More Powerful than Weak

I hit the ground hard and wiggled my way through the brush, wincing each time mercury shot exploded nearby. I hoped Roger found cover on his side. The snipers were shooting blind but they only had to hit one of us to slow us down. How in the world had a thief like Copperwire gotten enough money to hire two snipers equipped with Mercury Bows? A new patron perhaps?

Once safe, I peaked my head out and scanned the area through the yellow-green tint of my goggles. One of the snipers sat in a tree above, panning around with a long-barreled gun looking for someone to shoot.

I drew my dual-barreled .22 and carefully took aim. A Deringer is a lady’s gun, or the tool of an assassin, in my hands it is simply a problem solver. Gently, I squeezed.

The hired gun fell from the tree screaming and clutching his thigh.

Well! That felt remarkably satisfying.

“Chastity, I think I’m in trouble!” Roger called.

It is a sad sign when one’s Christian name trumps being shot at by assassins in terms of which worried me more.

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