As far as Jake Townsend could tell, New York city had two distinct flavors, separated by darkness and light. During the day, it was a center of business and enterprise. People were warm and happy, for the most part. Problems occurred, but these were trivial and for the most part dealt with before they became a problem.

At night, the city transformed. It took on a darker and more feral aspect where strength, respect, and perception were everything. Strength was its currency, and fear its law. People, for the most part, understood this, and the day-walkers took to their plaster caves and ignored the events playing out around them. Jake wasn't so fortunate. He was, however, better prepared.

Jake had never had an enemy before. He had faced conflict, of course, but this had always been against the human element, where he could expect things to play out in an understandable fashion. Now he was up against something wholly different, and he felt totally exposed through his weakness. It was an uncomfortable and obvious deficit that he felt driven to rectify, and that was why he had left behind his room at the Mansion for the potentially hostile streets of the Big Apple.

It helped that he knew what he was looking for. People who were experienced in combat rang a little differently then most people. There was a subtle confidence in how they reacted to situations that whispered 'If all else is lost, I am capable of this', and this resonated with the connections they created with the world. Jake, however, was looking for more then a person who was experienced with violence. He was looking for a mentor, someone with experience and patience, and that was a much harder thing to find these days.

It had taken him several hours of sifting the emotive network of the city to come up with the sort of connection he was looking for. The strands were fine and intricate and spoke of a quiet assurance of action and a collected approach to violence. A soldier's vibe. Here was someone who was prepared to meet violence with a calm and collected head and use their strengths when they truly mattered. It was exactly what he needed.

The realization of this connection had come over Jake several blocks north of Central Park, a particularly troubling area that left Jake constantly scanning his surroundings for the tell-tale connections of recognition that would tell him if Meld had seen him. So far, so good. When he had finally taken hold of the fine collection of threads, he began to follow it north, into the inner city. All around him, massive buildings towered overhead like citadels of concrete and glass, testaments to the city's business glory but also jagged teeth into which the plaque of society had settled. As he walked, Jake could feel the countless eyes of gangsters and dealers slide over him, judging. None seemed struck by his presence, however. Even without the Shroud, Jake looked the part of a street punk.

Following the thread along the back alleys and parking lots of the city, Jake eventually came to Frankie's Firearms and Fun Range, a small and rather dingy twenty-four hour opportunity to come and relax yourself through simulated violence. The range was built into the reinforced side of what was clearly an old warehouse. The thread ran squarely through the front door. Taking a final scan of the local area, Jake moved forward.

Stepping through Frankie's parking lot, Jake made his way over the front entrance of the gun range, a simple set of wooden stairs shielded from the elements by a thin veneer of yellow plastic that made up the awning. Jake pulled the front door open and walked into the sterile white interior of the building. As he entered, he noticed the trail milling around the front office counter and then arching off into the locker room leading to the range itself. Not unlike a swimming pool, mused Jake inwardly as he noticed this.

Jake stepped over to the counter and let his senses play over the young woman working there. She was an attractive girl, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two years old, wearing a patterned dress – flowers, maybe? She didn't notice Jake as he moved up to the counter, her ears plugged by the black plastic buds of her MP3 player and her attention focused on what appeared to be a college textbook, judging from the feel. Smiling as casually as he could, he leaned up against the counter and waited for her to notice him. It didn't take long. The woman jumped slightly when her eye finally caught his.

Jake understood that he must have looked pretty strange in that moment in his worn clothes and sunglasses in the middle of the night. Most, he imagined, would be suspicious of such a character, but that's where charisma and approach came into the equation.

“Oh....I'm sorry, you startled me.” she explained, standing and brushing a golden lock of hair from her face. Jake noticed a small hint of southern drawl in her voice. Suits her, he thought as he nodded and apologized.

”I'm sorry, I was wondering if you could help me. I'm looking to get my firearms certificate, and I was curious if you knew anyone who might be able to give me some lessons?” he said with a boyish grin, allowing a small portion of the Awe the flow into his statement. Instantly, he felt her react to his presence: curiosity, interest, and a focused eagerness to help flowed outward from her in his direction, while any sense of suspicion was swept away. It was easier to be helpful then suspicious.

”Oh! Oh yeah, I'm sure we can find someone to teach you. I....Right now?” She glanced towards the clock, which read a little after eleven in the evening. Jake chuckled, warmly.

”I know. That's what I get for working day shifts. It's now or never. You're the only twenty-four hour place I could find, and running by every night... I figured I would take a chance.”

