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Samon Cauldier

"Heh, you wouldn't hurt a blind fellow such as myself, would ya?"

0 · 271 views · located in Liberty Base Alpha A

a character in “The Age of Gifted”, as played by NeverEndingFlip

Description

Full Name: Samon Algernon Cauldier

Nicknames/Aliases: Close family calls him "Algy". Friends can call him "Sam". Enemies can call him slurs of all kinds.

Age: 14

Gender: Male

Gift: Control of Pulse Energy (The ability to see energy in living beings and move it through other beings by the means of physical contact.)

How he uses it:
-He can see living things through his gift through the means of the energy they possess. Because he can't see things that aren't living, it also adds as like an X-ray vision of sorts.

-He can sap the energy of another individual just by touching them, although he doesn't prefer to use this ability.

-He can exert his own energy into another being, whether slowly as to give that being strength or quickly as to perform the equivalent of a Force Push. This does exhaust him.

-He can enhance his punches and kicks, putting more power into them when he so desires. This does exhaust him.

-He can absorb force-related trauma as if it is nothing to him. It actually adds to his energy supply as he simply takes the energy that was exerted upon him. Ironically enough, his Sensu Bean is a bullet to the head.


Loyalty:
Officially "Liberty", yet his true loyalties are undetermined. He is considered a Trainee in the Interrogation sector.


Description:
Hair Color- Blonde
Eye Color- Both of his eyes, cornea, iris, pupil, and all, are a sickening gray.
Skin Color- Pale White
Height- 5' 9"
Weight- Can barely manage 120.
Build- Skinny and frail.
Apparel- Ironically, Samon has a fashion sense. Through his knowledge of the color schemes and fashion, he tells his parents exactly what he wants and, through birthdays and holidays, gets the outfits he wants. His favorite color scheme is Aspect for the deep and vibrant colors although he typically wears Grayscale in accordance with his Liberty lifestyle. No one knows about his closet of fruity colors and he's determined to make sure that no one will. He wears mixes and mashes of apparel and clothing with the exception of hats, seeing (or rather not seeing) that he had no use for them. He ALWAYS wears black sunglasses to hide his eyes and simply because he thinks they're "neat".
Face- Not intimidating.

Personality:
At first glance, Samon is as threatening as a cute puppy dog, looking and sounding more innocent than most. To his family, he's the most sincere and open with. To his friends, which he has a tiny handful of, he's about as loyal as they come. To his enemies, however, he shows a deeply sinister side of himself hidden behind his innocence facade. He can change his voice to sound threatening and is rather good at it. Also knowing that he can't get hurt by a simple punch or kick to the face amplifies his intensity behind a bravado. He views people as most blind people do...he doesn't. This can make his compassionate side seem distant as it is hard for him to put warmth behind his words. He has one, it just isn't easily distinguishable.


Skills:
-He is very experienced in using his gift and knows how to tap into and control it. His young age also brings the potential for more abilities to spawn in the future.

-Despite his wimpy appearance and blindness, he is quite agile and coordinated. A lot of this comes from physical therapy, but most comes from a series of Martial Arts classes he'd been taught by his grandfather, who lived in the Defense Sector, and his schooling in the Interrogation sector.

-He is quite intelligent for his age, so much so that it's merely the lack of experience and, to some, his disability that keep him from becoming an agent already. He's most notable for this in quick decisions, when the situation needs an immediate answer. To be fair, it's easier for him since he doesn't have the visual distractions.

-What good is intelligence without a little bit of craftiness to coincide? He is very tactical and often uses that to his advantage, setting up elaborate and complex plans to fool his enemies.

-His somewhat pacifist and not confrontational nature leads him to not judge too quickly and let's him be more patient. Certainly not the most patient person in the world, but has more than most.

-Also in accordance with being blind, his other senses are heightened, most notably his hearing. It's not entirely better than some people, but it's naturally enhanced.

Weaknesses:
-His gift may let him see all living creature's energy, but it certainly won't let him see non-living things. He is still susceptible to his blindness side of himself as he can easily run into walls and trip over ground extrusions. He still walks with a white cane for this reason. Holding a weapon is an advantage to fighting Samon as he can tell you're holding something, but he won't be able to make it out entirely.

-He is considered a "glass cannon" in some regards. Sure, he may be invulnerable to force trauma, but he can still be burned, poisoned, stabbed, and cut open. His physique is also set up to where it may take only a couple of these kinds of blows to take him down.

-His other senses are heightened, most notably his sense of touch is extremely sensitive. Any kind of blow heavier than a punch or a kick is going to hurt a lot, more than average for sure.

-His pacifist nature and tactical sense of thinking means he's going to let the opponent strike first, no matter what.

-He can't see faces, meaning he can only recognize a person when he speaks, a tactical advantage for an opponent who wishes to remain anonymous.

-Just because he can't portray compassion doesn't mean he doesn't have it. If all else fails, the quickest way to his surrender his through his family and friends.


Brief History: Samon was born and raised in Liberty, never truly leaving the city. His family comprised of his mother and father, who live as agents in the Interrogation Sector, and his grandfather who is an agent of the Defense Sector. When he was born, his family knew his eyes were part of his gift, but still worried about his health regardless. Discovering that he was blind, he was immediately put through physical therapy when he was able, where they learned his abilities and taught him how to walk, talk, and essentially function like a normal human living in Liberty would.

He grew up with his family in the Interrogation Sector and immediately opted into the sector's tasks when he was able, despite his grandfather's urging to join the Defense Sector. It was his first independent decision he'd ever made. From there, he grew more independent and decided for the most part what was best for him. His parents respected his initiative, considering it a miracle that despite his disability he could function as well as any of them could. He currently works as a Trainee and a witness to the Interrogation process, hindered by those who don't think he is able to progress as a legitimate Interrogator, yet remains hopeful.

As for his views on the war...he is generally one-sided on the affair, never truly being exposed to the other half of it besides his fashion taste. He is slowly becoming neutral in the massive affair, as he has no inner desire to help the Liberty faction or what they represent. He doesn't know why this is, but maybe it's because he can't see the progress happening in front of his eyes. He hasn't told anyone these inner feelings, not even his friends and family.



