Hank butts out his current cigarette. He tucks his new collection of weapons and armaments into the tactical holsters at his waist and thighs, and pulls two cigarettes from his pack. He lights them both and hands one to Bo.
"Now... let's take a look at this "broadsword", guys. I wanna see it."
Pony I will put together Hank's inventory soon! Thank you for answerin.
okay pony... iirc you made a comment about carrying only four backup clips or something (correct me if i'm wrong) so with that in mind, Hank is packing the following:
Light Pistol (Glock 17) - 18 rounds of Argent and one backup clip (17 rounds) of Argent (waist holster)
Light Pistol (Glock 17) - 18 rounds of Incendiary and one backup clip (17 rounds) of Incendiary (waist holster)
Light Pistol (Glock 17) - 18 rounds of Crypto and one backup clip of (17 rounds) Crypto (thigh holster)
Light Pistol (Glock 17) - 18 rounds of Ecto and one backup clips (17 rounds) of Ecto (thigh holster)
pants, boots, undershirt
body armor and helmet
1 loaded punch-stake
2 punch-stake reloads
1 headset radio
knife
cigarettes & matches
let me know if this is too much, or if he could reasonably carry anything more
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Zen VulgarityWhat a lovely day for teaSecret British ThreadRegistered Userregular
Guys just to clarify: I am not a very controlling DM when it comes to the particulars of things. I actually encourage player freedom when it comes to a lot of minor details and so when it's something like "whatever makes sense for your character" feel free to just make up shit as you please, as long as it's reasonable.
Guys just to clarify: I am not a very controlling DM when it comes to the particulars of things. I actually encourage player freedom when it comes to a lot of minor details and so when it's something like "whatever makes sense for your character" feel free to just make up shit as you please, as long as it's reasonable.
Thanks dude... I look forward to making a "equipping" post... I have to try and find a way to write something that will feel like how it looks when Sam Rami has a dude putting his kit together (quck cuts, zip, strap, cha-ching) or that kinda thing.
Guys just to clarify: I am not a very controlling DM when it comes to the particulars of things. I actually encourage player freedom when it comes to a lot of minor details and so when it's something like "whatever makes sense for your character" feel free to just make up shit as you please, as long as it's reasonable.
Thanks dude... I look forward to making a "equipping" post... I have to try and find a way to write something that will feel like how it looks when Sam Rami has a dude putting his kit together (quck cuts, zip, strap, cha-ching) or that kinda thing.
This is totally the moment for everybody to do one of those posts appropriate to their character, like Zen doing a post about straightening his tie and shit.
Bo takes the cigarette and inhales deeply. "That's the stuff...", he stands there for a moment with his eyes closed, letting his thoughts settle for a moment. Just for a second, he is no longer deep in the blood soaked facility. In his mind, he is back on his family's property, breathing in the heavy scent of pine and wet dirt. The air is alive with bugs, birds, and humidity strong enough to be considered its own animal. For that single moment, Bo is at peace.
With a slight cough, he opens his eyes and watches the smoke rise towards the ceiling. Back in reality, he looks to the others and smiles widely, still keeping the lit cigarette in his mouth. "Well, boys n' girl. Looks like it is time to mosey. We got ourselves a date with some nasty bugaboos."
Picking up his rifle, Isabelle, Bo saunters over to the armory and begins gathering some gear. Letting out a whistle he inspects the fancy ammo. "Well look at that Isabelle. Time to get you all dressed up and go dancin'."
Shells clatter to the floor as Bo haphazardly searches through, tossing away what he doesn't need. Incendiary, Ardent, Ecto, and Crypto rifle rounds go into various pockets on his tactical vest. Isabelle is loaded up with a full clip of Incendiary, explained by Bo as "When in doubt, use fire."
Standing in the facility's lighting with Isabelle thrown over his shoulder, Bo looks like a redneck going to war.
Bo's Gear
Equipped
John Deere Trucker Cap (+2 cool, +2 to driving tractors/mowers)
Beard (+2 to scruff)
Partially Bloodstained Tactical Armored Vest (+6 to holy hell that's alot of pockets.)
