“I aimed carefully,” Bones shrugs. “No permanent damage.”
“That’s debatable,” Skip mutters.
Stefano looks at Maverick. “Your friends are… unusual.”
“In more ways than one,” Maverick says, lips twitching faintly.
Then his expression settles.
“Come,” he says. “We eat.”
I smile at Maverick’s words a short while ago.
Even during war… we eat well.
***
The warehouse smells like oil and cold steel.
Clinton stands twenty feet from us, smiling like he’s unveiling a new sports car instead of tools meant to end lives.
“Short range is simple,” he says, gesturing toward the table laid out with pistols and carbines. “Clean machining. Tight tolerances. You can feel the difference.”
Maverick doesn’t touch anything.
He just watches while Spike and I stand on either side of him, pretending to be his guards.
“And long-range?” Maverick asks casually. “You mentioned capabilities beyond standard rifles.”
Clinton’s grin widens.
“We do,” he says. “In fact, we prepared something special last night. A live demonstration.”
Spike and I exchange the smallest glance.
“You prepared it that quickly?” Maverick asks mildly.
Clinton shrugs. “We like to impress.”
“And this demonstration?” Maverick prompts.
“It’s set up at a secondary location,” Clinton explains. “Hard to access. Takes time to position correctly. We’ll be broadcasting it live once everything is ready.”
“Why not here?” I ask.
Clinton chuckles. “Because precision matters. Long-range testing requires… environment. There’s simply not enough room here.”
Maverick nods slowly, like this is all reasonable.
“Very well,” he says. “We will observe.”
Clinton nods slightly.
And somewhere else in this city, Bones, Foster, and Skip are already moving.
My phone vibrates in my palm, and I already know it’s Spike texting the group chat.
Spike:There’s a second demonstration tonight. Don’t retrieve package until then. Early delivery might delay the demonstration.