Other: He likes fruity things and has a sweet tooth so great it's representation as an actual tooth wouldn't fit into his mouth.[/center]

So begins...

Samon Cauldier's Story

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“Honey…wake up…”

Once again pulled from the embracing arms of sleep, Samon groaned and shut his eyes even harder, concentrating on re-entering the sleeping comfort he’d been so rudely taken out of.

“Wake up…” the voice continued, slightly more demanding this time.

Samon continued to ignore the command, trying to focus on sleeping once more. Why didn’t this person want to leave him alone? He was in comfort hiding under the warmth of the bedsheets. The pillow was so soft. The bed was just right for him. Besides, it felt a little early for him to be waking up anyway. So why should he?

He heard a sigh, “Okay, fine…but you made me do this…”

Proud of the voice’s defeat, he snuggled up and began to drift off once more. He focused on breathing. That’s how he always did it. In…and out…in…and out…in…and-

ZAP!

Samon bolted upright in the bed, more out of shock than out of pain from his left ear. He was too surprised to even yell or scream. Immediately clutching his ear, he looked for the bastard who decided to use a friggin’ Volt Gun on him. A small chuckle caused him to look left and see…

A blob…no, wait. A person. That’s right. He had yet to encounter a shapeless blob of energy in his lifetime and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to. This patch of energy had a head, a torso, two arms, two legs, and two round bulbous things in front, signifying not only that this person was a human…she was a female. And only one female would be in his room at this time in the morning.

“Mom!” Samon cried out half angrily half surprised, “What the hell?! Why’d you do that?!”

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, “Do what?”

Samon sighed irritably, “Oh, come on. You’re the only one here who can zap me without a Volt Gun.” He looked beyond her to spot another human blob on the same floor level but further away. “And Dad is over there doing something.”

Again, her voice had innocence and a slight undertone of laughter in it as she replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She got up from her sitting position which Samon implied was on his nightstand and walked over to him. “Breakfast will be ready soon. Get dressed.” He felt her lips on his forehead and saw her walk away, presumably through his doorway.

“But why wake me up so early?”

Ignoring the statement, his mom walked out of his room and over to where his dad was as he was doing something with his left hand. He appeared to have a grip on something as his hand was tense, but not balled up in a fist, as if he was holding something. His dad continued to shake his hand so slightly, left and right, until suddenly he popped his wrist upward. From his position, Samon assumed Dad was in the kitchen, meaning that what he was holding was probably a pan and that the motion he was carrying out was him flipping a…

He caught the smell the moment he realized what his dad was cooking. Pancakes! Of course, Lance thought as he slid out of bed, feeling his feet hit the cold floor. It was his birthday! How could he forget he was turning fourteen today? His parents must’ve woken him up earlier so they could all enjoy a breakfast meal together…something that rarely happened in their lifetime.

Now it wasn’t because they hated each other that their family seldom ate together. There just simply wasn’t enough time in the day. Like everyone and everything else in Liberty, the family was all doing something for the good of the community. Work, training, school, war efforts…on most days, the only time all three of them were under the same roof was when they were all sleeping. Even that happened only a couple times a week. Everyone had to do their part and stay efficient even if that meant sacrificing some quality time with the family. That’s just how life was in Liberty. And he was okay with it.

It was the love the family shared. It was the love he was comfortable with.

Samon felt around the blackness and his fingers brushed across a curved piece of wood. Knowing it was his cane, he picked it up and started moving it across the floor to get a whereabouts in his position. Hearing the slight scraping noise, he heard a bump and felt a jarring sensation spread through his hand. He knew he’d just hit his chair, where his mom helped lay out his clothes for him the night before. Walking over there, he felt around the chair, his fingers rubbing against the polyester material his solid black shirt was made out of. Next he felt the denim of the slightly faded blue button-up shirt he preferred to leave unbuttoned. The thick and sturdy material of charcoal grey work pants was next followed by some unmentionables and classic black cotton socks. A somewhat standard outfit for a Liberty citizen with a little bit of what he called his “personal flare” thrown in.

He had other clothes, of course. Grayscale was what he felt most safe wearing while out in the city, but he had many colors of clothing, some more vibrant than the others. It wasn’t like wearing bright colors was a crime here, but it was massively frowned upon. Most people here believed the world didn’t need such distracting colors, but Samon disagreed. What kept him from expressing himself through clothing outside the house was the war going on with the Erubesco faction, who saw vibrant colors the same way Samon did. He knew it would put a target on his back should anyone come in and open his closet. So, he only wore his brightest when he was at home, more for his satisfaction than for anyone else’s.

Putting on the clothes, Samon glanced around at the neighboring apartments. Now that he had a baseline to where everything was when he sat in the chair, he could match blobs with names. Two stories below him, the Jullians, a wife, husband, son, daughter family, were sleeping except for the father, who had something in his hand. He was holding it in such a way for Samon to assume it was a cup of coffee. To the right of him was a more active family: The Deerlings. Despite their last name, they were tough son of a guns who loved to work out. Even now, he could see the son and the father doing squats together while the mother was lying on what he would assume was a bench press, pumping her fists up and down. Two apartments to the left of him lie the Brown’s place, which was occupied by one man. Strangely enough, it was in the same condition as it was two weeks ago…empty. He must be on a really long mission, Samon thought.

Realizing he’d wasted enough time looking at people, he picked up his cane and made his way to the table, where he could smell breakfast waiting. “Did you get syrup?” he asked.

“But of course,” his dad replied, “It’s already on the pancakes. Happy birthday, Algy!”

“Thanks,” he smiled genuinely as he sat down and started chowing down on the food. His blindness used to make eating extremely difficult for him, but now it was muscle memory that did the trick and guided the fork to his mouth without stabbing himself. His mother and father sat down at the ends of the table and began eating.

All was silent for a few moments, minus the forks occasionally scraping against the plates and the smacking of lips as the three enjoyed the food together. Samon could feel the connection there. This was a family moment.

Finally his mother spoke, “We have a surprise for you.”

Samon had a massive slice of pancake stuffed into his mouth when she said this and he nearly choked on it. A surprise? This was news for him. His family didn’t do surprises. Clearing his throat by coughing up a lung or two, he finally looked at his mom and answered, “A surprise?”