T shirt (Proclaims "Allman Brothers Rock!", +3 to rockin')
Isabelle the Hunting Rifle (Held over the shoulder, currently loaded with Incendiary rounds)
Previously Owned Submachine Gun (Strung over shoulder/chest with strap, currently loaded with Argent Rounds)
Heavy Pistol (Stuck in holster, currently loaded with Ecto Rounds)
Huge Silver Belt Buckle (+3 to cool, +4 to riding bulls)
Pants (Sets us apart from the animals. Only partially bloodied)
Combat Boots (Slightly scuffed, will polish later)
Combat Knife (Currently held in right boot)
Hank spread out on the table everything he'd planned to put on his person so far. He cracked his neck and his knuckles as he put each on of them on. He still wore his bloody wifebeater, and the pants, tucked into the high boots.
Cigaratte dangling from lower lip. Orange Flare. Smoke.
Body armor. Strapped. Buckled.
Glock 17. Ram in 17-round cartridge of "Ecto". Pull back cartridge, slide in another. Click. Shoulder holster. Repeat quickly for the different-colored "Crypto" cartridges.
Colt 1911. Ram in 10-round cartridge of "Argent". Pull back cartridge, slide in another. Click. Thigh holster. Repeat quickly for the "Pyro". Another of plain old lead. Place back on table.
Belt. Strap tight.
Spare clips, Argent and Pyro. Belt holders. Plain ammo Colt. Whip around finger, old west style. Slide into belt holster, strap in.
Spare clips, each kind. Slide into vest pockets. Strap.
Helmet... nah, fuck that. Medpacs. Swipe both of table. Clatter.
Grenade. FLASHBANG in bright blue on side. Four. Slip into loops back of belt. Strap.
Punch-stake, loaded. Slide into belt where the baton would be. Strap. Reloads in last two belt pouches. Zip.
Knife. Wipe on pant leg. Holster on thigh next to Argent Colt. Strap.
Wierd shit. Injector: "Therianthrope Epinephrine" Injector: "Haemovore Vitae" Spray: "Mark of Tindalos". Hand hovers over them. No. Let the lawyer figure those out.
Lucky strikes. Count. 12 left. Matches in pack. Tuck into shoulder of armor.
Shotgun. Six pyro rounds. Cha-chunk, cha-chunk, cha-chunk-cha-chunk, cha-chunk. Orange flare. Smoke. Cha-chunk. One chambered. Click safety.
Headset. Microphone up. Speaker over left ear.
Hank straightened up, puffed again at his cigarette and held the loaded shotgun across his back, both wrists dangling over each end. He closed his eyes. Orange flare. Long exhale. Smoke.
Pause.
Breathe.
Drop of blood hits table.
Orange flare. Exhale. Smoke.
"Bo... I can feel myself bleeding. Any chance you can patch me up with that good ol backwoods medecine before we move out?"
Esmer moves closer to the injured, crying man and puts a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, she leans in to hug him. "It's okay. C'mon, it's gonna be alright," she says quietly. "You're gonna be okay." She continues to comfort him as Hank and Bo suit up, then, quietly, she rises to her feet and heads back into the locker room.
She really had no idea what was going on. She was scared, terrified, and there were dead people and dying people, and floating people, and vampires, and it was all just seriously messed up and she had no idea how to deal with it. She wasn't a soldier or a gangster or anything. She wasn't even a hunter. Dad told her hunting was a bloodsport! She didn't know what that meant until she was like fifteen, but it sounded bad.
Okay. Pull yourself together. You can do this. Right? Probably?
She walks into the personal storage locker and pushes the door as near to closed as she can without locking herself in. She didn't know how to suit up for a fight, but she knew wardrobe. Wardrobe she could deal with.
She was in costume when she got hit. Should still be in here. She tosses her armor and hospital gown aside, pulling on the frilly, tunic-shirt thing they'd put her in. Sandals? No. Cute, but a bad idea. Lots of blood and stuff already on her feet. Gross. Didn't need more of it. Headband thing. That'll do. She pulls her hair back and ties it off with the cloth band. Tassel-y rope-belt? Um, no. Rose-tinted glasses? Nah, it was already red enough in here.
