Living Weapon Whumpee gets taken out to the "shooting range" after a particularly bad week with Whumper...
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It had been a hot day so far. Whumper's dark blue bronco was practically an oven, though he didn't seem to mind. Whumpee knew better than to ask for AC, or even to crack the windows. Water was out of the question until they had earned it, and the beads of sweat forming on their skin seemed to taunt them.
Barely any rations last week, and now this... The bastard must be trying to kill me.
The winding dirt road led further and further into the middle of nowhere. The view may have been pretty under better circumstances; blue sage brush cascading over little rolling hills, mountains rising and falling in the distance, a scant few clouds dotting the horizon.
Whumpee couldn't bring themself to enjoy it.
The bronco screeched to a stop in the bowl of a large gravel pit, jerking Whumpee forwards and exacerbating their growing headache. They looked to Whumper, bleakly awaiting instructions. "Go set up the targets." Whumpee needed no second invitation to get out.
A breeze started picking up, to Whumpee's relief. They grabbed the targets out of the back of the truck, and glanced the spare water bottle. Whumper wasn't looking, so maybe they could just... No. Whumpe shook the thought from their head before it landed them in even deeper shit.
They strode towards the gravel pile, targets in hand. Whumper would give them hell if they fell over like last time... Once the supports had been nestled securely in between the little rocks, they went back. The dull ache in their head began to throb as they walked.
Whumper had set up a folding table with a few pistols and a rifle on one end, and the bullets and protection on the other. He took a swig of water from a clear bottle as Whumpee approached. He looked them up and down, set the bottle on the table and glanced at the targets. "You put them too close together," Whumper griped, but didn't follow it up with an order. He took a pistol and handed it to Whumpee. "You're starting with this one. Don't waste the ammo, Whumpee."
Whumpee looked it over briefly.
I have a gun.
They donned the glasses and earplugs.
I have a gun in my hands.
They took a handful of bullets and pressed them into the magazine.
I could do it.
They popped the magazine in with a *click.*
I could kill him.
They gripped it and took aim at one of the targets.
I could kill him right now.
They glanced over at Whumper. He had dropped something, and was bent over attempting to pick it up.
He wouldn't even know what hit him.
Whumpee aligned the sights.
I could end all of it.
They put steady pressure on the trigger.
I would never have to deal with him again if I just...
*BANG!*
A wave of nausea hit Whumpee. The world began to spin and twist, swimming in their vision. The gun dropped out of their hands at some point, registering as a dull echoed thud.
Whumper whacked them up alongside the head, and that's what finally sent them to the ground. "Do I have to tell you not to drop the fucking guns?! My god, you're useless. Get up."
Whumpee could barely see straight, let alone move fast enough for Whumper's liking. He hoisted them up roughly and shoved them towards the folding chair. "Drink some water, and don't even think of passing out on me."
Whumpee cursed themself.
One of these days... I'm gonna do it for real.