She nodded her head, “As you know, you are now fourteen, meaning you only have a couple more years of school left before you graduate and start truly working in your field. Our superiors have been watching your progress since the beginning and have been very impressed with your results. Despite your disability, you’ve proven you have the intelligence needed to move on to the last stage of the training process…Apprenticeship.”

Samon set his fork down and looked in what must’ve been awe at her, “I’m going to be an apprentice already?”

“Well, almost,” his father cut in, “You see, you still need to complete the required course material to graduate from school. That can’t be skipped. But because you are showing us, our superiors, and the Council that you can maintain the workload much better than the other students, they’ve decided that you can be an apprentice part-time and go to the school the other part.”

“It’s like half and half,” his mother added, “And you will still have to do your daily Gift training and other stuff on top of this. But if you can keep this up, you’ll be the youngest Interrogator in all of Liberty. All while being blind.”

“Partially blind,” Samon corrected her.

His mom nodded in agreement, “Right, right, but still. That’s quite the achievement to uphold. Before you know it, you’ll become a Councilor! Isn’t that exciting?”

A part of Samon was excited about the future he was creating for himself. He’d be the very first Councilor with a disability. In a world of progress, that spoke volumes about his initiative and focus. But another part of himself was skeptical about the idea. What good could he bring to Liberty City? He felt like a lot of people would be unhinged at the idea of someone leading them blindly to the future that awaited. Another thing, and he knew this was awful, was he simply didn’t care about Liberty’s end result as a faction. His interests weren't as invested in this way of life as a majority of the people around him. Of course, he spoke about these things to no one. Rather, he kept them in his head, put on a big smile, and told Liberty what they wanted to hear.

And that’s exactly what he did with his parents at the table. “Yeah…that would be amazing.”

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt
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The pounding of boots across the floor of Training Room Sigma-38 had started out strong at the beginning of the session, maintained moderate momentum for an hour after, and then dissolved into various forms of shuffling and dragging for the most recent fifteen minutes.

The pacer signal beeps had begun at an easy rate, granting the students ten seconds to make it from one end of the gym to the other, crossing the line and avoiding punitive action by their supervising trainer. Then, after five minutes, the pace increased. Thirty minutes, again. 

At the forty-five minute break, they had been granted a three minute pause to don ankle weights.

By the time the bleeps sounded only three seconds apart and the weights had been raised to fifteen pounds per leg, two trainees were left standing— A boy with enhanced endurance and a bedraggled looking speedster girl, both likely moments away from falling to their knees.

The rest had given up on the course, and become additional obstacles to dodge.

And over it all, on a raised platform off to the side, the hulking form of their trainer loomed with a laser pistol at the ready. His name, as dictated on his uniform, was Trainer-Agent Colt, and there had never been anyone known to call him anything different.

Colt was strict, but none could say he was unfair— His treatment of trainees was decided by protocol, and a system that worked: One failure to meet the line warranted a shot from his gun on a light setting. Two resulted in an increased voltage.

Most of the trainees collapsed of exhaustion before he had to bother with a third.

“Picking up your feet, now!” he hollered over the sound of the two remaining heroes, “Five more minutes! And you are done for day.” 

If anyone had ever made fun of his thick, distinctly Slovak accent, he had not noticed. Colt was a machine of a man, a model of efficiency constructed without room for a grasp of humor or spite. His hands did not fiddle as he stood, his massive frame did not shift or shuffle, and the hard features of his face gave no indication of ever having turned up into a smile.



“Three minutes.”

The speedster tripped and fell over another trainee, and did not attempt to get up. She was promptly fired at (a second warning voltage,) and shoved herself up onto her hands and knees, only to slip in her own sweat and collapse again.

“One minute,” said Colt, and recorded the girl’s collapse at the trainer’s pad on the wall, and added a tag stating that she had met a new record for her age and gift class. He would not tell her, of course. 

Making her head big would not teach her the value of humble service.

“And done running.”



The boy fell to his knees, and Colt crossed to him in four quick strides, grasping him under the arm and hoisting him to his feet. “I did not mention ‘done with working’,” he said, voice short but not cross, and then began helping the other fallen students up one at a time, saying things like, “Walk it out,” and “You have done well,” and “You run like pregnant Erubescan man,” as he did so.

He cast a glance toward the clock on the wall, and then the door. 

There was supposed to be another student arriving shortly. A new boy- some specialty case assigned to him for supplemental training. 

Who would be doing fifteen laps for every minute he decided to be late.

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Training Room Sigma-38...

Samon stood just outside the center in which he'd been told to go. He couldn't exactly comment on the structure as he did not know, but he could tell just by how Liberty worked that it was plain and functional like everything else. He used his other senses to gather the atmosphere. Besides the constant smell of concrete that was just the natural musk of Liberty Base Alpha A, there was also a lingering scent of sweat and just a tiny bit of blood. He saw people that entered the building had rather high amounts of energy while those who left had a much fainter silhouette. Samon already knew this should be a place he should hate.

He saw from the people exiting the facility where the doorway was. As he approached, he gazed inside to one figure who probably had the most energy out of anyone who entered the compound. From his energy silhouette, he gathered bulging muscles and a cleft chin. His stance was that like a machine. He didn't move his feet or shuffle his weight from foot to foot. He just...stood there. This told him everything he needed to know about the guy...that he was Samon's trainer and he wasn't going to take it easy on him, no matter what disability he had.

Happy birthday to me...

Samon felt his way along the door and found the handle. Pulling it open, he was blasted by the warm air of the inside training facility, a combination of hot sweaty bodies working out and potentially faulty air conditioning. Whether the latter of the two was on purpose or by accident was a mystery, as Liberty had it's own plans with the trainees. He walked straight towards the man who waited for him. What this trainer would see was a blonde boy with grey eyes (he wasn't wearing sunglasses this time) in a grey spandex shirt with gym shorts. He had changed his attire from the morning, knowing that going into any kind of training compound with jeans or a sweatshirt would be an awful idea, given that there wasn't a place to change nor would they provide clothes. Samon probably wouldn't want to wear them anyway.