The woman smiled warmly for a moment too long before glancing down and ruffling through some papers. It didn't take her long to find the facility log-in sheet and begin scanning through the mass of numbers and names.

“There's only a few people here...I don't know if any of them could help you. You need a special license to be able to teach, and I don't have a list of who has one.” She looked flustered, frustrated with her inability to help. Jake smiled charmingly.

“Don't worry about that. Could we go and ask them? That would be easy enough.” The woman smiled at the simple and straightforward solution.

“Sure. I think we've only got one member in right now. Let me lock up the front, and we can go and talk to him.”

“Sure thing. Thanks a lot for your help, I really appreciate it,” Jake said, nodding, and waited while she locked up the store front. As she came back, she nodded towards the locker room.

“Right this way.”

In comparison to the store front, the locker room was a haven for shadows. A single set of neon tubes illuminated the room, which included several overly tall sets of lockers, designed to accommodate the hardened plastic cases of rifles and other long arms. Jake couldn't see the darkness, but he could feel it. Small plastic strips, he noticed, had been glued to the front of each of the lockers, a simple listing of last name that told one next to nothing of their owners.

As Jake followed, he allowed his alien senses to glide over the room. It only took a moment for him to pick out his target's locker from the others. Although the small plastic tag had been lost or peeled away, the bundle of connections he had followed to get here coiled heavily around the door, indicating the presence of something important or familiar to him or her. A regular then, he imagined.

Beside the end of one of the rows of lockers, there was a door simply marked 'Range'. The girl smiled and plucked a pair of ear muffs for herself and him off of a nearby rack. Jake's pair was white, with 'GUEST' scribbled down the side of each muff with a felt marker. Lovely, he thought as she pulled open the door and stepped inside to the sharp popping sounds of rounds being expended.

The range itself was a sizable thing, with perhaps twenty stalls in total. The air reeked with the smell of cordite and oil, and Jake could feel a fine grit that seemed to cover everything. All around him, connections of excitement, power, and privilege graced every surface. It was intimidating, truthfully.

As the pair approached the last stall, reached out and gently took the girl's arm. Turning towards him, she looked somewhat confused. Jake smiled.

“I can handle things from here! You were a big help!” he yelled over the sharp crack of whatever gun was behind the plaster wall, his voice full of appreciation and finality. She smiled warmly, nodded, and turned to leave without questioning. He waited until she had gone back into the locker room before gently shoving the Awe back into the depths of his mind and stepping to the edge of the stall and looking at the man within, content to wait until the man had emptied his clip before calling out to him.

“Excuse me! Could I talk to you for a second?”

The Ranger slammed the trunk of his '69 Charger having pulled out a large case that had barely fit there in the first place. The case was packed with an assortment of firearms and ammunition. He had come to Frankie's Firearms and Fun Range, one of the few gun ranges in New York City, and the only one he would frequent as aside from being open 24 hours they asked few questions and though he has a license for most of what he has, the modifications on many make them all to illegal again.

Entering the establishment he was greeted by the woman at the front desk, he had seen there a time or two in the past. "Hello there sir, welcome to Frankie's Firearms and Fun Range! How can I help you?" The woman said as she typed away at her computer before looking up to see who had entered. The Ranger walked up to the front and sat down the case, then pulling out his wallet he removed his military I.D. and set it on the counter.

"I am here to shoot." He answered as she picked up his I.D and went to work on the computer.

"Ah yes, Mr. Hunter. We have you in the system, and your credit card on file so you are good to go. Just sign in here." The woman handed him back his card on top of a clipboard with a sign in sheet for members. The Ranger signed his name on the sheet then taking his I.D handed it back to her. Having signed in he made his way to the lockers, noticing the woman sliding in some ear buds as he slid in some standard military issue earplugs. Approaching his locker in the dimly lit room the Ranger pulled out his key and removed the lock. Currently the locker was empty, but soon it would be host to a series of weapons as the Ranger unloaded his case that had required his power to move all the way here.

Opening the case he began to move guns from it to the locker, an M4 Carbine, an L85A2, a Sig 556, and a Heckler and Koch USP. He closed the locker and returned the lock and then grabbed the handle for his case, he would pack it up again upon leaving. HE did not trust his guns being left in this neighborhood even if they were in a locker in a shooting range.

Walking into the shooting gallery he looked for an unoccupied stall and finding one, the very last one, he slid in his case and pulled a Smith and Wesson Model 500 from the holster under his right arm and a Heckler and Koch USP from the holster under his left arm. setting them on small counter in front of him. He then reached into his buttpack and pulled out a few magazines for the USP and some spare rounds for the .50 Caliber revolver.

