Post by KyferLegs (Diria) on Jun 26, 2023 19:30:53 GMT -5
Matthias Farzin focused on the machinery before him, sparks flying in varying directions as the mask and apron kept him protected. Next to him was the worktable, with different tools and equipment encircled by machinery. The section of the hanger was large, and thankfully his partner Aaliyah had a lease for the hanger, and the university they both attended financed the hanger and its project that she worked on. I'm happy for her, he thought, turning back to his task, which was entirely his own unsanctioned and funded work, but he wouldn't be disturbed if he stayed in the bubble provided to him graciously by his host Aaliyah. Therefore, timing his heavy machinery work between the moments that the group of a dozen or so in the middle of the hanger didn't need to hear each other.
Some time went by, and Matthias carefully brought the tubular object to the table after a few careful movements and machining processes. The thing looked naked, bare to its metal components, but it was a firearm, probably the third Matthias had crafted of this exact variant. Matthias lifted the welding mask off his face, the dampness on his face luckily hidden by fur. Rubbing his chin, he lifted the gun with both hands, holding it precariously, inspecting its welds, craftsmanship, and finish. Nodding, Matthias was sure this time everything was functioning optimally. Then again, that's what he said for the dozens of other tests. Setting it back down, he reached for a wooden object covered with a small cloth, which, once grabbed, was the missing bottom half of the gun that was entirely wood and with a pistol grip on the front. It was elegant, finely carved, and coated, so the wood looked deep and rich. After some movements, Matthias carefully pushed the furnishing into points of connection, then carried the gun to stamp or screw the furnishing into place at another machine.
Some more time passed, and Matthias held the now fully developed firearm in his hands. The stock pressed lovingly into his shoulder, and the grip rolled in his left palm, and then he set it back down slowly on the table, staring at it with pride. He'd been at it all day and deciphering from the stained windows high up in the empty hanger that the sun was setting. However, it was enough daylight to do a firing test. Following his reflection, Matthias put a few bottles and a self-drawn target in a sack, which he put over his left shoulder. Subsequently, he then grabbed three previously made mags and put them into his right pocket. Finally, he picked up the gun by the bolt with his right hand.
Matthias had planned this out and done this before, as the airfield was relatively nowhere, and it was late, so nobody was around except the bribed guard, who Matthias paid to 'look away' from the sound the gun would make. Thus, strolling along the gravel that made up the airfield, he couldn't help but stare at some old biplanes parked along the far side with tarps tossed over them. Yet as the crunch beneath his shoes turned to tiny kicks of loose dirt, Matthias stared at the almost empty field. It mixed with brown grass and tan soil. A slight smile began to form on his muzzle as he trekked up to the various boxes and stands that had riddled targets. Placing the bottles in multiple spots and then pinning the target in place to an already placed nail, he returned to the edge of the airfield's start after a brief assessment. When back at the strip, he tossed the sack down, lifting his left hand toward the target and bottles, staring past his hand in the shape of an O, and stepped back about one more foot.
Adjusting the firearm, he had cradled in his arms, the gun now raised in a ready position, the stock pressed firmly into his shoulder, and the grip tightly held by his left palm. Letting go with his left, he reached into his pocket, pulling a mag out, and then with the press, the magazine clicked into place. Moving his arm over the gun, he grabbed the charging handle, pulling it back with a click and letting it go with a loud clunk. Placing his left hand back on the grip, he stared forward, his smile growing even more. Adjusting his footing, he stared down the peephole sights. Moving his aim to an innocent bottle, he squeezed the trigger, and a few loud pops followed, and the movement of the bolt reciprocating caused a loud chug while the remains of the bottle hit the ground.
An amused chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled his aim to another location and squeezed the trigger again. The process repeated, excited giggles and exclamations escaping from Matthias. All in front of him were the remains of bottles as, with a final squeeze, the gun clicked. Quickly he exchanged the mag in the weapon with another and repeated the process. However, instead of a bottle, he put the center of the target in his sights. Instead of containing his excitement and controlling how many rounds escaped, Matthias held the trigger down, the gratifying chug continuing as the bullets slammed into the target and wood behind it. After the episode and the gun clicked, Matthias grabbed the charging handle, slid it up, locked it in place, and promptly placed the firearm on the ground. Leaning forward, Matthias walked up to the target, his eyes staring at the holes embedded into it. He backed up quickly and clapped his hands together excitingly. Running back to the strip, practically bouncing up and down while the sky dimmed and exclaiming, "It works! It fucking works!" Bending down and grabbing the gun again, he lifted it and stared at it. "Liking a charm too!" Unable to remain calm, he pointed it forward, took out the mag, put in the last mag, and repeated the process as before, the flash lighting up the darkness as he shot out into the decimated bottles and wooden crates in triumph.
