Sublimity ? Leon Kennedy

twelve

Of course I'm not going to tell him. I don't need another knife to my throat like what Leon did when I told him the truth. But a part of me coils with guilt.

"Hey, Piers?"

He looks at me.

"So say if I turn into a giant B.O.W, would they be able to bring me back?"

His face becomes quizzical. "Are you going to turn into a giant B.O.W?"

"Hypothetically."

"Are all med students this chatty?"

"Oh, c'mon, just answer the question."

He rolls his eyes and lets out a chuckle. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Are you forgetting you're the only medic in this safehouse right now?" He tilts his head to the side. "Would you be able to bring yourself back if you turn into a giant B.O.W?"

Right. So I absolutely cannot.

"Okay, that makes sense."

We head on to the basement, at the very edge where a big, empty, white room is-shooting booths on one side and targets with bullseye on the other.

Target Practice.

We're the only people there.

Piers sets down his weapons on the table with a thud - so many, one wouldn't even believe they were on him the whole time. A sniper, a rifle, a pistol, a dagger and some flash grenades.

I sit in the corner to observe, the floor cold on my legs but comfortable. He picks up a pair of safety glasses and slides them on, standing by one of the booths, pistol in his grip.

He aims, holding himself steady, locking into the target in front. And then he shoots, again and again, each of them landing straight in the center, the blast cutting through the room in quick snaps.

"That looks so cool." I gush.

"Could be better." He shrugs.

"Can you show how you snipe?"

Piers laughs lightly, an air of cockiness spreading over his face. "Sure thing. Though, I'm not sure you'll be able to keep up with my skills."

He sets the pistol on the table before picking up his sniper rifle. A big, heavy thing sitting so snugly in his grip. Like it's always meant to be.

He settles back in the booth, holding the rifle steady, slightly lowering himself as he lines up the shot, peeking through the scope.

Fire.

He doesn't even jolt as the bullet punches a hole into the target, finger still hovering over the trigger.

Fire.

Again, and again, the shots clean and quick and crisp.

"Woohoo! Way to go, Piers!" I erupt into cheers, clapping my hands in amazement.

He grins and looks at me, lowering the rifle. "Not bad, right? Told you, I'm practically a god at this."

"You have teach me some of that." I jump to my feet, rubbing my hands together as I get closer to the booth.

"Woah woah woah, there-" He frowns. "Right now? Are you sure that's the best idea?" He puts the rifle down on the table.

"I don't care, let me have a go."

"Fine then, choose your weapon. If you even have a preference."

I skim through the guns on the table: a magnum, his handgun, an automatic rifle and his sniper rifle - black glinting under the harsh florescent lights. I remember my games back home - the sheer firepower of each one of them and my inventory favorites.