The last shot from the M1911 was like the grand finale of an opera at a shooting range, and me? I was the maestro conducting an orchestra of bullets. "CRACK-CRACK-CRACK", applause, please! The target, poor thing, stood no chance against my infallible aim. A perfect hole right in the forehead, look at that art!
Now, with the pistol emptier than my fridge on cleaning day, I lower the barrel and wink at the perforated metal. "Did you see that?" I ask, even though I know the only answer would be the embarrassing silence of my inanimate audience.
This pistol, you see, is not just a piece of metal. It's a portal to the past, a reminder that I was once someone… or at least, someone who knew how to shoot. It makes me think of all the times I pulled the trigger, not just hers, but of opportunities, dreams, and of course, alarm clocks.
Marching to the ammunition room like a pirate in search of his treasure, I stumble upon an abandoned belt. It's not just any belt, of course. It's a belt with supports for weapon magazines, as if it were waiting for me, a gift from fate or a forgotten shooter. I put it on, feeling half cowboy, half secret agent. Because every hero needs a good accessory...
A few minutes later…
There I was, armed to the teeth, in a contemplation worthy of an armed philosopher. "What does life want from me?" I thought, as my eyes danced across the arsenal. I needed something that didn't scream "I'm here!" but whispered "I've arrived."
"Hmm…", the sound of indecision. The weapons gleamed under the dim light, each telling its own story of glory and gunpowder. And then, as if by a destiny-appointed meeting, the MP5K winked at me. Compact, discreet, and with an elegance that said "I'm not looking for a fight, but I know how to defend myself."
I picked it up, feeling the perfect balance between power and discretion. It was lighter than a broken promise and fit in my hands as if tailor-made. It looked new, as if it had been waiting for this moment all its life.
With the MP5K by my side, I ventured through the shooting range to a room that hid more secrets than a teenager's diary. I turned on the lights and, voilà, a treasure trove of accessories shone before me. "Today's the day I become Rambo," I thought, with a smile that mixed fun and a pinch of healthy madness.
"This is a gold mine," I said, almost laughing, as my eyes sparkled brighter than the tactical flashlights on the shelf. There, an arsenal of accessories that would make any gun enthusiast cry with joy. Slings that looked more like superhero utility belts, bipods that promised to turn any shot into a work of art, and red dots that, well, let's be honest, made everything look like a video game.
With a smile from ear to ear, I knew I was in a shooter's paradise. It was like being in a candy store, but instead of gummies, I had handling ammunition. "Time to play," I thought, as I began to equip the MP5K with the enthusiasm of a child.
Every accessory that clicked into place, every magazine I checked, was a celebration. I knew that against the evolved, I would need more than a good arsenal, but oh, how good it felt to have power in my hands.
When I finished, the MP5K looked like it came straight out of an action movie, ready for the next chase scene. I stored it in the black bag with the care of someone who treasures a treasure. For today, that was enough. But who knows about tomorrow? Maybe I'll come back to add a little more 'peace' to my repertoire."
With the black case in hand, firm as my determination to ignore the onlookers, I left the shooting range with the posture of someone who had just saved the world - or at least their own day. I locked the door, a ritual almost as satisfying as hitting that target.
I turned around and there they were, the spectators of my little soap opera, with looks that varied between curiosity and poorly disguised judgment. "Speak softly, friends," I wanted to say, "envy is louder than you think."
I sighed, one of those theatrical ones worthy of a soap opera scene, and headed for the exit of the training center. The looks followed me, some almost as piercing as the bullets I fired. I know, I know, it's not every day you see someone so skilled with firearms. But please, no autographs - let's keep the mystery, shall we?
There I was, lost in deep thoughts - or maybe just complaining about life - when suddenly, my head found the path of an immovable object. "Ouch!" The pain was real, and so was the surprise.
Stepping back and rubbing the impact site, I looked up to face what seemed to be the Hulk's distant cousin. Two meters of pure muscle mass, hair yellow as corn cobs, and a goatee that screamed "I'm tough." The black eyes stared at me, and something told me this 'wall' had more personality than I expected.
"Are you blind?" The mountain of muscles grunted, and I could swear I felt the ground shake.
"Oh, no, I was just admiring your ability to camouflage yourself as a gym locker," I replied, with a smile that hid the throbbing pain and wounded pride. "Seriously, you'd make an excellent wardrobe in my room."
The muscular guy frowned, clearly not appreciating the comment. "Do you have a problem?" he growled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
The tension in the air was palpable, almost as dense as the biceps of the human locker in front of me. "Problem? None, I was just testing the resistance of your chest with my head. Approved, by the way," I said, with a smile that was half courage, half insanity.