Esmer reaches grabs her wallet out of the locker and flips it over in her hands. Hesitantly, she flips it open. Slowly, almost reverently, she pulls out her SAG card. She stares down at it, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.
She slides the card back into her wallet, and her eyes snap back open.
She darts across the room to the equipment locker, grabbing a pair of boots as she goes and pulling them on over the wide, tattered edges of her authentic replica 60s-era jeans. A pair of wrist-guards and gloves from one of the suits of body armor. She'd done action-things before. It was all shiny guns and looking good in battle-gear. No different. Nothing different at all now.
She takes one of the belts and struggles with it for a moment before managing to buckle it. Hooks for grenades. Probably a bad idea. Let Hank and Bo handle that. She glances around the locker. Knife? Yeah, that's good. I can do that. Assault rifle? Urm. Big handgun? Yes. Woah, heavy. Alright. Bullets. Needs bullets. She scoops up several clips at random and hooks them onto her belt.
Okay. Good.
She throws open the locker door and stomps back into the main room. She catches Hank spinning a gun around his finger and mimics the action, slamming the almost comically over-sized pistol into her the holster on her belt. She inhales deeply, trying to steady herself.
"Alright," she says, broadcasting her voice like they taught her too in theatre class. "So, this Cready guy killed a bunch of people, and he's... possessed or whatever. Well so what? Hank killed a werewolf with his fists. We find him, we get the thing out of him, and we kill it. 'Cause it killed a bunch of people, and we don't want it to kill more. Also, we want to get out of here." She swings the pistol out of the holster and pulls back the slide. She has no clue what that's supposed to do, but it seemed like an appropriate gesture. "We're not dying here today, and neither is anyone else!"
Equipment:
Heavy Pistol (Pyro Clip)
Reproduction 60's Hippy Tunic
Replica 60's pre-frayed bell-bottom jeans.
Combat boots.
Wrist-guards with gloves.
Utility belt (with three extra pistol clips. Two Ecto and one Argent, respectively.)
Knife (in sheath, on belt.
Hank's reply was... well, not unusually unrelated.
"Nice outfit there, flower girl, maybe you need some..." he cocked his head. There were three more gashes stretching from the top of his scalp to just past his ear (well, the half that was now left of it) on the right side of his face. He squinted his eyes. "Waitamminit... have I seen you like... on the TV or something before?"
Esmer, despite all the chaos around her, beams, flashing a smile that could probably stop a charging bull (though appears to be useless on werewolves). "Maybe!" she chirps excitedly. "I did a lot of TV stuff, so, yeah, you might've seen me." She flashes her SAG card like a badge. "Esmeraldrey Bastion Sanford."
She pauses for a moment, lifting the hem of her tunic to look at it. "I was doing some 60s indie dramedy thing. I don't know what happened with that when I, y'know, died. It was super good, though. I mean, I liked it."
Grabbing a pistol from the armory Adrian clumsily stuffs it in his belt, "I have no idea how to use one of these but I guess I"d rather have one than not.."
Adrian grabs a vest and straps it on, starting to fill the pockets with a few clips, "At least I don't need any training to get shot in one of these.", he frowns slighting before continuing to gear up.
Equipment: Pistol, Vest, Argent Round, Incineration Round, suit pants, dresshirt, slightly ruffled but still expensive looking haircut.
"Oh yeah," Hank remembers, "I saw you on this one thing where you were a waitress. This guido started mouthin' off about slapping you on the butt and it reminded me of my dad. So he never said that again..."
"Man, this ain't so bad. I once knew a guy who jumped his ass through a glass window when he was drunk. Now that was bad.", Bo smiles and continues his rather professional work. Professional despite the fact he is smoking while tending to wounds.
"I threw a guy through a window once. Then he picked up a piece of glass and gave me that big ugly one on my cheek. Don't ever fight a guy who's on PCP."
