LUNA IS BAD WITH GUNS

  When I walked into what was formerly Luna’s office, I had a set of expectations. Namely for Luna’s imposter, Cheshire, do be doing either something useful or something entirely useless. I was only partially correct. Although, In a sense I was completely correct. What she was doing was, in fact, useless, but I was still remiss to call it simply useless, since it was actually quite stupid. Cheshire had taken the gun out of Luna’s drawer, removed the magazine, and was twirling it around on her finger. “What are you doing?” I asked as calmly as possible as the barrel of the gun pointed towards my stomach for the third time in as many seconds. Witch was coincidentally, the same number of times it was pointed at her face. She thankfully stopped spinning the weapon, before speaking. “I’m bored,” she said. I let my frown fall into a scowl. “So, you decided to spin a gun around at eye level, to see if you could blow said eye into your brain cavity? If you want to play with something, buy a fidget toy,” I said. She set the gun down, barrel still facing me. I stepped to the side. “It’s fine, the safety is on, and I made sure to remove the clip,” she said. I walked forwards set the papers I was holding onto her desk and lifted the firearm. I pointed it to the floor. This room, thankfully, was bulletproof up to 30,000,000 joules per square inch so, I knew the bullet wouldn’t go into the floor below us. I released the safety and fired.

  A sound like a thunderbolt blew out into the room, and I screamed, slapping my hands over my ringing ears. I Immediately sat back in my chair as Chanelle looked at me. Hell, I couldn’t even hear myself scream, the ringing was so loud. What kinda lies did movies tell? They had people firing guns, willy nilly and no one ended up writhing on the floor. “What the hell!” I shouted, barely able to hear my own voice. Chanelle just stood there, she raised the gun, towards the wall. Pulled back the slide twice, locked it back, then looked into the hole in the top of the gun. She did it so fluidly, it was clear to me she’d done the same action thousands of times before. She set the gun down on the desk with a thunk, the barrel facing towards the wall. “First of all,” she said, I could barely hear her. “A handgun like this can have a round in the chamber even when you remove the magazine. Luna kept one in there in case someone burst into the room, and she needed to shoot. Second, never point a gun at anything you can’t afford to have shot. Third, I’m confiscating this until you pass a gun safety course. And lastly, this is a magazine, not a clip. There is a difference, get it right,” she said. The ringing in my ears died down enough for me to carry on a conversation while only slightly yelling during her speech. “I… I feel like I just got scolded by my mom,” I said. Chanelle gave me a deadpan look, then sighed. She took the gun from the desk, along with the magazine. “I’ll sign you up for a course when I get back to my desk. It’s probably best that you have at least an inkling of how to not shoot yourself in the face,” She said, with the same deadpan tone she said everything in. It made it impossible to tell if she was joking or not. Although, frankly, she didn’t seem like the type. I watched as Chanelle exited the room, her trademark frown fixed in place. My ears were still ringing.

  I smiled to myself. It had been two days since the incident with the gun, and I had accomplished something astounding. No, I hadn’t passed the gun safety course, I won’t be starting that until later today, but this was something incredible. I was officially halfway done with all the paperwork that had been piling up in this office since god only knows when. Most of it was out of date garbage, of the small portion that wasn’t ten years old, most of that was just reports of earnings. Aside from that, there was another large portion of requests for access to specific resources for specific purposes. That sounded interesting, but really it was just a bunch of people asking for guns. Which was slightly annoying to me, since I was apparently the only person in the entirety of Grey Nightshade that didn’t know how to use a gun. Aside from that, there were acquisitions. This sounded boring but was sort of the opposite of the request forms, since in these forms, lay the reports of the heists. Like, honest to gods, heists. They were fascinating to read; they told stories of groups of highly skilled individuals breaking into secure locations and stealing valuable shit. They were beholden to meticulous plans, and I even saw some reoccurring names.

  There was this one person, who usually took on the role of planner, and contingency, who filed several reports, they went by the codename Strigidae. I particularly liked their heists, simply based off how intensely detailed they were. He or she didn’t just make a rough plan, like many others, they didn’t just research the security, they researched the people involved so thoroughly, one of the points of strategy was the likelihood of a particular guard taking a day off work to attend their daughter’s wedding. They made two different plans based on whether the guard was there, or if they weren’t, also splitting depending on who was covering their shift. The detail was truly amazing. It was like watching a true crime documentary, where the criminal, now caught, broke down the full plan for all their crimes in excruciating detail, so you could see the titanic quantity of thought that went into pulling it off. Not to mention the drills. When it actually came down to it, the actual heist was over within 5 minutes, in no small part thanks to the drills. The team would practice the heist over, and over, and over, for months on end, until they could get it done consistently within the time limit. Until finally, they finally met Strigidae’s brutally high standards. Almost always the heists went off with some sort of hitch, but at that point the team was so used to thinking on their toes in that environment, that they would effortlessly adapt, carrying out the mission as if it were choreographed.

