Bellum Civile

[BROseidon†]

((Virgil Jefferson-Davis continued from Reverie))

Virgil had moved a few of the tables from the nearby restaurants outside. On the solid land just off the boardwalk; Virgil didn't want to risk the rotting wood collapsing beneath him as he did this. He then gathered broken pieces of wood, easy to do along the dilapidated boardwalk. He set those up along the tables as well.

The slip of paper that had come with his gun simply stated "Saiga-12." No instructions, no help. He needed to figure out how this thing worked. Other people somehow knew how to work their guns. Virgil wasn't really sure how this happened; sure, a few people had experience with guns coming in, but the vast majority of their class had never seen a gun in their life. How did people like Eliza figure out how to use a gun without killing themselves in the process? Virgil didn't know. His Saiga confused the fuck out of him.

Virgil figured out how to load the bullets into a clip. Twelve bullets, twelve shots to kill. It had taken him a few minutes to figure out how to then get the clip into the gun. He couldn't just shove the magazine into the gun; he had to rotate it in. Virgil then found the magazine release and let the clip fall out. He practiced reloading for a while; they'd given him extra mags, so he might as well learn how to reload the thing as quickly as he could.

Virgil set the butt of the shotgun into his right shoulder. It felt uncomfortable, though. He shifted the gun a bit, and eventually it found a comfortable spot in the fleshy area just inside his shoulder. Right hand on handle, left on the handle towards the front of the gun. Head down to the gun and...

Click.

Nothing happened.

Virgil put the gun down and looked at it. He saw some sort of handle-type thing above the magazine. Pull back, and...

Something happened. Virgil didn't know that it was the sound of the bullet entering the chamber, but images from Call of Duty entered his mind. This was something he had to do.

Virgil placed the gun back into the same shooting positing, and he aligned the gun's sight with one of the wooden targets. He fired, and...

Fuck.

That was loud. Way louder than he expected. He wished he had a pair of earplugs. Come to think of it, didn't cops always have earplugs in the movies? Virgil dug through his bag to see if he could make makeshift earplugs. There was nothing he could use. Virgil frowned.

Virgil also frowned to see that his shot had completely missed. The force of the gun had pushed him back a bit. His weight had been forward enough to prevent him from being knocked over, but Virgil noted that he needed to be in a more aggressive stance when he shot. Maybe something closer to when he was setting up to tackle somebody.

Virgil pulled again on the lever of the gun, only to frown as a bullet flew out of the chamber. So the gun was semi-automatic. Virgil didn't even know why he knew to call it that. Virgil adjusted his stance to be a bit more forward and fired again. Another resonating boom. Another miss.

Virgil spent the next few minutes calibrating his shot, moving pieces of wood around to figure out how he was shooting low. Virgil started playing around with the gun position, figuring out relatively quickly that he needed to raise the gun up to his face before aiming, instead of resting his head down on the gun.

Virgil didn't realize how lucky he was that he wasn't cross-eye dominant. He would have never known to check for it.

Virgil practiced shooting a bit longer, getting to the point where he could hit a still target consistently. It wasn't hard, once he'd figured everything out. The moving target, though, that would be hard.

Virgil could still see Michelle's face as she bled out in the hospital bed. His face glistened red with recent tears, and Virgil balled his left hand in a tight fist.

He was going to make sure that Michelle's vision became a reality.

Even if it meant killing everyone who opposed it.

((Virgil Jefferson-Davis continued elsewhere))