Inside the box is a great deal of black foam with a large cut space for a very specific item.
This item appears to be some kind of large recoilless rifle. It's surface is this smooth black substance, appearing to be closer to the hardened fiberglass of a police baton than it does to any metal you know of. If you put your hands on it, the weapon is extremely cold to the touch, almost painfully so.
Aside from the handle, a shoulder brace, and a trigger mechanism, the weapon is featureless. No screws, plates, moving parts, or mold lines.
Both ends of the weapon have metallic iris-like openings, like camera shutters, that are currently tightly closed.
It has no identifying marks, instructions, or brands on the weapon itself except for a simple series of words spray-painted on it in stenciled letters, with an arrow pointing towards the bore of the gun:
FRONT TOWARD ENEMY
There's a small leaflet sitting in a space in the foam, where an instruction manual might sit for such a device. However, it's a simple single sheet of paper, one-sided with a very short message:
FPD-AAX4 BROADSWORD ANTI-THAUMATURGIC EMPIRICAL REALITY CORRECTIVE DEVICE
USE WITH EXTREME CAUTION AND PROPER PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAINING
Adrian's eyes widen at the "Gun" before closing again to squint at it. "Well, I barely know how to use one of these", he pats the pistol he had shoved in his pants, "I don't think I'm going to try to use that thing... definitely looks..... useful? though..".
"Oh yeah. I like this. Any of you got "psychological training"? Might not be official but wouldn't hurt. I mean, I like pistols and shotguns mostly but... come on, Jack, you're a badge... you know you want to try this baby out."
Zen's got some real life shit going on and Smart Hero is too busy being a millionaire jet fighter pilot, so tomorrow I am going to move you guys along regardless.
Bo looks down at the weapon in the case and lets out a low whistle.
"Now that looks like it could put a beasty in its place. Why do they always tell us we can't use the fun stuff?"
He reaches down and touches the weapon, pulling his hand back sharply when he feels the cold. "Though maybe... this is something we should leave be. I mean... you put a bunch of fireworks or a rocket launcher in front of me and just try to keep me away from it... but this thing don't seem right to me."
He stands up and dusts off his hands. Flashes of himself dying alone in the cold run through his head as the feeling returns to his hand.
I have returned from my solid gold fighter jet to maek poast!
Jack eyes the BROADSWORD with a mix of confusion, awe, and fear. "Psychological training? Reality correcting device?"
"No. Not touching that. That fucking thing is yelling 'DO NOT TOUCH' right in my ear. Not to mention we were told not to use it, expressly. Let's not tempt fate."
Jack busies himself grabbing some gear from the armory, while passing on the intel about Creary to Parsons.
"So... correct me if I'm wrong, people. Am I the only one with the balls to use this thing? Is that what I'm hearing? I'm already a goddamned arsenal and I'm going to be carrying this too?"
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Caulk Bite 6One of the multitude of Dans infesting this placeRegistered Userregular
Posts
"Now... let's take a look at this "broadsword", guys. I wanna see it."
Pony I will put together Hank's inventory soon! Thank you for answerin.
Light Pistol (Glock 17) - 18 rounds of Incendiary and one backup clip (17 rounds) of Incendiary (waist holster)
Light Pistol (Glock 17) - 18 rounds of Crypto and one backup clip of (17 rounds) Crypto (thigh holster)
Light Pistol (Glock 17) - 18 rounds of Ecto and one backup clips (17 rounds) of Ecto (thigh holster)
pants, boots, undershirt
body armor and helmet
1 loaded punch-stake
2 punch-stake reloads
1 headset radio
knife
cigarettes & matches
let me know if this is too much, or if he could reasonably carry anything more
there should be
whether it's full riot gear or the same kind of armor we have now is what i'm not sure about
nice, Zen
very nice
everything we had at the moment of our death should be there
so your suit should be in the room
all hank had was an orange jumpsuit, shackles and (luckily for him) cigarettes
Should be one amongst your personal effects, no? Would make sense for your character.