"Samon Cauldier, reporting for training, sir!" he knew better than to wisecrack to superiors, although he preferred to be a bit more casual. Still, it left him wondering that despite what he could read off this man, what his training would be like. Would it be like everyone else's training or would it be more specialized given that he was blind for the most part?

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Colt had just finished helping the last straggler to her feet when the new student walked in, but the trainer did not so much as pause before moving into the new session. He turned to the boy with his usual tight jaw, and nodded at the introduction before stepping into a predatory circle around Samon.

His coal-colored eyes scrutinized the boy, taking in his form, posture, and body language before making an introduction of his own.




“I am Trainer-Agent Colt,” he stated, planting back in front of his new charge, “For the next two weeks, you are assigned to be taking with me intensive course in supplemental training. You are working with me from fifteen-hundred hours, until seventeen hundred hours, every day. You are being assessed after this period. If training is success, you are proceeding in supplemental training. If is not, you are terminating supplemental training.” His hands stayed clasped behind his back as he spoke, his posture at attention but not locked— Joints ready, eyes alert. The timbre of his voice was deep and monotone, though his clunky English remained unpolished. He spoke with the tone of one who had given hundreds of similar statements in his life, and would give a thousand more before his death. 



If Samon was something special, nothing in Colt's speech indicated him as such.



“You are future of Liberty. Expectations are being held as such.” 



Colt then drew a gun from his left-side holster— a real, ballistic revolver with a sturdy build and matte black finish— and began taking it apart and tossing pieces of it onto the mat at Samon’s feet.



“Are you having any questions before beginning, Trainee Cauldier?”

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Samon didn't dare move his eyes to stare at Trainer Colt as he began to circle him. Staring at a superior figure could be taken as a challenge and since he really didn't want to get off on the wrong foot from day one...best not to chance it.

So, he focused less on Trainer Colt's figure pacing around him and more on his other senses. He listened to the tonality of his voice: hard and solid like the rest of him. His accent told him English was not his first language and his steps were in time, keeping a pace as rhythmically perfect as a metronome. Yet, his steps weren't robotic. He was relaxed. Attentive, but relaxed.



“You are future of Liberty. Expectations are being held as such.” 


Samon didn't show it, but those words cut through him. Him...he was the future of Liberty. He would play some kind of role in how Liberty functioned, even if it was a small one. He thought back to what his mom had said while at the table that morning, that he was on track to becoming the youngest interrogator in Liberty. Perhaps he was, but the real question was whether he wanted to or not. Even when his future was brightest, he couldn't help but see it being any dimmer than it was.

Thunk...thunk...

He felt tiny vibrations on the ground in front of him, signaling to Samon that Colt was tossing things at his feet. He didn't dare bend down to try and pick them up, but rather closed his eyes and focused on where they were landing.

Thunk! Three o'clock. Thunk! Five o'clock...

"I'm ready," he responded despite having a thousand questions burning at the back of his mind. He'd played this game long enough to know that anything said can and would be used against him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Colt. He didn't want to give the trainer any kind of advantage that would exploit any of his weaknesses. So, he would play it by ear.

Thunk! Eight o'clock. Thunk! One o'clock...

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There were certain features that made for a good Agent— Personality ticks and modes of thought, given away by subtle cues that Colt had grown accustomed to reading in new trainees. Even the most stable young person gave off certain, obvious tells with their physicality.

Colte saw the way Samon’s breath moved, and despite the lack of focus in the young man’s eyes, there was an obvious intensity in trainee’s features as he listened. Samon was feeling, hearing, and informing himself to the movements of a world he couldn’t quite see but was no less aware of.

Colt watched the subtle flickering of muscles in his trainee’s face as each component of the weapon fell to the ground. 

When Samon closed his eyes, Colt found himself nodding. 



Good.

“Trainee Cauldier, there are things on floor,” he stated, though he knew that Samon was aware, “And you will inform me about them.”

“Telling me, where.” He took several steps back, resuming his circling from a better distance so that he could move without interfering with Samon’s sense of the mat.

“Telling me, how many.” His eyes broke away for a moment to look at the scattered components, checking their location in reference to the Trainee’s leanings.



“And telling me, what they are?”



The specifics as to how Samon had to go about this were purposefully left out— The boy could take the bullets from the chamber and lick them, and Colt would not stop him.



But the gun had not been disassembled quietly, and the components had not fallen in silence.



“If you are right, we are moving on. If you are wrong, doing four laps.”

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Concentration was key to this exercise...his attentiveness towards his surroundings as well as towards the actions of others. It would be a crucial skill in interrogation and Samon knew it. Luckily for him, his curse was also his gift. He couldn't see visual cues very well, but that also meant he couldn't be distracted as easily. Nothing to catch his eye, he didn't enjoy music as it took away a second sense of his and touch, smell, and taste would only get a person so far. He could complete this challenge.

Thump! The last item fell at four o'clock before Trainer Colt began talking once more, giving instruction to the task laid out in front of him, literally in this case. Samon didn't dare open his eyes, concentrating on the words, concentrating on the mat, concentrating on the air around him as if it would tell him the secrets of the challenge.

One thing he did get out of Trainer Colt: the man did know he was blind, just by the nature of the task.

He took a moment to process the area around him, formulate the right words, and listen intently for any more clues that may befall upon him. His patience paid off. A soft clink could be heard, minuscule to the normal ear, but to the heightened hearing that Samon was able to pick up, he knew something round, cylindrical, and metal was involved with what was scattered around him. And there were only a few things that could be involved with such a shape. But there was only one or two things involved with that shape in terms of Liberty devices. Samon opened his eyes.

"Thirty-six pieces," Samon began, before motioning to the area on the front right side of his body, "Twenty-one on this side, twenty-five on the other. But pieces of what is what you're asking for." He hesitantly bent down and, seeing no interruption from Colt, reached down to where he knew one of the pieces was. Sure enough, his hand brushed across something metal and round and he picked it up, feeling along it's grooves. Remembering the position the metal thing was in before he picked it up, he looked towards Colt.

