Path to Secrecy

Bad-ass modification

When I wondered about the time I would get to use a gun, I assumed there would be a mystical power erupting within my fingertips or magic somehow allowing me to fly like a superhero. How wrong I was.

Standing five metres from the black and white circled human figured target, I held an uncoordinated feeling with the unloaded Glock 9mm pistol unassembled on the bench in front of me, wondering and waiting when I would evolve into a crusader. Or if I would even evolve. We stood in a warehouse that looked like a docking area in major factories, except empty and primeval. With the built in isolated benches almost a metre long, with removable barricades beside each of us cadets, it was easy to avoid unnecessary injuries by the seclusion.

Sweat slowly formed in my underarms and I was wondering whether the warehouse itself was attaining warmth or the weather really took a turn for the worst. I stood with my hands clasped behind my back and stared at the bench with the unassembled hand gun, glistening from the light directly above each Cadet in their obstructed island. Listening to Commander Bernard's instructions and skilful techniques of the loading and unloading of the handgun on his designated bench in front of us. I watched as he worked without effort to competently twirl the assembled machinery in his palms before gripping it with talent and aiming at the target built far at eye level with one hand. His posture was upright and his moves were sleek enough to ignite my envy, but I watched and memorised each of his moves, briefly toying with my fingers in imitation.

He didn't fire, instead he spoke patiently against our impatience. "Within a couple of lessons, I'm sure you'll be able to use the weapon in this way. For now, beginner's style." He nodded his head to each of us, a look of expectant sensibility for our future actions. He'd held the gun in his hand, his index finger gingerly pressed over the trigger as another hand supported and braced the closed magazine slot for extra support. The gun jolted the slightest bit from the release of the ammo, targeting directly into the centre mark of the board. The sound almost unbearable.

Bernard spoke again, this time turning his back to the target and latching the safety lever on the gun with professional performance. "Now follow my instructions." He placed the weaponry down as the target board automatically elevated away into darkness, a new board being replaced. Gesturing at the bench in front of each of us five cadets, he continued to explain the dangers and importance of the safety lever on every gun being handed to us. "No matter if the safety lever are to be latched, it still as important for us to treat the weapon as if it is active, therefore allowing a wide advantage for each of ours and others safety."

Today we were split into different categories. A few were sent to the famous trekking, another group sent to the mats of combat and the very few of us, given the opportunity of real safety. In other words, the use of a handgun. "Each of you have unassembled weapons on the desk in front of you." He announced, swiftly scanning our benches in assurance of our parts before continuing. "I need you to -"

"Commander."

A voice stopped the Commander in his speech and he raised an eyebrow in question at the interruption, before strolling over to the sergeant in the doorway of the workshop. With his hands clasped behind his back and the maroon beret sitting over his bald head, his jaw was unmistakeably familiar and I recognised the familiar man who informed me the time Spencer gave me a call here at base. I stared at the man and watched as he discretely whispered some words to a confused looking Commander, who shook his head without understanding. He looked back at our group, signalling for us to wait before he turned back to the Sergeant.

I weighed the empty gun in my hand and coiled it around for a few minutes, realising the Commander failing to return. Gripping the handle tightly, I observed for a better grip, agreeing for my left hand to take the lead. The weapon was unloaded but even then the gun had a few pounds to hold. There was minimum detail in the cover of it, platinum black and a rough surface. I peeked out of the island I stood in and noticed who stood on my side. Rahul had carefully begun to observe the weapon and the parts that had come along with it, inspecting it very carefully in his hands before adeptly clicking open the magazine slot.