Some time went by, and Matthias carefully brought the tubular object to the table after a few careful movements and machining processes. The thing looked naked, bare to its metal components, but it was a firearm, probably the third Matthias had crafted of this exact variant. Matthias lifted the welding mask off his face, the dampness on his face luckily hidden by fur. Rubbing his chin, he lifted the gun with both hands, holding it precariously, inspecting its welds, craftsmanship, and finish. Nodding, Matthias was sure this time everything was functioning optimally. Then again, that's what he said for the dozens of other tests. Setting it back down, he reached for a wooden object covered with a small cloth, which, once grabbed, was the missing bottom half of the gun that was entirely wood and with a pistol grip on the front. It was elegant, finely carved, and coated, so the wood looked deep and rich. After some movements, Matthias carefully pushed the furnishing into points of connection, then carried the gun to stamp or screw the furnishing into place at another machine.
Some more time passed, and Matthias held the now fully developed firearm in his hands. The stock pressed lovingly into his shoulder, and the grip rolled in his left palm, and then he set it back down slowly on the table, staring at it with pride. He'd been at it all day and deciphering from the stained windows high up in the empty hanger that the sun was setting. However, it was enough daylight to do a firing test. Following his reflection, Matthias put a few bottles and a self-drawn target in a sack, which he put over his left shoulder. Subsequently, he then grabbed three previously made mags and put them into his right pocket. Finally, he picked up the gun by the bolt with his right hand.
Matthias had planned this out and done this before, as the airfield was relatively nowhere, and it was late, so nobody was around except the bribed guard, who Matthias paid to 'look away' from the sound the gun would make. Thus, strolling along the gravel that made up the airfield, he couldn't help but stare at some old biplanes parked along the far side with tarps tossed over them. Yet as the crunch beneath his shoes turned to tiny kicks of loose dirt, Matthias stared at the almost empty field. It mixed with brown grass and tan soil. A slight smile began to form on his muzzle as he trekked up to the various boxes and stands that had riddled targets. Placing the bottles in multiple spots and then pinning the target in place to an already placed nail, he returned to the edge of the airfield's start after a brief assessment. When back at the strip, he tossed the sack down, lifting his left hand toward the target and bottles, staring past his hand in the shape of an O, and stepped back about one more foot.
Adjusting the firearm, he had cradled in his arms, the gun now raised in a ready position, the stock pressed firmly into his shoulder, and the grip tightly held by his left palm. Letting go with his left, he reached into his pocket, pulling a mag out, and then with the press, the magazine clicked into place. Moving his arm over the gun, he grabbed the charging handle, pulling it back with a click and letting it go with a loud clunk. Placing his left hand back on the grip, he stared forward, his smile growing even more. Adjusting his footing, he stared down the peephole sights. Moving his aim to an innocent bottle, he squeezed the trigger, and a few loud pops followed, and the movement of the bolt reciprocating caused a loud chug while the remains of the bottle hit the ground.
An amused chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled his aim to another location and squeezed the trigger again. The process repeated, excited giggles and exclamations escaping from Matthias. All in front of him were the remains of bottles as, with a final squeeze, the gun clicked. Quickly he exchanged the mag in the weapon with another and repeated the process. However, instead of a bottle, he put the center of the target in his sights. Instead of containing his excitement and controlling how many rounds escaped, Matthias held the trigger down, the gratifying chug continuing as the bullets slammed into the target and wood behind it. After the episode and the gun clicked, Matthias grabbed the charging handle, slid it up, locked it in place, and promptly placed the firearm on the ground. Leaning forward, Matthias walked up to the target, his eyes staring at the holes embedded into it. He backed up quickly and clapped his hands together excitingly. Running back to the strip, practically bouncing up and down while the sky dimmed and exclaiming, "It works! It fucking works!" Bending down and grabbing the gun again, he lifted it and stared at it. "Liking a charm too!" Unable to remain calm, he pointed it forward, took out the mag, put in the last mag, and repeated the process as before, the flash lighting up the darkness as he shot out into the decimated bottles and wooden crates in triumph.