Ch 63: New Tools for the Job

Mira had always relied on precision. Close-quarters combat, quick takedowns, clean eliminations. But after the last job, something felt off. Maybe it was the ease of it. Maybe it was how mundane it had all become.

She needed something new. A change.

Something with weight.

The underground arms dealer's shop was buried deep in the slums of a lawless district, where loyalty was bought, and trust was non-existent. It smelled of oil, metal, and old gunpowder, a scent Mira had grown accustomed to over the years.

Weapons lined the walls—pistols, assault rifles, prototype energy weapons, and old-world firearms still kept in working condition. But she wasn't here for just any weapon. She wanted something with reach, something that would give her an edge.

The merchant, a grizzled veteran with cybernetic eyes, grinned when he saw her eyeing the Pryder-99 Heavy Sniper.

"Expensive taste, huh?" he muttered, tapping the long, matte-black barrel. "Armor-piercing rounds, extended barrel, custom optics. This thing'll put a hole through a tank if you know what you're doing."

Mira picked it up, testing the weight. It was heavier than she expected, but balanced. Built for precision and power. The matte-black finish was perfect for night ops, the scope interface looked customizable, and the bolt-action felt smooth.

She looked at the price. It wasn't cheap.

"I'll take it."

The dealer smirked. "Then you'll need a job to pay for it."

The Test

The job was simple: eliminate a convoy escorting a high-value target.

Mira spent the better part of the night scouting the target's route, choosing a vantage point high above an old industrial district where the convoy would pass at dawn. The rooftop she perched on was unstable, the remnants of a pre-war factory, but it gave her a perfect line of sight.

The rifle's scope hummed as it calibrated, adjusting to the dim lighting and thermal signatures.

The convoy approached—a pair of armored trucks, guards armed to the teeth, moving with discipline.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting the scope. Wind speed, distance, bullet drop.

One shot.

The lead driver's head snapped back, a fine red mist spraying against the windshield. The truck veered off-course, slamming into the side of a building.

Panic.

Guards scrambled.

She chambered another round, keeping her breathing steady.

Two shots.

A second guard collapsed, chest cavity blown open.

The convoy responded with gunfire, but they were shooting blind, firing at shadows. Mira had already shifted positions, crawling along the rooftop to set up another angle.

She wasn't done yet.

Three shots.

The final round punched through the target's chest, piercing armor like paper.

By the time the convoy realized what was happening, Mira was already packing up, vanishing into the early morning haze.

A clean test. A perfect shot.

As she disappeared into the city's underbelly, the weight of the rifle on her back felt right.