Thanks dude... I look forward to making a "equipping" post... I have to try and find a way to write something that will feel like how it looks when Sam Rami has a dude putting his kit together (quck cuts, zip, strap, cha-ching) or that kinda thing.
This is totally the moment for everybody to do one of those posts appropriate to their character, like Zen doing a post about straightening his tie and shit.
With a slight cough, he opens his eyes and watches the smoke rise towards the ceiling. Back in reality, he looks to the others and smiles widely, still keeping the lit cigarette in his mouth. "Well, boys n' girl. Looks like it is time to mosey. We got ourselves a date with some nasty bugaboos."
Picking up his rifle, Isabelle, Bo saunters over to the armory and begins gathering some gear. Letting out a whistle he inspects the fancy ammo. "Well look at that Isabelle. Time to get you all dressed up and go dancin'."
Shells clatter to the floor as Bo haphazardly searches through, tossing away what he doesn't need. Incendiary, Ardent, Ecto, and Crypto rifle rounds go into various pockets on his tactical vest. Isabelle is loaded up with a full clip of Incendiary, explained by Bo as "When in doubt, use fire."
Standing in the facility's lighting with Isabelle thrown over his shoulder, Bo looks like a redneck going to war.
Bo's Gear
John Deere Trucker Cap (+2 cool, +2 to driving tractors/mowers)
Beard (+2 to scruff)
Partially Bloodstained Tactical Armored Vest (+6 to holy hell that's alot of pockets.)
T shirt (Proclaims "Allman Brothers Rock!", +3 to rockin')
Isabelle the Hunting Rifle (Held over the shoulder, currently loaded with Incendiary rounds)
Previously Owned Submachine Gun (Strung over shoulder/chest with strap, currently loaded with Argent Rounds)
Heavy Pistol (Stuck in holster, currently loaded with Ecto Rounds)
Huge Silver Belt Buckle (+3 to cool, +4 to riding bulls)
Pants (Sets us apart from the animals. Only partially bloodied)
Combat Boots (Slightly scuffed, will polish later)
Combat Knife (Currently held in right boot)
Non-Equipped Gear
Head Set Radio
2 Incendiary Rifle Clips
2 Crypto Rifle Clips
2 Ecto Rifle Clips
2 Argent Rifle Clips
1 Crypto Submachine gun magazine
1 Standard Submachine gun magazine
1 Argent Round Pistol Clip
1 Incendiary Round Pistol Clip
1 Med Kit (to keep these yankee bastards from dyin' on me)
Moosehat I love you.
Cigaratte dangling from lower lip. Orange Flare. Smoke.
Body armor. Strapped. Buckled.
Glock 17. Ram in 17-round cartridge of "Ecto". Pull back cartridge, slide in another. Click. Shoulder holster. Repeat quickly for the different-colored "Crypto" cartridges.
Colt 1911. Ram in 10-round cartridge of "Argent". Pull back cartridge, slide in another. Click. Thigh holster. Repeat quickly for the "Pyro". Another of plain old lead. Place back on table.
Belt. Strap tight.
Spare clips, Argent and Pyro. Belt holders. Plain ammo Colt. Whip around finger, old west style. Slide into belt holster, strap in.
Spare clips, each kind. Slide into vest pockets. Strap.
Helmet... nah, fuck that. Medpacs. Swipe both of table. Clatter.
Grenade. FLASHBANG in bright blue on side. Four. Slip into loops back of belt. Strap.
Punch-stake, loaded. Slide into belt where the baton would be. Strap. Reloads in last two belt pouches. Zip.
Knife. Wipe on pant leg. Holster on thigh next to Argent Colt. Strap.
Wierd shit. Injector: "Therianthrope Epinephrine" Injector: "Haemovore Vitae" Spray: "Mark of Tindalos". Hand hovers over them. No. Let the lawyer figure those out.
Lucky strikes. Count. 12 left. Matches in pack. Tuck into shoulder of armor.
Shotgun. Six pyro rounds. Cha-chunk, cha-chunk, cha-chunk-cha-chunk, cha-chunk. Orange flare. Smoke. Cha-chunk. One chambered. Click safety.