"It's parts of a gun," Samon told him, "A revolver. Your revolver, I'm assuming." The piece he was holding in his hand was the cylindrical barrel, which usually carried six bullets. "But this gun is missing something." Immediately, he pointed his hand towards the one hole in the barrel, where a bullet should be presumably resting and waiting to be fired. "I'm assuming you haven't had the chance to use it today, so I would say you should still have six bullets. Yet, one is missing." He then dumped the bullets out of the barrel, letting them rest in his hand as he placed his finger over each one and counted. "One, two, three, four, five. Five bullets. And there..." he pointed with his free hand towards the left edge of the mat. If Colt were to follow the finger's line of sight, he would see it pointing directly to the last bullet, where had fallen off the mat he stood on and given the final clue he needed, "...is number six."

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Colt knew his weapon. He knew the weight of it, whether against his palm or in its holster, and moreover, the feel of every piece of it against his hand, down to the firing pin. Each component was better known to him than the parts of his own body— All thirty-five of them. 



“Thirty-“ Colt started to say, only to cut himself off as the trainee pointed toward the edge of the mat. 



And there, on the ground, was a bullet that had rolled loose. 



“Six, including bullet,” he finished, and aside from a brief pause, the trainer gave so sign that he was impressed in the least. “You are not wrong.” 

He circled again, hands clasped behind his back.

Samon had deduced that it was a revolver, and his observation about the missing bullet was sharper than Colt had been expecting. The boy was bright, and quick, but perhaps over confident. 

He had left out details.



“Is double-action revolver,” he said, “Special make for breakdown into thirty-/five/ pieces, for concealing when moving.” He bent to pick up the stay bullet, and rolled it between his fingers, “Full metal jacket, for going /through/ the target. If you are aiming well, is taking out four men in row.” 



With a sudden shift in his weight, Colt planted and then tossed the cartridge toward Samon.


“Assembling, now.”

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt
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And just like that, Samon was in the hot seat again. The first thing that threw him off was the phrasing of the next task at hand. That couldn't be helped. The accent and the choppy English made the two worded statement confusing for the blind boy standing on the mat. What was more unfortunate was Colt threw one of the parts at him while he was processing that statement and since he couldn't see objects flying through the air or any non-living entity at all...

"Assembleing wha-," he grunted when the part hit him square in the chest, falling to the ground at his feet. It was more out of shock than out of pain, but the shock caused him to fall on his behind on the mat. He could feel the heat of embarrassment on his face as he realized what Colt wanted him to do: assemble the gun.

"Oh..." he muttered before beginning.

His process for finding the pieces was simple...tap in the general direction in which they fell. He kept a placeholder on his mind, remembering where each piece was on the mat as he went around him, tapping each one. Every piece was unique in shape and size, giving dimension to what each piece was. And since he operated on a feel basis often, he recognized each piece he touched.

Everyone in Liberty City with a role in the war knew how to assemble and take apart a gun...everyone. It was just one of those common things one had to learn. There was even a course for it at the school Samon went to, which he'd taken and passed with flying colors. He'd built up enough muscle memory of the subject to complete the task with ease.

As he put the pieces together, he remembered to take a bit of a slower pace. He knew the first two errors shook him up a bit, but he'd regained composure since then. That was important because it required a steady sleigh of hand to assemble such a gun. So rather than race against a clock, he decided to calm down a bit and make sure he put the gun together correctly.

Barrel in shaft...and done!

He held the completed gun in front of him and held it out to Colt for him to inspect...realizing too late he'd forgotten to pick up the bullet that had fallen off the mat and place it in the empty chamber. He cursed himself inwardly, but made no motion on the outside that showed he'd done anything wrong. He'd just have to hope Colt didn't notice...but something told him that was unlikely.

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt
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Colt had been pleasantly surprised with the boy’s notice of the bullet, initially: Not many trainees caught something that he did not, especially on their first day. 



Then Samon managed to get hit with the very piece he had detected, and grouped himself right back into the average.

“And that is how you are dying,” he snapped as the boy fell, and notably flushed red from the mistake. Had Colt had something else to throw while the boy was off-guard from his mistake, he would have tossed that over, too. “You are training to be Agent of Liberty, Cauldier. You are needing to be prepared like one.” 



He spoke as he watched the boy work through the task, still making his laps around him. He would pause and watch from a certain angle every now and then, before picking up his circles once more. Colt knew that the boy would feel watched, and perhaps unnerved by the intense observation.



He did not care.



When Samon held out the gun, Colt took a step toward him and accepted it from his outstretched hand. Even if he had not been watching like a hawk, the trainer would have noted precisely what Samon had forgotten the second it hit his palm.



He looked to where the bullet had fallen, and back to Samon, pausing to see if the boy would mention his negligence. He nodded to himself when Samon did not.



“So, Trainee Caudier,” Colt said, pointing the weapon toward the back wall with his finger hovering on the trigger, “You are handing loaded double-action revolver to Liberty Agent. Is six-shot weapon. Everyone is knowing this, yes?” 

He fired once into a practice target behind him, striking it lethally without turning to look. “So, I am thinking, now, ‘Is six shot weapon. Is having five shots left.’”

He shot again, hitting another target. “Four.” Two pumps more, one into the target and another one hitting the previous bullet hole. Colt stared toward Samon, and more specifically, the inch or so of air just beside the trainee’s ear. “Now I am thinking, ‘Two shots left. Two more bullets in chamber.’ And so…” 


Bang.



The bullet flew loose and whizzed past the trainee’s head, so close that the boy could have felt the heat, and then buried itself in the wall behind him. 

Colt stepped forward and seized Samon by the shoulder before he had time to filch away, and pressed the still smoking barrel against his forehead. “And now, I am missing. And thinking, ‘Is okay, there is one more shot.’ So, I am making bold move.”

Colt pulled the trigger. The gun clicked, empty.



“And now, Trainee Cauldier, I am dead.” He released him with a rough shove, and threw the gun onto the mat at his feet, “Because person I am trusting with life is making mistake, and then saving own skin by not telling me.” 

His voice did not rise in volume, but it was impossible to miss the terseness in his tone or the tightness of his jaw. 

“When you are hiding behind lie, lie will always give you away.”

He kicked the revolver, to remind Samon of where it was, and then tossed a pack of ammunition from his belt onto the floor beside it.

“Now, pick it up. Loading it. All the way.”

