xp_logs | Forge and Julio - Bonding over Bullets (Reply)

As part of a plan to get Julio away from the mansion for a while, Forge enlists his advice over an unlikely subject - guns.

Forge turned down the radio slightly as he weaved effortlessly in and out of traffic, the exits zipping by outside the windows of the black sports car. Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, he kept time with the crescendo of polyphonic guitar riffs overlapping each other until the song came to a thunderous crashing end.

In the silence that followed, he slid into a space between two trucks, quickly checking the exit numbers. "So," he said to his passenger, "folks kind of jumped up your ass on the journal the other day."

The young man next to him exhaled loudly, leaning back in his seat. "You are not kidding," Julio sighed. "I like the fact that people I do not know feel that they can pass judgment on me for a statement I made with very little information," he shook his head. "Are you sure there is not a way to ban someone when they become stupid on the journal?"

"Nope," Forge said, with a small amount of sarcasm in his voice. "And even if it was possible, I wouldn't recommend it. Keep in mind, Mark's friends, they're dealing with a situation that's pretty much a first. They had every reason to believe Mark was dead - and trust me, Remy wouldn't assume unless he was absolutely certain. He might be a bit unpolished when it comes to dealing with actual people, but he knows his shit."

Downshifting and taking a curving offramp as he decelerated, Forge gave a halfhearted shrug towards Julio. "Yeah, they were overreacting. But they don't know you, like you said. So they're not passing judgment on you - just reacting to what they think you said. You know what it's like... you mentioned your girlfriend once, the one who died?" Pausing, Forge chose his next words carefully. "You know what that kind of grief's like. Even finding out things aren't like they assumed... it doesn't cancel out the grief immediately. Strong emotion can make people pretty stupid."

Julio was silent for a moment as he contemplated this. "I remember," he said quietly. "But, also, my way of dealing with my grief is different than some others. I was not calling into question their competency, I was trying to celebrate the fact that a dead man was in fact alive." Julio had to cling to his sense of humor. It was the only thing that kept him sane during those early dark days after the earthquake. "But also, I am not one for spilling my guts all over the journals for all to see, if they wish to know me, they can seek me out," he stretched his legs out in front of him and stared out the window.

"Just remember that," Forge responded, turning down a few side streets into what looked like a mostly run-down industrial area. The majority of the windows to the shops and bodegas sported iron grates, and graffiti was nearly omnipresent, with the exception of one block. Forge slowed the car, pulling into a covered garage next to a featureless grey concrete building. "And here we are," he said as he killed the car's engine, listening to the motor's hum die down quietly. "How familiar are you with pistols?"

In response, the boy turned to Forge and raised one dark eyebrow.

***

Forge looked down the range, removing the heavy earphones as the target began retracting towards them on its motorized caddy. By the time it reached the bench, he noticed that Julio had already cleared the bulky police-issue automatic and placed it pointing downrange in one of the benchrests, empty magazine placed in a nearby cigar box.

Whistling at the grouping of holes on the target, Forge nodded. He glanced behind him to see the range's operators giving two thumbs-up from the booth, the one uniformed NYPD officer smiling broadly. "It looks like you weren't kidding. Jesus, my parents gave me a basketball for my birthday, what'd your dad give you, a Glock?"

Julio coughed and then grinned. "Actually, when I turned thirteen, he gave me a Walther PPK," he smiled at the policeman's expression. "My father and I liked to watch James Bond when I was little. Sean Connery Bond, and not the other lame ones." The police issue 9 mm that they were using was nothing new to him, which is why he was alittle curious as to why he was being allowed to use it. He nodded to the men in the booth and then turned to Forge.

"Last time I checked, I had to be eighteen to legally handle one of these under these circumstances. I am rather curious as to why I haven't had my i.d. checked," he said quietly.

"This range is run by the local police precinct," Forge explained as he hefted a large metal briefcase up onto the bench. "I've been working on a project that I thought might have some law enforcement applications. I did some checking, and made some calls, and in exchange for doing some favors for the division armorer," he turned and waved to the heavyset man up in the booth, "they let me field-test it here and are handling all the registration aspects."

