"Dear— God."
A vast private room as the inside is covered with many white safety boxes large enough to make you reconsider the math of this whole underground giant bunker, because it's still mathematically insane to provide the personnel with a test room this big and golly you did see more on your way here. This is enough for you to confirm that with large power comes a large budget, and a large testing room for possible large weaponry.
But your initial jaw drop doesn't actually come from the huge platform of custody that confine you in private gunnery, it was actually from the marbling blue smoke that nuzzles your caliber's hot searing muzzle from the blasted pseudo rocket.
"T-this is cool, and weird, and cool."
The name Microgun is a total lie, this is a semi-automatic mini rocket blaster! the cyclic rate is not as fast as a real minigun; in fact it was rather slow for its name. Although the mixed feeling is easily destroyed just like the blown up test-dummy currently blown up into a mess-dummy because of its debris scattered everywhere.
Baffled enough, another three test-dummy pop up from the platform like a mole rat standing there mockingly to be annihilated. You abide by its arrogant smug aura and fire off three consecutive shots, two of them increase the amount of the lying debris while one of them blasted itself into the wall. The shock was absorbed by the white boxes so you don't need to care about any collateral damage, except committing a dummy genocide.
"Ah, it's hard to hit the target if I fire it from my hip. What if I just throw away the whole minigun concept and use it like a rifle?
With dumb idea comes a great curiosity. Because the round propels itself like a rocket, there is no recoil and it also surprisingly lightweight even with eight rounds—marvelous engineering of indescribable magazine system as it is also the part of the Microgun's body, it works by putting the rounds into a hole on the side one by one and it automatically close if you insert eight in total.
"Yosha." You put it into your shoulder height, cradling the belly with your left hand and aim at the surviving dummy.
The sound of the smooth launch of the rounds soothes you once again with glee, and the sight of the scattered dummy's inorganic intestine do amplify that feeling.
"Ugh, I can't be too carried away."
Contradicting your own words, you annihilate every appearing dummy merrily.
Time surprisingly flies fast.
You waste all of the ammunition and come out from the testing room all sluggish from the side effects of the psychedelic adrenaline. Saying thank you to the reception. Holding the empty box and the blacksmith's card together with your new blasting friend, you meet again with the flat chested young lady in the robe, despite the expressionless face, she appears to be more gloomy than usual. After an eye contact, she immediately approach you in snail pace.
She stops you, glares into your soul for thirty two seconds until her hands offer the item she is holding from the beginning.
"Take it, just, take it."
The first time you hear her voice, it is a high pitched soft persimmon. She can be a good bed-time story reader with that fluffy dream inducing voice.
You put aside the equipment you're carrying and take the item she gives.
Talisman acquired.
A necklace with a square frame containing a small blue crystal, the frame has a glimmering faint green hue with small detailed inscription of formation? It's neither a symbol nor an alphabet, but shapes meticulously arranged to create a certain path that is circling through all of the talisman.
The silver lady then walks away slouching. Without being able to say "Thank you." In Front of her, you wish for her to have good luck in life and lessen her wordly burden.
You decide to wear it and continue your sloth trekking into Carbonite's workshop, you swear that you remember where but here you're searching left and right until you see a familiar pink haired woman leaning into a machine near your friendly blacksmith.
"No, I won't let you use it. You will end up destroying the whole facility."
"Aww come on. Oh, little Longy! How's the testing session?" Says your partner still in her smugness finally letting go off the machinery.
Putting all of the equipment aside, you reply, "Need more ammo."
"Told ya she will enjoy it." Says Chronos.
"Regardless, if all you said is true then I'm afraid you need to gear her up before people begin searching for Long Leggy." Carbonite darts his gaze into you. "Because—young lady, trust me, you pissed off a lot of people."
Even in exhaustion, your brain is able to process the sentence, resulting in you cursing your own luck as numerous mobs of people might be aiming their guns at your head for something that you haven't done. Precisely, something that the old owner of this body has done. Carbonite's sharp glare of abhor can still be felt even with his current laid back demeanor. It seems like you missed a lot of crucial information regarding this life's past.
"Oh yeah! Now that my daughter is here."
"I'm not your child."
She continues, "You can begin the deal that we're talking about earlier for the toy." She points to the Microgun.
"A deal? The Microgun isn't free?"
Carbonite sighs, "Nothing is free in this world, young lady."
You regret saying that.
The blacksmith takes out a crate containing the rest 60 rounds of ammunition for the Microgun, "Just be a freelance mercenary for me, bring this lazy uncle as many Yelper Ore you can acquire within the Kauhu Forest. That should help me save some budget for my craftsmanship."
"Consider it's done!" Says your partner with her usual thumbs up.
"Wait!" You interject, "What is a Yelper Ore? Freelance mercenary? We're gonna fight another monster!?"
"Hush, less talking." Your partner picks you up into her shoulder together with the large crate of ammo on the other hand, stacking your blasting friend along.
"I can walk by myself, dammit!"