Headset. Microphone up. Speaker over left ear.
Hank straightened up, puffed again at his cigarette and held the loaded shotgun across his back, both wrists dangling over each end. He closed his eyes. Orange flare. Long exhale. Smoke.
Pause.
Breathe.
Drop of blood hits table.
Orange flare. Exhale. Smoke.
"Bo... I can feel myself bleeding. Any chance you can patch me up with that good ol backwoods medecine before we move out?"
Esmer moves closer to the injured, crying man and puts a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, she leans in to hug him. "It's okay. C'mon, it's gonna be alright," she says quietly. "You're gonna be okay." She continues to comfort him as Hank and Bo suit up, then, quietly, she rises to her feet and heads back into the locker room.
She really had no idea what was going on. She was scared, terrified, and there were dead people and dying people, and floating people, and vampires, and it was all just seriously messed up and she had no idea how to deal with it. She wasn't a soldier or a gangster or anything. She wasn't even a hunter. Dad told her hunting was a bloodsport! She didn't know what that meant until she was like fifteen, but it sounded bad.
Okay. Pull yourself together. You can do this. Right? Probably?
She walks into the personal storage locker and pushes the door as near to closed as she can without locking herself in. She didn't know how to suit up for a fight, but she knew wardrobe. Wardrobe she could deal with.
She was in costume when she got hit. Should still be in here. She tosses her armor and hospital gown aside, pulling on the frilly, tunic-shirt thing they'd put her in. Sandals? No. Cute, but a bad idea. Lots of blood and stuff already on her feet. Gross. Didn't need more of it. Headband thing. That'll do. She pulls her hair back and ties it off with the cloth band. Tassel-y rope-belt? Um, no. Rose-tinted glasses? Nah, it was already red enough in here.
Esmer reaches grabs her wallet out of the locker and flips it over in her hands. Hesitantly, she flips it open. Slowly, almost reverently, she pulls out her SAG card. She stares down at it, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.
She slides the card back into her wallet, and her eyes snap back open.
She darts across the room to the equipment locker, grabbing a pair of boots as she goes and pulling them on over the wide, tattered edges of her authentic replica 60s-era jeans. A pair of wrist-guards and gloves from one of the suits of body armor. She'd done action-things before. It was all shiny guns and looking good in battle-gear. No different. Nothing different at all now.
She takes one of the belts and struggles with it for a moment before managing to buckle it. Hooks for grenades. Probably a bad idea. Let Hank and Bo handle that. She glances around the locker. Knife? Yeah, that's good. I can do that. Assault rifle? Urm. Big handgun? Yes. Woah, heavy. Alright. Bullets. Needs bullets. She scoops up several clips at random and hooks them onto her belt.
Okay. Good.
She throws open the locker door and stomps back into the main room. She catches Hank spinning a gun around his finger and mimics the action, slamming the almost comically over-sized pistol into her the holster on her belt. She inhales deeply, trying to steady herself.
"Alright," she says, broadcasting her voice like they taught her too in theatre class. "So, this Cready guy killed a bunch of people, and he's... possessed or whatever. Well so what? Hank killed a werewolf with his fists. We find him, we get the thing out of him, and we kill it. 'Cause it killed a bunch of people, and we don't want it to kill more. Also, we want to get out of here." She swings the pistol out of the holster and pulls back the slide. She has no clue what that's supposed to do, but it seemed like an appropriate gesture. "We're not dying here today, and neither is anyone else!"
Heavy Pistol (Pyro Clip)
Reproduction 60's Hippy Tunic
Replica 60's pre-frayed bell-bottom jeans.
Combat boots.
Wrist-guards with gloves.
Utility belt (with three extra pistol clips. Two Ecto and one Argent, respectively.)
Knife (in sheath, on belt.
"Nice outfit there, flower girl, maybe you need some..." he cocked his head. There were three more gashes stretching from the top of his scalp to just past his ear (well, the half that was now left of it) on the right side of his face. He squinted his eyes. "Waitamminit... have I seen you like... on the TV or something before?"