The setting changes from liberty-base-alpha-a to The Wasteland

Setting

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt
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  1. Setting is in Liberty Base Alpha A, not the Wasteland.

    by NeverEndingFlip

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Samon did not take his eyes off of Colt, watching his movements and glancing occasionally at the hand in which he knew the gun was being kept in. He couldn't see the gun itself, but he could see the hole in between Colt's hand's silhouetted grip on air, implying that he was holding a gun. Samon felt the tingling feeling of regret roll down his spine as Colt held the gun behind him.

He watched the finger twitch. Bang!

He couldn't see the bullet, nor could he see where it buried itself into. He listened to the countdown, knowing what Colt was doing and inwardly bracing for the inevitable click when he reached "one", despite not making any visible movements. He just stared at Colt as he continued to fire. Bang!...Bang!...Bang!

Samon hadn't anticipated Colt's next move, but he got a bit suspicious when Colt lifted his gun arm in Samon's direction.

He wouldn't...

Another stupid thought, he realized, as his suspicions were confirmed, the next bullet whizzing past the left side of Samon's head, just above the ear. It wasn't like bullets were an issue to him, but he didn't expect the trainer to have been so abrupt with it.

The next thing he knew, he was staring into Colt's face, presumably where his eyes would be, feeling the barrel against his forehead. It burned, but he didn't dare cry out in pain. He knew what was coming.

Click! He blinked.

He felt Colt shove him roughly, causing him to fall backwards once more. This time, he let his body roll, using the momentum of the shove to get back on his feet quickly rather than sliding on his bum once more. He knew he deserved that lesson, but he still couldn't get rid of the shaky feeling in his body. This wasn't going to be a cakewalk.

That couldn't ring more true when Colt kicked the gun to him, telling him to load it. He hesitantly grabbed it and loaded the bullets into the now empty chambers, letting the used ones clink to the floor as if it was a ghostly reminder to pay attention next time. He didn't make a sound as he placed the last bullet it, sliding the barrel into the armed position and holding the gun out once more to Colt.

He had another suspicion. And if this one was right, he wouldn't like what this next task would be.

The setting changes from the-wasteland to Liberty Base Alpha A

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt
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Colt watched the trainee recover back from the shove, making note that the boy had managed to roll instead of falling. He was adapting quickly to the pace of training, and without the need to spoon fed. 


Teachability: 4.9 [High]



The impact of the boy’s brief punishment was clear from his body language, and Colt was careful to monitor the precision with which Samon handled the second attempt. The shaking would have to go if the boy wanted to succeed in any governmental position, as well as his racing adrenal response. He did manage to complete the task correctly, however, which was better than some had. 



Ability to work under pressure: 2.8 [Needs Improvement]



He snatched the gun from Samon’s hand and weighed it in his palm. “Fixing heartbeat, Cauldier,” he said, and whatever previous emotion had carried through in the trainer’s tone made no further appearance, “Is making for poor shot.” 

Then, he handed the weapon back to Samon and moved his hand to keep the barrel pointed down into the mat.

“I am assuming you have been shooting before?” he asked, and crossed the room to where a rack of equipment was mounted on the wall. He took down an armored vest, which he strapped around his own torso and clipped in the back, and a bag that looked to be filled with something considerably heavy. All the while, his gaze was halfway on Samon and the gun, ready but not tensed in case the trainee was less than versed in basic weapons safety. “Or was your teacher not thinking that blind man was needing to shoot?”

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Ah, dammit...

Samon had dreaded for this moment to come: the moment when he'd finally have to shoot a gun. Sure, he'd been taught the basics. Everyone had. How to put a gun together, how to take it apart, how to hold it to where you didn't accidentally shoot and kill someone. But somehow, someway, Sillo had gone fourteen years without ever having to fire a gun. And it was because he'd proven himself to his teachers, to his parents, and to any official that he didn't need one. He was proud of that.

But now, this might be where all of that ended. Samon looked down at his hand which held the gun. He could see his hand gripping something and he could imagine the basic layout of the gun in his head, but he could see it. He could aim down the sights that weren't there. He couldn't see the bullseye that was set in front of him. It was his weakness and a big one at that. He kept the gun pointed towards the ground as he looked over at Colt, his face straight as he spoke.

"I've never fired a gun, no," Samon told him, "I've never had the need to." He didn't come straight forward with it and say he couldn't see the gun, the target, nor where he was aiming. He wouldn't get any sympathy for it. Nor did he want any. Instead, he said, "But I'd be more than willing to learn how."

Of course, that was a whole other can of worms. How does one teach a blind boy to shoot?

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More than willing to learn how. 



Colt blinked.



“I very glad you are willing,” he said, pacing toward the far wall of the gym and planting himself with loose knees, “Because I was not asking.”

He reached into his left holster and drew his preferred weapon— a plain black laser blaster with a narrow barrel and a near instantaneous impact time. It was a pain to shoot, or so he’d been told by others in his field, with a finicky trigger and the inability to shoot through an object, amongst other flaws. Despite it’s ticks, though, it was the only gun that allowed for the full utilization of his gift. 



Not to mention the only gun he trusted to shoot down a bullet mid-flight.



“You are seeing me, yes?” he prompted, waving his arms and then tapping his vested chest, “Is center mass. Is where you are always shooting at, especially on big person.” 



Colt had read the boy’s gift summary on his file, and trusted that Samon at least had an idea of where the trainer stood. Whether or not he could aim or manage the recoil was another question altogether, though, and Colt kept his gun arm at the ready.



“So, shooting for center,” he instructed, no sign of jest in his tone.

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Oh boy. So he was actually going to fire a gun for once.

Samon couldn't say he was excited, nor could he say he was nervous. He'd known a moment like this would come but had just hoped it wouldn't. He looked down at his hands. He knew he was holding the gun, as he could feel it in his grasp. But he couldn't see the gun he was holding. It didn't formulate a picture in his mind. He knew what a sight was, but he didn't know where to look to aim down it. He knew what aiming was but he didn't know how to do it.

He nodded when Colt motioned to himself, tapping himself on the chest. He could see that the trainer was holding something as well, but he couldn't tell what it was. A shield? Another gun?