He didn't seem convinced, his crossed arms forming a barrier that screamed 'don't mess with me.' "Funny guy, huh?" he snorted, and I could swear I saw his muscles tense in anticipation.
"I prefer the term 'social observer with a touch of charm'," I retorted, taking a step back to maintain a safe distance. "And you, what are you? The result of a genetic experiment to create the perfect man for beer commercials?"
That's when a new voice cut through the tension, firm and authoritative. "Hey, what's the problem here?" I turned to find the source, hoping it was someone with a sense of humor or at least a referee's whistle.
And there he was… With Neo approaching, the scene seemed straight out of an action movie, where the hero enters in slow motion and the dramatic soundtrack begins to play. The muscular guy, who until then was the very embodiment of a gym wall, seemed to shrink, as if someone had pressed the "volume down" button on his intimidating posture.
He even tried to open his mouth to retort, but Neo was quicker, launching a "Silence" that sounded like thunder. "I'm not talking to you, jerk," he said, and I almost expected the big guy to disintegrate right there, like a cartoon villain.
The big guy stayed there, looking displeased but silent. After all, who would want to argue with Neo, the guy who probably had a PhD in "silencing others with a look"?
Neo then turned to me, with that "let's resolve this quickly because I have other things to do" look. "Is there a problem here?" he asked, and I knew this was my cue to spin a story so good it could win an Oscar for best adapted screenplay from an awkward situation.
But… I'm being watched by many people.
With an ironic smile, I eased the tension: "Cool it, Neo. It was just a small misunderstanding of trajectories, nothing that a GPS couldn't solve."
I patted the big guy on the shoulder and then started walking towards the exit of the training center, noticing that all eyes were on us. Neo stayed there, staring down the big guy with a look that could freeze hell over.
"Let's go, Neo," I said, shrugging off the indiscreet attention around us.
Neo clicked his tongue cockily, and as he came to my side, his cold expression quickly turned into a smile. "You have to talk tough to these guys. You know, to command respect."
I couldn't help but laugh, knowing Neo as I do. "You would love for him to pick a fight, wouldn't you?"
Neo blinked, that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, it would just be a bonus," he said, his voice full of barely contained amusement.
We left the training center side by side, leaving behind a trail of curious glances. After all, who wouldn't want to watch the spectacle of Neo in action? But today, the show remained just a promise.
---
Neo cast a glance at the black case I was carrying, a mix of suspicion and interest in his gaze. "So, that black case… what's inside?"
"Oh, it's a new weapon," I responded casually, watching curiosity light up in his eyes like a bulb of ideas.
"Which weapon?" he asked, his interest now as clear as day.
I couldn't help but flash a mischievous smile. "Who knows? Maybe it's a secret weapon that practices ancient jiu-jitsu," I joked, eliciting a laugh from him.
Neo shook his head, still smiling. "You and your surprises, huh? I think I owe you an apology for that show earlier."
Hearing Neo comment about the apology, my thoughts unraveled into a mix of surprise and admiration. "Apologies? I've barely arrived in this world and the protagonist is already wanting to apologize? Nam-sam, you're finishing the game too quickly…"
I kept my composure, responding to Neo with the same lightness: "Nah, you got me out of a tight spot with the big guy, so we're even."
"Even, huh?" Neo retorted with a sly smile. "So can I start bombarding you with questions again?"
"No, please," I said quickly, but the sound of his laughter was already echoing beside me.
"But seriously, what's the plan for dealing with that girl?" He insisted, curiosity coloring every word.
"Isabel Lyon? Oh, she's going to be someone else's problem," I said, shrugging casually, but with a smile that suggested the story had many chapters yet to unfold.
"Hmm," Neo mused aloud, his serious expression making it clear he was suspicious. "What are you up to, huh?"
"Nothing," I replied with a provocative smile, knowing I was getting to him.
Neo continued to stare at me, as if trying to read the secrets behind my eyes. I returned the gaze, equally intrigued by what he might be thinking.
To be honest, I don't know what exactly makes me so interesting in the eyes of the protagonist. At first, I thought today would just be an ordinary day of training, but here we are, side by side, as if we were old friends.
"Nam-sam, I just remembered something…" Neo breaks the silence, but his voice carries a hint of expectation. He pauses, prolonging the suspense just to keep me on the edge of my makeshift grass seat, eager for the conclusion of his words.
"You still haven't said what weapon is in that black case."