For the next hour or so he fired off rounds with both of the guns he had taken into the gallery, startling many when he began to fire the S&W M 500, and having gone back to the lockers, procured his Sig 556 to fire. All was going as was the usual, smooth and uninterrupted, until after finishing off a magazine with the Sig he heard someone call from behind him, "“Excuse me! Could I talk to you for a second?”

Laying down the Sig he turned to face the man who had come up behind him. The Ranger yelled back over the sound of firing in his East Texas accent,"Yeah, what do ya' need?"

“Experience,” Jake retorted wryly with a grin and let his senses slide over the weapons the man had brought with him onto the range. Each of the weapons clung to the Texan with thick connections of dependability, confidence, and a faint fear of detection that he had long ago connected with illegal activities. The man was an outlaw in at least one sense.

“I was wondering if you ever give lessons?” Jake wondered for a moment if he should lie about his intentions, or broker himself honestly and explain his situation. Lies hadn't exactly served him well recently, so he opted for the former. Mindful as he was of the perceptions of others, he kept his voice slightly on the low side, so only the pair of them could make out his words.

“I've found myself in a hard spot. There is a mutant, a tough one, who I think is going to try and take a piece out of me. I don't want to fight her, but I don't think she's going to give me an option. I figured learning the skills before I needed them might be a good idea.”

Jake studied the weave of connections that surrounded the man as he spoke, looking for the telltale signs that would mark him as a mutant, instead of just an unusually calm and collected human. Most mutants were obvious to him, throwing out heavy connections that screamed of individuality. This man was harder to read. Jake decided to press on.

“I'm not sure what I could offer you. I can find money, if that's what you want, but I'd say favors would be the most valuable thing I could offer you.” He shrugged nonchalantly, keeping the offer casual and ripe for negotiation if the man wished.

The Ranger listened to the man explain the situation. It seemed he needed training in order to defend himself from a female mutant. He knew that the power of the mutant would affect what weaponry he would need proficiency in, and how much practice he would need out somewhere where he could shoot moving targets.

"Well friend it seems you do need some help, and don't worry about money I have plenty. Just promise me you won't go on a shooting rampage and we'll be good." He turned around to pick up the USP and the the S&W 500, he checked to make sure the safety was on the USP and that it was unloaded. turning back around he tossed it to the man. "Based on the mutant you'll be engaging you may need a different kind of gun than that, but let's work on basics first."

He held the revolver in his left hand and extended his right to shake hands. "By the way, I am former Master Sergeant Michael Hunter. You can call me the Ranger."

He could shoe this guy the basics of firing a handgun with the 500, only thing is his power will become obvious when his arms erupt in size to contain the massive kick from the gun. Which would create an unrealistic impression of the gun when the Ranger handles it like a 9mm when it should launch up a fair amount when fired even by a skilled marksman.

"First some rules. One: Always keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction, meaning not at me. Two: Always treat it as loaded, even when it isn't. So even when it doesn't have a mag, don't point it at me. Three: Don't get creative when firing, there is a proper way and many, many wrong ways. I'll show you the correct way. Can you follow those?" As he asked he reached into his buttpack and slid pulled out a 9mm 15 round magazine.

“Yeah, I can do that.” he said, nodding his agreement. The last thing he wanted was a gun-mad rampage around the city, or to accidentally blow someone's hand off. Truth be told, guns scared the s*** out of him. It wasn't really a rational fear, but something that stemmed from the way people thought about guns. They were objects of fear, of power, of control; that just rubbed him the wrong way. Ranger, however, had a calm confidence and understanding that resonated well with Jake. He could literally see the inner discipline within him coiled up tight around his center. This was not a man who would be shaken easily.

“My name is Jake Townsend. I'm known as Nexus in some mutant circles, although I haven't been in town long. It seems I have a knack for making enemies.” Jake grinned mildly, speaking a little more then he felt was appropriate as he shook the man's hand. He wondered vaguely if Ranger happened to move in any of the same circles he did. Did he know Ghost, or perhaps even Meld herself?

“All right, so where do we begin?” he asked, an edge of eagerness slipping into his voice. What kind of weapon would it take to stop Meld in her tracks? Jake glanced down at the pistol in his hands. Every time he thought about facing her in combat, a faint sensation of sickness washed over him. Hopefully this training would give him an edge if she came after him. Better ready then dead.

