[It probably doesn't say much to the good about Emily's mental state that target practice calms her down, but it does. She's always liked guns. They make sense to her. Her father's snub-nose .38 had been her inheritance, but she'd used a variety of other weapons for different jobs and in different company.
The future, though, offers an array of new toys to program in to her practice. She's gone big, she's gone small, she's gone through a variety of fancy capabilities. Today, she just has a pair of 9mm Glock 17s, but she's finding that having a largely plastic gun that still shoots rounds with metal jackets creates interesting new applications for her fighting style.
She doesn't look angry, but she's certainly relishing the level of destruction more than she probably should. And the way the bullets bend has a satisfying if lethal elegance.]
Reality
[Being on the surface is a risk. Some might even say it's foolhardy. But Emily can't help it; she has to see for herself. She moves quietly, keeping her ears and eyes open for signs she might have company.
But when she clears a ridge and can actually see, she can't help herself. She stops short.
For all that she'd been told what to expect, the reality is much worse. She'd remembered living through duck-and-cover, the specter of the Cold War, the idea of total global desolation. Her artificial childhood. But this is something else again.
She shivers, and it's not entirely from the cold. She should go back. She will. But she needs to remember this. The world she's really from, where the end already came.]
Emily Finch | Original
[It probably doesn't say much to the good about Emily's mental state that target practice calms her down, but it does. She's always liked guns. They make sense to her. Her father's snub-nose .38 had been her inheritance, but she'd used a variety of other weapons for different jobs and in different company.
The future, though, offers an array of new toys to program in to her practice. She's gone big, she's gone small, she's gone through a variety of fancy capabilities. Today, she just has a pair of 9mm Glock 17s, but she's finding that having a largely plastic gun that still shoots rounds with metal jackets creates interesting new applications for her fighting style.
She doesn't look angry, but she's certainly relishing the level of destruction more than she probably should. And the way the bullets bend has a satisfying if lethal elegance.]
Reality
[Being on the surface is a risk. Some might even say it's foolhardy. But Emily can't help it; she has to see for herself. She moves quietly, keeping her ears and eyes open for signs she might have company.
But when she clears a ridge and can actually see, she can't help herself. She stops short.
For all that she'd been told what to expect, the reality is much worse. She'd remembered living through duck-and-cover, the specter of the Cold War, the idea of total global desolation. Her artificial childhood. But this is something else again.
She shivers, and it's not entirely from the cold. She should go back. She will. But she needs to remember this. The world she's really from, where the end already came.]