She pauses for a moment, lifting the hem of her tunic to look at it. "I was doing some 60s indie dramedy thing. I don't know what happened with that when I, y'know, died. It was super good, though. I mean, I liked it."
Smart Hero
Zen
Rawrbear
get on this, fellows.
Adrian grabs a vest and straps it on, starting to fill the pockets with a few clips, "At least I don't need any training to get shot in one of these.", he frowns slighting before continuing to gear up.
Hank just left it at that.
"Lemme see what I can do..."
Dex(3) + Med(2) + Specialization(1) + Med Kit(1) (7d10.hitsopen(8,10)=6)
Holy fuck, exceptional success.
"Man, this ain't so bad. I once knew a guy who jumped his ass through a glass window when he was drunk. Now that was bad.", Bo smiles and continues his rather professional work. Professional despite the fact he is smoking while tending to wounds.
"And uh... thanks for the bandages.
Bo packs up his kit and checks all of his gear. The routines the army attempted drilled into him slowly start to come back, making the motions easier.
Hank walked up to the coffin-esque container labeled "Broadsword"
Orange flare. Puff of smoke. Large, broken toothed grin.
Hank, while Jack seemed reluctant to open the box, shoved the top from it with his boot.
you've got chekhov's gun here
if the gun appears on stage, at some point it must be used or it serves no purpose.
This item appears to be some kind of large recoilless rifle. It's surface is this smooth black substance, appearing to be closer to the hardened fiberglass of a police baton than it does to any metal you know of. If you put your hands on it, the weapon is extremely cold to the touch, almost painfully so.
Aside from the handle, a shoulder brace, and a trigger mechanism, the weapon is featureless. No screws, plates, moving parts, or mold lines.
Both ends of the weapon have metallic iris-like openings, like camera shutters, that are currently tightly closed.
It has no identifying marks, instructions, or brands on the weapon itself except for a simple series of words spray-painted on it in stenciled letters, with an arrow pointing towards the bore of the gun:
FRONT TOWARD ENEMY
There's a small leaflet sitting in a space in the foam, where an instruction manual might sit for such a device. However, it's a simple single sheet of paper, one-sided with a very short message:
FPD-AAX4 BROADSWORD ANTI-THAUMATURGIC EMPIRICAL REALITY CORRECTIVE DEVICE
USE WITH EXTREME CAUTION AND PROPER PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAINING
"Now that looks like it could put a beasty in its place. Why do they always tell us we can't use the fun stuff?"
He reaches down and touches the weapon, pulling his hand back sharply when he feels the cold. "Though maybe... this is something we should leave be. I mean... you put a bunch of fireworks or a rocket launcher in front of me and just try to keep me away from it... but this thing don't seem right to me."
He stands up and dusts off his hands. Flashes of himself dying alone in the cold run through his head as the feeling returns to his hand.
Jack eyes the BROADSWORD with a mix of confusion, awe, and fear. "Psychological training? Reality correcting device?"
"No. Not touching that. That fucking thing is yelling 'DO NOT TOUCH' right in my ear. Not to mention we were told not to use it, expressly. Let's not tempt fate."
Jack busies himself grabbing some gear from the armory, while passing on the intel about Creary to Parsons.
Jack's Gear
1 - Tactical armored vest
1 - Radio and earpiece
1 - Federal Wildlife Officer uniform
1 - Heavy Pistol, Argent rounds
1 - Combat knife
2 - Punch stakes
2 - Flares
24 - Incendiary Rounds, Shotgun
4 - Clips of Incendiary Ammo, Pistol
2 - Clips of Cryo Ammo, Pistol
2 - Clips of Argent Ammo, Pistol
2 - Flashbangs
At least, that is what you assume her jaw steeling looks like. She looks somewhat resolute, if nothing else.
She walks over to the box, and, propping one of her new boots on the edge, tries to heft the BROADSWORD out of the box and prop it over her shoulder.
That is adorable.
It is also a very, very bad idea.