"I myself have quite the knack for making enemies myself." His thoughts momentarily drift to the bank heist incident and how his encounter with Aura and Meld there caused the King Pharmaceuticals brawl to erupt when they came after him.

"Okay, first thing is holding the gun. When holding the handgun you want to use both hands." The Ranger held the 500 in his right hand and raised it, muzzle pointed down range. "The first hand holds it like you have seen on every movie no doubt." Raising his left hand he set it on the support side. "With the left hand, the higher it sits on the gun the more support you have. So what you want is to have your thumb on the safety, index finger up against the trigger guard, and fold your fingers down over your other hands fingers. This will give you grip that encompasses the whole handle."

He then moved to extend his arms, the right arm completely straightening out and the left slightly bent. "You want the right arm straight and the left slightly bent, and I do stress slight. Keep your hips and shoulders square to the target. Now let's see you do that and make sure you have the form right. And if you happen to be left handed than just switch which arm does what." The Ranger holds the position but turns his head to ensure that Nexus was properly holding the pistol and had a correct standing.

“I myself have quite the knack for making enemies myself” The comment came off as jovial on the surface, but underneath Jake caught a hint of something darker. He watched as the connections that flowed outward from the man shifted and changed. There was something familiar there, just for a second. Something that spoke of conflict and of ruin. Something that made Jake think of that murderous woman he had faced and whom had sworn to hunt him down. She was the reason he was here at all... Jake's mind reeled for a moment. Could this man have met her as well?

Forcing himself back on the topic at hand, he watched calmly as Ranger settled into his firing stance, and Jake followed suit. The USP felt almost alien in his hands. He had held and trained with weapons before, but none that carried such...weight. Sighing, he squared himself with the counter of the firing range and raised his hands, mimicking the way that Ranger had positioned himself. With his strong sense of contours, the movement was almost perfect on the first try.

“Hips square,” he muttered to himself, reviewing his position and making small corrections, “and shoulders on target. That's it, isn't it?” The position felt comfortable and solid. The calm stability of it reminded him of his martial arts training, and slowly he felt his apprehension slip away. This was the modern man's kata, he supposed. I hope I'm doing the right thing.

The Ranger observed as Nexus took his stance, it was good. The few mistakes he initially made were corrected without him having to address them verbally. "Alright, it looks good." Following this statement he took the magazine he had removed from his pack earlier in hand.

"This is a magazine, often erroneously called a clip. A magazine is simply a storage and feeding device that attaches to or is within the firearm. Whereas a clip merely holds rounds together. Catch." He then tossed the mag to Nexus before continuing. "That magazine holds fifteen 9mm rounds. Just slide it in with the bullet facing down the muzzle. Once it is in grab the slide on top and pull it back until you hear a click. This will load the first round into the firing chamber."

He raised the 500 back into a firing position, "Now, to aim you line up the sites on top. You want the middle site at the end of the gun to be in between the two in back, over the spot you want to hit. Which in this case happens to be the center of that human shaped paper over there. Normally I aim for the head, but for the sake of instruction I'll fire at the more official target."

As he lined up the shot he called out what to do before firing and what to expect. "Before you fire make sure the safety is off, that your shot is lined up and when you pull the trigger the gun will want to come back and hit you, don't let it. When it goes off resist the kick and keep the gun on target. And keep in mind that one isn't as bad as this one." As he finished the sentence he pulled the trigger on the revolver and shot rang out dwarfing all the other rounds firing in the building. At the same time the muscles in the Ranger's arms rapidly and greatly increased in size as his power increased their strength to keep the gun from kicking up following the shot.

Down range a half inch wide hole sat in the center of the bullseye on the paper human while a long line of steam poured out of and drifted up from the .50 caliber magnum revolver.

Jake nodded and relaxed, setting down the weapon on the counter and making sure it was aimed down range before returning his focus to Ranger. He listened intently as the man ran through the basics of a magazine, and casually snatched the mag out of the air when it was tossed to him. Glancing down at the magazine, he pondered how fifteen rounds could ever fit into something so small.

Turning back towards the USP, he picked up the daunting firearm and slipped the magazine into place. The whole contraption worked with oiled precision. It's loaded now, he mused wearily. Sighing to himself, he watched as Ranger lined up his shot. It was curious how a thick tendril of intention arched out from Ranger's gleaming form and wove itself down the length of the weapon's slide and extended off towards the target strait and narrow as a laser beam.

Turning his attention down range, Jake watched the beam strike at and coil around the length of paper at the far end of the field, and a chill flowed over him. He couldn't see the design on the target. There wasn't enough weight to the emotional connections to give it context to his senses. This would be a challenge.

