden, the gang in control of the Bridge.
From the rumours I'd heard, they had been hammered and maybe even lost ground. But that could've just been gossip. I had no way of knowing. Only last week, there'd been a huge battle. The Court had brought out some tech I was salivating to get my hands on, like a plasma rifle or napalm flamers. All game changers are devastatingly effective.
It once again made me very glad I'd chosen long-range combat to specialise in. As the plasma rifles or flamers didn't discriminate, and I'd clearly seen several of our own caught in the crossfire.
Stepping into the throng at the meeting point, I saw a sea of gang members. Most bore symbols, marking them as soldiers rather than recruits and were champions mingling amongst them. The more I looked, the more white skull symbols I spotted, marking the largest number of veterans I'd seen gathered in one place.
This was clearly a big operation.
I moved through the crowd, nodding and greeting the people I knew, which, now I thought about it, was quite a lot of them, especially amongst the veterans. Being everyone's favourite technician had its perks. Most of my customers were soldiers and veterans, though the occasional captain stopped by too.
I chalked this up to Voff—he'd spread the word amongst his contacts. Thanks to that, I mostly skipped over the grunts, and with my backlog, they only got a look-in if they had something amazing to trade or something particularly interesting to fix. Otherwise, they were shit out of luck.
Speaking of Voff, I spotted him in the crowd—his veteran and sergeant tags on full display. I wasn't sure flaunting how important you were was wise. To me, it seemed like asking for a bullet. But in the gang, it was a matter of respect and prestige—so everyone did it.
The gang had a fairly standardised uniform, which made it easy to know how much respect to pay to someone. Most rookies just had a black armband marking them as part of the Midnight Court. From there, you earned patches showing your rank: from soldiers (two crossed swords) up to Lanto, who wore a redeye (the Court's symbol) with a skull with two crossed swords behind it. I'd since learnt his actual title was Warmaster. Pretty badass.
Selina, when I caught a glimpse of her from afar, didn't seem to wear any symbols. Then again, she didn't need to. Anyone who didn't recognise her was either an idiot or wouldn't have made it close enough to meet her anyway.
Veterans had a white stripe on their armband—apparently mimicking the mythical space marines, though that could just be a load of bullshit. Either way, it stood out, so it did its job.
I clasped Voff's arm in greeting. "Congratulations on the promotion. Fucking deserved, if you ask me."
He looked pleased but tried not to show it. "Thanks Alaric."
"Any idea what's going on?" I asked.
"Not much. Just that there is a massive op underway and the Boss herself might be involved."
Whistling softly, we chatted a bit more before he headed off to take charge of his unit. I pushed my way through the crowd, continuing to look for Lanto—the one who summoned me here. I paused now and then to greet those I knew better, regular customers or those I'd done jobs with. I was just about to start asking around when he found me.
I followed in Lanto's wake, people shifting aside as he marched through, heading towards a group of people. The rest of the gang were giving them a wide berth, not surprising as many of them were captains, lieutenants, sergeants and champions.
Champions confused me; they had no official rank in the gang, but they were treated as having equal ranks to sergeants, sometimes even captains. Regardless, they were the elite of the gang's forces. The best of the best. Normally working on their own or in small groups, with top-tier war gear and held a huge amount of soft power.
As Lanto entered the circle, he barked, "Alright, you have all been briefed. Get to it. Adira." He said to a hardened woman, in grey combat gear, a hardened flak armour and an augmented eye. A snub pistol strapped to her leg and a rifle, lighter than mine, over her shoulder. "You have Aleric." Waving at me. Nodding, I moved near her but out of their way.
I needn't have bothered. As soon as I got close, she waved for me to follow and led me out of the square we met in. We joined a squad of similarly armed fighters, all carrying rifles of some sort, clearly all scouts or snipers. Another thing that stood out to me were they were all at least soldiers, and many of them were much more than that.
I drifted to the back of the group as we followed Adira through the winding corridors and streets. As we did, she filled us in on the plan. "Alright you lot, listen up. You might have heard, but there have been talks between the Court and the Trodden for weeks. There is finally going to be a summit, with the Boss meeting the leader of the Trodden. We are going to be overwatch, so no fucking about." She paused and looked at each of us, all seventeen of us, in the eye before carrying on. "I will not have a black mark on my name. Do you all understand?"
A few muttered ayes and yeses followed, but it seemed that was enough for her. "Good. We will be spread out amongst the buildings with the best view of all entrances and exits. Aleric, John, with me, Vex…" I tuned her out as she rattled off the rest of the assignments.
Glancing at John, I saw almost exactly what I'd expected from his patches. He looked ancient—gnarled and withered like old wood, but solid as stone, the kind of hardness earned through decades of war. As expected from a veteran and champion. As the others broke off for their posts, Adira turned back to us. "We are going to be in the prime spot. Clear views of the entire square and the Bridge."
"What are we expecting?" John asked.
"Nothing. Both territories should be locked up tighter than a Guild Enforcer's coin pouch come tribute season. And with all the forces out here, nothing should go wrong." I couldn't help but wince at that. She was asking for trouble with a statement like that. "But this is too important and too public to fuck up, so keep your eyes peeled." We scaled the building, climbing where the stairs had long since collapsed, if they'd ever existed.
I struggled more than I'd ever admit. Climbing with all my gear, including my gun, was brutal, and by the time we reached the platform, I was drenched in sweat.
The platform was a twisted sheet of metal that had fallen and wedged into place. Most of it was jutting out over the open square that was around the entrance to the Bridge.
There wasn't much cover, but the line of sight was perfect.