And then came the instruction. He wanted Samon to shoot him? Samon was about to clarify, just to make sure he wasn't bluffing, when he saw the logic in it. Samon couldn't shoot at a regular target. There was no energy, this he couldn't see it. But he could see another person. So this would give him something to shoot at that he could see. He figured Colt knew what he was doing and that he had gear on as well as a way to stop the bullet in case he set up the most lethal shot. But still, the task was daunting.

He raised the gun in the only way he knew how. He set his stance, putting his right foot out to stabilize himself and rose the gun in his right hand, resting his right arm on his left. This would keep the gun from twitching around, making him at least a bit more accurate.

And still, there was no sight to look down, no way to make this pinpoint accurate. But he'd do his best. He looked at Colt, who was standing at the ready on the other end. He inhaled, calming himself, focusing himself, steeling himself. And then he exhaled, squeezing the trigger for the first time.

The bang was fairly standard. He was used to that. What he wasn't used to was the force of the gun whipping his hand back. He'd never experienced recoil and Samon was surprised by the pain that ripped through his wrist. He nearly dropped the gun because of it, but held on due to countless drills in Gun Safety that reminded him to never drop the gun. He did lower it, looking at Colt to see the result.

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt Character Portrait: Selim Sharp
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#, as written by Mustafa
"Another boring day in Liberty Base Alpha, it might look the same as everyone previous, go work, create something extraordinary or get a reprimand, go back to home, go sleep and again go work. Routine could be exhausting. Cortana, make some notes," Selim said that to his personal digital assistant - a small electronic device carring inside his pocket. "First, go to a gym because if not my butt (slang for bottom) will stick to a chair as a result of my job. Second, gossip with Councillors ha ha ha... . Third, take my dog for a walk. And foremost, send an encrypted report to Erubesco." The device made a quiet sound as a signal that the note was saved.

Selim wasn't sure why Erubesco faction has sent him to Liberty Base. They gave him a flat, a false identity card (but with the same name) and even a job in Defence Department. They did it using many bribs, but it wasn't difficult because corruption is popular not only in Erubesco. Probably they wanted to achieve some important information about their antagonists from the better source - the heart of Liberty faction. Selim have been working under the cover for more than a month, he was notifying regularly his employer about some more or less interesting events, but during this time he didn't find anything especially important. Currently he's become to doubt about the right of his services. "Why aren't they able to live in peace?" He thought.

"Whatever, I need to go out. If I don't do that I will be late." Selim took several necessary things and left his flat. Obviously he put on casual clothes because he has to look like an average Liberty person, not like an Erubescoman. When he went in the main hall of the base he thought that he should change slightly his today plans. He was going to cut the time of some activities because he needed to visit one more place.

He went to the lower level of the base to so called training rooms. He decided to test one model of a gun for snipers because it needs some changes. His false identity card had a chip with written permissions. Selim is an employee of Liberty Base so he could use it as a key to unlock some things reserved only for trusted Libertymans like employees of Defence Department. When he was walking through the corridor he saw a boy shooting to a man standing on the opposite side. Fortunately the man had a bulletproof vest covering his torso.

He walked near the boy but he keeped some distance between them. "It was a good shot, but what would you have done if you had shot this man into his leg?" Selim said that to the boy and smiled slightly.

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt Character Portrait: Selim Sharp
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As the bullet flew free from the chamber, Colt’s vision locked onto it at the speed of light and traced the projectile’s path as it hurtled forward toward the trainer.



The recoil had knocked Samon’s hand away upon firing, but the shot landed lethally nonetheless. Colt kept his muscles loose and rolled with the impact against his lower abdomen, taking a deliberate step back as the force dispersed across the vest. The thin outer layer of fibers loosened and rippled to disperse the initial energy of the hit across a broader surface, while the thick inner layer pressurized and grew dense around the entry site in response, catching the shot and then expelling the bullet onto the ground with a clink.


When all was said and done, the trainer would suffer no more than perhaps a mild bruise.




“Is too low, too left. Enters through intestines, to left kidney, maybe rib damage for force,” he commented, not needing to look down to see where the strands of grey fabric had been disturbed. Even as he spoke, the small divot began to expand back out to its normal shape, not unlike a squeaky toy refilling itself.

“Is lethal shot, in field. But still giving time for returning fire..” 

He tapped higher on his chest, toward the center of his sternum. “Aim is correct, but is going bad from wrist—“



Before the trainer could finish his commentary, he was cut short by an unexpected entry, and his finger snapped to the trigger of his weapon on instinct. 

This was a private session with a special case, in what had come to be respected over the course of many years as Agent-Trainer Colt’s room, but Colt did not let his displeasure at the intrusion show. 



Or rather, the general expression of blank stoicism on his face remained as stoic as ever.



“If he was shooting me in leg,” Colt responded, looking at the intruder much as a horse would look at a fly circling close to its tail, “I would be on floor instead of on feet when asking, ‘Why are you being interruption?’”

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt Character Portrait: Selim Sharp
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Samon was gripping his wrist as Colt spoke, but when he started listing off body parts, Samon started to feel genuinely surprised. I hit something?

That had been the first time he'd ever fired a gun. Granted, it wasn't the most accurate shot in the world as it was low left according to Swolberham Lincoln, but it hit the target. Not to mention it was a lethal shot by technical rule and Samon would take that. Not bad for a blind boy...

The door behind him swung open and Samon could practically feel the muscles tense up within the bulky trainer. Whether it was from constant conditioning or the fact that he was genuinely startled, Samon would never know. Perhaps a mix of both. But it was the newcomer that walked by with a smooth stride and interjected on the lesson that the blind boy kept his attention on. Something in the way he walked...it was slightly more carefree than he was used to typically seeing. A bit more loose. Curious, Samon studied him a bit more, letting him and Colt carry on their conversation. It didn't seem like a good time to talk, considering how Colt had already answered the question for him, but he listened intently.

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt Character Portrait: Selim Sharp
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  1. The laboratory is still dependent on for example the councillors.

    by Mustafa

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#, as written by Mustafa
Selim realized that this visitation was unwise and unnecessary. He had to extricate himself from the situation. So he tried to answer Colt's question the best as he could.