When the shot finally came a moment later, Jake nearly jumped. He had been expecting the blast, but that didn't help at all. The peal of the weapon was deafening, and he watched as the recoil played up Rangers arms and into his chest in a sort of emotive shockwave.

Nodding, Jake turned his attention down range and raised the USP just as Ranger had shown him. Tendrils of uncertainty and fear played over him, but he focused himself through their influence and watched as his own tendril of intention shot forward. He wasn't going to let some simple weapon unsteady him where Meld had not. Sighing softly to himself, he ran through his mental checklist: safety off, line up to target, stand firm and don't flinch. The switch was simple enough, but lining up the shot was more difficult without being able to see the pattern of the target. In the end, he glanced at Ranger's target and guessed approximately where he round had to go.

Squeezing the trigger gently, he jumped when the weapon finally went off for the first time. The kick was surprising from a bullet so small, and the round punched through the target half a foot to the right and several inches higher then Jake had intended.

“S***...” he muttered under his breath as he lined up another round. A second sharp retort echoed from the USP as another round parted the paper several inches lower and still to the right of the target. He was over compensating. Calm down Jake, he told himself, you can do this.

Lining himself up, he squeezed off several more rounds, each more accurate then the last. His grouping was tattered, but gradually he started to get the hang of the weapon. His arms felt like they were vibrating with the aftereffects of the shooting.

After the eighth bullet, he safetied the weapon and turned back towards Ranger, keeping the weapon down range once more.

“Alright. Should I keep going, or should we try something else?”Jake said with a somewhat befuddled smile.

Lowering the revolver he waited for Nexus to fire. When he did the Ranger didn't have to see the flinch to know it happened, the hole in the paper made it clear. The second shot was a little better, and each following shot showed improvement.

“Alright. Should I keep going, or should we try something else?”

"Take a few deep breaths, and calm down. Shooting for the first time can be exhilarating. When you shop shaking we'll continue. And, I must say, you are going good for a first time shooter."

Reaching down he grabbed the handle of the case and pulled it out. Laying it on it's side he poped open the latches and opened it. It was mostly empty now that the guns had been removed but it did contain more than enough ammunition for Nexus to continue firing the gun all night.

"While we wait for the adrenaline rush to pass why don't you tell me about this mutant, that way I can determine what gun would most help you. As well as how much training you will need in a more...spacious environment."

Jake nodded and took a few calming breaths to collect himself. Deliberately, he safetied the weapon and set it down once more on the counter and stepped away, allowing his thoughts to settle. Inwardly, he was all tensed up, but with practice that tension was starting to ease away. I'm already becoming another person, aren't I? Jake smiled painfully at Ranger and began to explain his situation.

“Right....the mutant... She called herself Meld. She's some sort of flesh and machine monstrosity I bumped into a few days ago. One thing led to another, and she swore to hunt me down and kill me, and she means it. She isn't going to get tired and give up. I swore I wasn't going to make it easy on her, so here I am.”

Jake kept his inner sense focused on the man, watching the subtle twists of recognition play across the array of connections that splayed out from him. He knows her...[/i] All he could do was wait and see how the man reacted. Hopefully he would understand what Jake was facing. Turning, Jake picked up the USP, ejected the old magazine and slammed a new one home. With a sigh, he raised the weapon, braced himself just as he had been taught, and pulled the trigger.

This round parted the paper roughly where he intended, and the next few rounds followed suit. The jitters were melting away, and Jake could see his tendril of intention hardening into the something roughly approximating Ranger's skilled precision. He had to get there if he was going to have any chance.

“What else would you like to know?” he asked over the bark of the USP. “I'll tell you anything I know, I just don't know how much it will help.”

"...Meld. I've fought with her before. And the last time she had acquired some shield arm thing. " The Ranger thought a moment about his run ins with Meld. First there was the encounter at the Bank and the second time at King Pharmaceuticals. The first time he didn't fight her very directly but he had found an effective weapon against her.

"As far as I can tell, one of her big weaknesses is her eyes. They seem to be excellent for night vision, so throwing a flashbang cripples her. Aside from that, a higher caliber of gun is going to be needed than just that 9mm to stop her." He observed the how accurately Nexus was shooting, it had greatly improved from the last mag. The question now was whether or not he was ready to fire the 500.