Reaching into the case, he withdrew a full magazine and thumbed one of the rounds out into his palm. The bullet looked relatively normal, except instead of a metal tip protruding from the shell, there was a cylindrical slug of some slightly iridescent white material. "I've been working on a nonlethal round for subdual purposes, I mean, just in case," he explained. "Instead of a metal or plastic projectile, I've used solidified nitrogen, encased in an insulative gelatin shell. Careful, the slug's internal temperature's about a hundred degrees below zero."

He jacked the round back into the magazine and handed it to Julio, setting up another target and sending it downrange as he replaced his earphones. "Tell me how it shoots."

Julio replaced his earphones and took up his stance, firing eight times in quick succession, emptying the magazine. There was hardly any recoil, and the target barely moved in the distance. He frowned as he lowered the pistol, rolling his shoulder. A normal round would have much more kick to it. He ejected the magazine and rested his pistol on the bench before removing his earphones.

"A lot less recoil," he said, peering at the target in the distance. "They seem much weaker."

The target, upon closer inspection, looked as if it hadn't even been touched. Forge smiled. "All right. Zero impact at thirty meters. That's what I was hoping for." He produced another magazine from the case, peering closely at it. "See, a normal bullet's about fourteen grams of solid lead and copper, moving at close to the speed of sound. Sure, it'll do a lot of damage to what it hits, but if you miss... collateral damage, you know?"

Reaching into the briefcase, Forge withdrew a bulky-looking pistol, unlike anything Julio had seen before, strange vents and ports studding the length of the barrel. Without flourish, Forge seated the magazine and chambered a round as the target moved a shorted distance downrange. "With these, the heat of the combustion and friction from the barrel melts the gel coating away. That solid slug of nitrogen sublimates into a gas, moving at pretty high speed, and at about, say, fifteen meters..."

Raising the pistol to shoulder height, Forge braced himself and fired. In an eyeblink, the target seemed to disintegrate into shreds of paper. "A volume expansion to about eleven liters. Hits like a pillow strapped to a locomotive. But it won't penetrate like a bullet."

Julio whistled as the papery bits of the target wafted to the floor. "What would that do to someone's skin, though? It shredded the target."

"At point-blank range? A mess," Forge explained, watching a mannequin slide into place down the corridor. "But you're dealing with a bullet's force over a larger area, and with a gas instead of a solid. So..."

Another shot, and the mannequin rocked back, slamming against the floor before rising back up on a spring, its chest visibly dented. "Enough blunt force trauma to floor a large human. It'll take a few more iterations of reworking, but I think I've got something here."

With mechanical precision, he unloaded the firearm, placing each piece back in the case. "I might make jokes about the whole Texas gun culture, but I really haven't been around them all that much. And I know you obviously have. What do you think?"

Julio scratched his goatee thoughtfully. "Mmm," he said. "I guess it depends on your intent. Something like this, even with ...como se, tweaking? Tweaking it, it will still do quite a lot of damage. It depends on what you want it to do. It will certainly incapacitate someone, yes, but it will also probably puncture a lung if you are not careful." He ran his fingers over the pieces of the weapon in the briefcase.

"Speaking as someone with much personal experience, I believe that you have something here. But a weapon is only as dangerous as the person who wields it."

Forge nodded, locking the case. "Thank you," he said with sincerity in his voice, "And you're right. Any weapon can have an innate capacity for destruction, if used by the wrong person." He turned around and gave a double 'ok' sign to the observers' booth. "And you know I'm not just talking about guns, right?"

"Oh yes," Julio said, hooking his thumbs through the loops of his jeans and nodded at the people in the booth. "Also, I know that a 'weapon' in the right hands is capable of much good," he smiled.

"Look at us being all deep," Forge quipped, hoisting the case in one hand and motioning Julio towards the exit. "C'mon, let's sign out of here and go grab some of Mama Lupe's dinner specials. Doug swears by this lady's enchiladas. If they're as good as Angelo's mom's, I think we're in for the good stuff."

Julio grinned. "Oh, yes, I have heard of her cooking. You will want to try the rellenos, I believe you will enjoy them." Once your taste buds grow back. He held the door so Forge could heft the case through, and waved at the two booth operators before making his own exit.