"Thank you for your quick answer, but it wasn't a question for you," Selim said to Colt. "Whatever, forgive me my intrusion, I'm Selim Sharp. I am going to establish my first independent loboratory. The authority granted me a not used place near the training rooms. We are going to start some extreme makeover in a few minutes. The laboratory will be on the ground floor, but I worry that noise which we will do could disturb your lessons." Selim looked on his tablet in a hurry to read the description of the training that Colt and Samon started over an hour ago. As every employee of Liberty Base Alpha he had access to such information stored on a public database. "Don't pay your attention to the noise, please. I promise I won't be a nuisance." Selim smilled a little and went directly to the exit. Before he went out he told Colt: "Agent Colt, I will be very satisfied if you come to the laboratory and confirm that everything is consistent with the protocol of safety. And you also can visit this place, Samon." Selim had read the names of his interlocutors from the description before he said that. After this short conversation he left the room.

Behind the door Selim looked around and noticed that almost every corridor has a camera connected with a microphone. It was evident that Liberty faction wants to know everything about everyone, so he needs to change his approach. Selim took his pocket device, removed all his voice notes and turned it off. He didn't want to be predictable anymore because such behavior could be danger for him. He also abandoned his previous plans. The device was similar to the cell phone, so it couldn't payed the attention of the staff.

After a few minutes Selim was in front of the main door to the laboratory on the first floor. He went in to this place, it looks like a not used and forgotten workshop. The space was quite large and this was the most important feature. Selim turned directly to the repair crew that stayed behind him. "Today we will do the first step into the new chapter of history of our faction. Together we could cause that the future will arrive faster than you ever expected. Do you help me!?"

The works were started, knocks of hammers and not only were heard outside.

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt Character Portrait: Selim Sharp
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Colt let his arms rest behind his back at ease as Selim Sharp spoke, one hand wrapped around his wrist. His jaw remained tight, eyes giving away little but mild annoyance as he looked down at the interruption.



Selim Sharp was not his supervisor. 



Selim Sharp was, as far as Colt’s briefings had stated, not even in his department.



“I am not Infrastructure Trainer, Mr. Selim Sharp,” he replied, the name rolling off his tongue with slow, deliberate articulation placed on each of its many “s” sounds, “And my student is not answering to people who are not in Training.” 

He left out a quip about the question not being for him— No need to waste words and time on inefficient communication.

When the man turned to leave, Colt lifted his wrist and entered something on his trainer’s log.



Three minute interruption by [1] Selim Sharp. Resumed at 16:23:25.



“Aim is correct, but is going bad from wrist rotation,” he stated to his student as the door slid shut, moving to stand behind Samon without missing a beat from where he left off. He reached down and lifted the student’s shooting arm, and Colt’s hand nearly obstructed Samon’s entire hand and wrist from view.

“Is good to rest on your left arm while learning, but you are bracing the right. Has no give.” He rubbed his thumb over the joint in the trainee’s wrist where the tension was held, and then turned his wrist in a slight rotation. “Rolling with the force. Will recoil straight back, so expecting to come toward you.” 

To demonstrate, Colt pulled Samon’s hand back slowly in the direction that the shot would propel him, and then put the boy’s finger over the trigger.

“Now. Hold straight, wrist loose, and shooting again.”

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Samon began to study Selim as he talked, his stance, the words he used, the tone of voice. Something was off about him, but Samon couldn't quite put it into words. Why were all of his alarm bells ringing at the presence of this man?

He was a bit relieved when the man left, allowing for Samon to get back to his training with Colt. His aura threw him and Samon didn't know why. It was the agonizing feeling of what he wanted to say being on the tip of his tongue. He knew what was up with Selim Sharp and yet he didn't. It was a frustrating feeling.

He heard Colt's training advice on shooting, and he listened, pushing all of that in the back of his mind. He could worry about that another time. Right now, Colt was giving some instruction. He felt the weight of the gun shift around in his hand as Colt rolled his wrist backwards to demonstrate what he wanted. The wrist still throbbed from when he'd shot before, but it was turning into a dull kind of pain.

He breathed slowly, in and out, focusing on the nothingness in front of him, concentrating on where he wanted the next shot to go. He kept the right wrist relaxed this time as per Colt's instruction. He looked through where he imagined the gun's sight would be. Colt would point out that he was looking a couple centimeters to the right. But his aim was still on target. He hadn't moved it from it's original position.

He inhaled, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.

The massive bang echoes through his ears once more, but the wrist didn't hurt nearly as bad from recoil as it did with the first shot. He knew the shot would land where Colt intended it to go. It just felt right.

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Character Portrait: Samon Cauldier Character Portrait: Colt
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Colt watched Samon prepare, keeping one hand hovering over the boy’s hands to check that his wrist would not fly up from the recoil too harshly.

The trainee’s inability to look straight down the weapon’s sight was immediately obvious, but Colt did not say anything on the matter. The boy was holding steady, and there was no need for a sight from a man who could not see.

At least, previous vision impaired trainees had not needed to use them.

The bang sounded, and the new motion of Samon’s wrist, as predicted, bumped Colt’s right hand as the weapon lurched back and up. Less predictably, a shell of hot brass flew out toward Colt’s face.

He dodged the shell without moving his gaze from Samon’s target.

“You are in orange,” he said, tone more approving than it had been during the rest of the lesson, “On silhouette, ornage is center mass. Is very good shot. Motion is better.”

He then plucked the gun from Samon’s hands, and lifted it up straight out of his grip. “Is a big kick for small weapon, but you are managing well, Trainee Cauldier.”

He tucked the revolver back into its home at his gun belt, and then reached to take hold of Samon’s wrist.

Despite the side of his hands, his touch was gentle as he gingerly cradled the boy’s injured limb. He carefully flexed the fingers, and rotated his hand with the same care one could expect from a practiced medic.

“Wrist is being the gunner’s most vital asset,” he said, releasing him. “You are to going home, and putting on ice. Ten minutes on, twenty off. Two anti-inflammatory tabs are to being sent to your home- You are taking them before bed, and before lesson tomorrow.”

He took a step back, posture back at attention.

“You are being dismissed, Trainee Cauldier. Reporting tomorrow for further instruction.”