The square stretched a couple of hundred metres across, coated in the usual grime, dirt, debris and patches of glowing lichen or mushrooms clinging to every surface. This close to the Gulf, the air was heavy with moisture, coating everything, including me, in a thin film of water. I was soaked through by now, not just sweat, but the water as well. And the Emperor only knows what was in the stuff. It poured from the ceiling above the Gulf in a purple stream for fuck's sake, purple—and there was no way that was good.
At the centre of the square stood a tent, though 'bunker' was probably more accurate. Thick slabs of armour plating shielded most of the walls. Through the gaps I could just make out tables and chairs. Clearly the meeting point.
I checked the entrances on our side of the square—most were locked down tight, some even had turret emplacements. On the far side I spotted movement as people were still moving into place. Maybe it was just my bias, but the Trodden looked rougher than our lot. Poor kit, shaky movements.
From our perch, we had a mostly clear view down the bridge—though much of it was obstructed by collapsed buildings, structures and makeshift structures. There was a cleared road that led through the chaos, weaving between the rubble or sometimes ducking under structures that had grown up around or over the years.
Now and then, some gaps let me see farther, but beyond a hundred metres, most of the view was choked off. Sliding my sniper from my back, I got set up. Shifting between a few spots until I found the sweet spot for both visibility and cover.
Once I'd picked my spot, I lay down with a quiet grunt—my already soaked shirt pressed against the cold, wet metal. I synced up with my rifle, adjusted into a stable position, and glanced over. John had eyes on another section of the square, while Adira was perched higher up, balanced on what looked like the remains of a mast. Vox in hand, ready to call out the first sign of trouble.
Then I settled in for something I'd become a damn expert at.
Waiting.
And it was a long wait. Almost 3 hours according to my chrono. The first sign something was happening was the swarm of new gangers from both sides that flooded into the square. From our side, I saw a ring of guards in carapace armour, top-tier gear formed up around the Boss, with Lanto bringing up the rear. She walked like she was on a stroll through a market square, not like she was one well-placed shot from death.
My respect for her ticked up a notch just from that.
At the same time, from the Bridge, a heavily shielded truck rumbled out. It rolled a third of the way into the square before veering off to the side and came to a stop. A group of men jumped out, like the Boss and her guards; they were all clearly elite. Carapace armour, some even lugging ceramite shields. Serious firepower.
The man, who had to be the boss, took a seat directly opposite Selina. You could feel the tension in the air, crackling like static. One spark, and the whole thing would go up. The guards were wound tight, especially the Trodden guards who seemed especially spooked, twitchy eyes scanning rooftops and the surrounding buildings. Seriously spooked.
But the longer they sat there, the calmer it seemed to get. Eventually, they started to talk, though we were far too far out to hear anything. I shifted my attention back to the surroundings.
It was ten or fifteen minutes into the talks when something started to itch at the back of my mind. A gut feeling, something wasn't right. I scanned the area slowly, carefully. Nothing obvious. Nothing moved. But the longer I watched, the worse the feeling got. Something was wrong. I was sure of it.
I'd learned to trust my instincts—honed from many years of violence, sharpened further by my eldritch knowledge and gifts. "Adira." I called out. "Something's not right."
"What? Where?" She said sharply.
"Not sure. Can't see anything, but something is off. You see anything John?"
"No." he grunted, "But I agree. Now that you mention it… something's off."
"You sure?"
"Yes. Something is wrong." I said.
"Shit!" Adira muttered, glancing around. She looked torn for a second, then snapped into action. "Shit." she said again, louder this time. Clicking her vox. "Lanto, this is Adira… we might have something here."
I couldn't hear Lanto's reply, but I could guess his questions from how she answered. "Nothing concrete, but Aleric and John feel something…. yeah, Aleric…. Okay. We'll keep you posted. Over." She blew out a deep breath, turning to me. "I hope you didn't just screw us, Aleric."
"I didn't." I said, more certain than ever. It was the Bridge—I was almost sure of it. The only spot near the meeting point we didn't fully control. Every other point was locked down.
My instincts were also whispering to me, no, shouting that the threat was coming from there. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Lanto shift, and like clockwork, the guards tensed. It only got worse as he slowly approached the Boss. I was distracted from watching him by something in the distance.
It took a moment to realise what had caught my eye.
Smoke—no, fumes—out in the distance. Dust was rising as it was kicked up by something big. Something fast. "The Bridge! Something's approaching fast!"
I felt John shift, repositioning for a better angle. Adira instantly on her vox. "We've got movement on the Bridge. I repeat, movement on the Bridge." She must have broadcast widely. I saw the ripple—gang members tensing all across the square. But I had no time to dwell. Through a small gap in the Bridge, I finally saw it.
A monster of a truck. Guns bristling from every angle. Armour so thick it looked like a rolling bunker. It ploughed through debris, walls, anything in its way—headed straight for the summit.
"Goliath! Goliath on the bridge!" I was distantly aware of Adira on her vox and John swearing, but I was too focused. Reaching out with my mind, I flicked my gun on, powering it up from its idling state. My focus narrowed.
The rifle thrummed in my grip as I pushed it to its maximum power. I had a feeling I was going to need that power.
The truck barrelled through a wall of steel and rockcrete, guns roaring to life. It tore through men and buildings alike, clearing a bloody path. It was still hundreds of metres out, but closing fast.
Lining up the shot, I activated the trigger with my mind, holding it.
The powerful magnetic coils spooled up, crackling faintly as the power flowed through them. At its max charge, I took a breath—and fired.
The gun kicked like a mule, slamming into my shoulder as the deep report cracked across the square.