"You're doing good, but if you wanna hurt Meld you are going to need a larger gun. That of course means more kick. Personally when fighting with her I would prefer to have a long gun of some kind but those are a little more difficult to discreetly carry on your person as a 'just in case' measure." Picking up the revolver he had fired he loaded a round into the cylinder to replace the round he fired, he then held it by the barrel with the handle away from him and held it out toward Nexus. "Here take this, and when you think you are ready give it a try. Bear in mind this gun has vastly greater kick, if you don't hold it back it will go right back into your face. And to fire it, you just pull back the hammer with your thumb and then pull the trigger to fire. After every fire you have to pull the hammer back again to fire. It is a five shot though."

It was calming to Jake to hear that he wasn't the first to have trouble with Meld. Right from the start, he had recognized that she would be a difficult one to deal with, particularly in close. Ranger's experience could well be invaluable in facing her in the future. Jake wasn't too concerned about blinding her, he had his own trick for that, but the more he could confuse her the longer he could save up those dirty little maneuvers for when they really mattered. Where does a person get flashbangs?

Jake nodded as the man explained the requirement for power in dealing with Meld. When Ranger handed him the 500, it was like grabbing onto an anvil one handed. The weapon weighed a ton! Jake had to subtly shift his grip once or twice to make it comfortable in his hands. Angling the weapon down the range, he cocked the hammer and raised it to its firing position and lined up the target. He was a strong man, stronger then most, but he was used to keeping his weight on the balls of his feet and carrying the 500 left him with the distinct impression he was going to fall forward. Anchoring himself, he slowly depressed the trigger until the hammer fell.

The blast that erupted was startling in its intensity. The retort on the weapon must have been at least three feet long and drove Jake back a full step. He could feel his bones vibrating from the shot. The round hammered through the paper fairly close to where he had intended it, but he realized this was more luck then anything else. Five rounds. That wasn't going to be enough if he had to pick a fight with Meld.

Turning towards Ranger, he rubbed his right hand, sore from the repeated shooting.

“Somehow I don't think five rounds are going to stop her. She's a tank... If it was you shooting, maybe, but I'm a long ways from being that accurate. Do I have any other options other then the revolver? Aren't there special armour-piercing rounds I could put into something lighter, like a submachine gun?”

"Of course five rounds won't drop Meld, but you needed a feel for a larger gun and that is the only high caliber weapon I have on me. The thing with higher caliber guns is the magazines cannot hold as many as each bullet is larger. As far as armor piercing goes you'd have best luck with a rifle, but a unless you know when you are going to engage Meld you probably won't have it handy. Submachine guns will give you the same problem plus the fact that you have to carry a license for automatic weapons that is very hard to get your hands on."

He stops a second to think before continuing. "There is a chance I can acquire a Desert Eagle from an Israeli friend and and a custom magazine for it. That way you would have a weapon that would be ore than just an annoyance if you encounter Meld on unfamiliar terrain. Also I could train you in the use of a few rifles in the instance you meet her when you have access to larger guns."

The Ranger looked to the gun on the counter, the Sig 556. Picking it up he gave it the once over to insure that the magazine was empty and there was not a round in the chamber. "I don't have any submachine guns with me tonight, but I can instruct you in the use of assault rifles if you want." and then after a short pause, "also don't worry about paying for any guns, I have a few contacts and can procure you some. I can't let you go up against Meld without high quality firearms."

A Desert Eagle?[/i] Jake had heard people talk about that gun on the street. Opinions on it seemed to be divided between it being something of an overpowered joke to a truly terrifying weapon. If Ranger was recommending it though, that pretty much settled that debate in his mind. It would all come down to stopping power against Meld. There was no such thing as excessive force here.

“Thanks for the help, Ranger. I was feeling pretty put-out-to-dry until I met you. Also, if you ever need a hand with something or someone to watch your back, give me a call. I really appreciate all of this help.”

Jake smiled warmly and looked over the assault rifle in Ranger's hands. It was long, heavy, and wicked looking, and yet lacked that faint whisper of terror that he felt within each of the pistols Ranger had allowed him to try. This was more his style. Assault rifles, for the most part, weren't used in hold ups or to threaten families in this part of the world and that made them exude a calm reliability and power that Jake could appreciate. Anywhere else in the world, he imagined, he would have more trouble.

“So how do we handle the assault rifle versus the pistols. Back to stances, I'm assuming?” Jake inquired, answering Ranger's question of whether or not he wanted to learn more about them. The 'we' had slipped in there without his intention, and sure enough Jake could see the strands of friendship woven between the Ranger and himself. I have an ally. Maybe there is hope after all. [/i]