Will a brave response holster slide down2/18/2023 ![]() Sitting on a still usable chair, the source of my attention lies on top of the blackened surface. I return to the miraculously surviving table in the center of this collapsed and exposed to the sky establishment. Having dealt with yet another unasked for intrusion. Nothing like my cheat letting me see through walls. Meaning I'm slowly getting stronger, tougher and faster. Nanos finished patching me up before sunrise and started the upgrades. Hmm… Let's just put a pin in it for later. Perhaps better than the cased ammo from home or caseless stuff from cyberland. But, do I really want to? It's a pretty involved process and "magefire," patent pending, cartridges are a lot simpler. Have enough now that I could start making stuff like guncotton. So I’ve got lots of water, proteins, fats, carbohydrates, on top of iron, carbon, etc, etc… ![]() But not as good at handling individual atoms. Putting them together with other molecules. This means my mini me’s are good at handling molecules. Oh, and by the by? A single grain of sand can have quintillions of molecules in it. And what else is around the nanometer range? Yes, it's gross, but necessary.īit of trivia. That my micro minions then broke down into their base molecules and compounds. Filling my new ring with weapons, armor and bodies along the way. Took my time walking into town once the sun came up. Would never have needed the revolver in the first place. But it works great to keep the cockroaches of the fantasy world running. Really it's just a rock with a fireball circle carved and charged. More gobs, and parts thereof, fly the friendly skies after the grenade I tossed goes off. A hail of stones, javelins and arrows come sailing over more distant piles of torched rubble as the gobbos beat a hasty retreat. Bleeding demised.Īnd like the last dozen times these shits ambushed me. Gob’s own flight, courtesy of fifty caliber airways, ends with a meaty smack against a burned black partially still standing tavern wall. And his no longer attached right arm spinning away across the room. Case in point, the little green turd, who tried to ambush me, suddenly missing a sizable chunk of its scrawny chest. You know, if my hand cannon punches big holes through tough as nails and old leather orcs? Not nearly as sturdy goblins don’t stand a snowball's chance in hell.
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