  Honestly the whole thing made me want to orchestrate my own heist. Like, I know it’s illegal, and I know I have like no skills, and I know It won’t go well, but damn if it won’t be something interesting. Maybe I am easily influenced. I sit back in my chair looking up at the ceiling. I need to stop distracting myself from the bigger issues. Not to belittle the virtues of getting important illegal documents that could have me locked in jail for the rest of eternity all in nice, neat order on behalf of the prosecution, but there are at least a few more important things I need to be doing. For example, The Grey Nightshade Guild, despite the name, isn’t a guild, it’s a criminal organization, and for every exhilarating heist report I read, I found at least three reports of successful kidnappings, income reports of the prostitution branch, and reports of the brutal public execution of those who betrayed the guild that, through kidnapping, coercion, or involuntary impossible contortion, forced men and women alike to whore themselves out. This was not something old, this was not in the past, Chanelle just slapped a stack of new reports down on my desk this morning. Normally this would be a “damn shame, but it’s out of my hands” sort of thing, but the difference is I can do something about it. I’m the person holding the reigns, I’m the one at the head of the machine, I am the rich CEO running an exploitative company that feeds people into the money printing machine that belches thick black plumes of black agony into the world.

  The situation is honestly funny in a sick sort of way. I mean, I sat at home asking, why they didn’t just stop since they were hurting so many people. There’s an old saying about a button that gives you money, but ? of the money you get is paid in human lives. It’s only now I realize how wrong that is. It’s not just some button I press. Someone long ago built a machine to press the button for them, a machine they didn’t understand the ramifications of, they just thought the button made infinite money out of nothing. Now, as their successor, I’m left in the position to stop a machine, a machine that does what it does completely without my input, a machine that people around me are relying on, a machine that no one thought to make a convenient shutoff lever to. Instead of the button, I feel like I’m riding a bulldozer with no brakes. And while I know what it’s doing is bad, I know it’s hurting people, it’s so easy to turn my head to the piles of bloody bills and ignore the screams. Does that make me a bad person? Probably, but at the same time, I may be at the head of this, but I am not in control. Hell, I’ve been sitting in this office for several days and yet, the Grey Nightshade Guild chugs on, people suffer, addicts overdose, prostitutes kill themselves, money appears in my bank account. Hell, and I bet the real CEOs were raised, being told by everyone to never turn off the machine, be ruthless, let them suffer, the only thing that matters is enhancing efficiency, increasing profit margins. Makes one wonder why the world rewards this? Turns out those heartless bastards are just people, and we’re all Pavlov’s bitches.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Although there probably is one difference between those people and me. I don’t want to be like them, I’m willing to say that this is where it ends, I am willing to actually try and stop this. The only question is, where to begin and how? If I were to walk up to whomever runs the prostitution in the Grey Nightshade Guild, and told them to close up shop, that would most likely be met with an “eat shit.” The people doing this aren’t doing it because they don’t know it’s wrong, or because they don’t know it’s hurting people, they’re doing it because it makes them money. So, I’m going to have to find a way for them to make money without hurting people. Not to mention the prostitutes themselves. Even if it’s a shitty job, it’s still a job at the end of the day, and even if I shut the whole operation down, those who are here, not out of coercion, but because they have no other options, are now going to be left completely without options or, they’ll move on to the option they had in reserve if selling themselves didn’t work out. Which, seeing as they chose this hell over that one, I don’t even want to know that that is. All that said, I need to be very careful with the way I handle this, like it or not, I’m responsible for these people now, and I’ll be damned if I let them down. Though, none of that answers the question: how? I sigh and look back at the office. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” I say into the room. “No shit, you just realizing that?” Spvhanha said, in a series of trills and flutes. I was getting better at understanding her language. “I know, I know. It’s just…. There are so many people whose lives I could ruin, either on a whim or by letting my oodles of incompetence show, and it’s not like Luna knew anything about running this place, she barely did anything, and quite frankly, I don’t want to be like her. Hell, I want to actually fix this place, if for no other reason than I don’t want to go down with this ship,” I said. Spvhanha didn’t respond to my words immediately, letting them echo in the silent room. She let me reflect on the words I’d said before finally responding. It was just one note. It didn’t really have a direct translation in English, but it wasn’t a very complex concept, it was a challenge, a chide, and with Spvhanha’s slight teasing all wrapped up in one. All amounting to a simple phrase. “Then, do it.”

  I opened the door to my office and looked down at Chanelle’s desk. She didn’t look directly up at me, as her desk actually faced away from the door, though she looked into a mirror seemingly placed specifically for the purpose of looking up at whomever exited the office. I looked down at the simple glass pane, meeting her cold white-blue eyes. “I need your help,” I said. She arched an eyebrow. “Really?” she said. “Yeah, I want to bounce some ideas off you.” “Huh, it’s just that people around here don’t usually ask for help. Foolish if you ask me, but I won’t throw stones,” she said, apparently amused at the prospect. “Alright so…” Chanelle held up a hand. “Hold on, this will have to wait. Someone should be here to teach you how to not accidentally blow your brain out in a few minutes. We’ll talk after,” she said. Gesturing to the digital clock on her desk. I frowned, right it was almost that time. I sighed. “Alright, after.” I said. Before someone came walking around the corner of the hallway, someone I recognized. Chanelle muttered something under her breath before standing smoothly. “Luna,” she said as the person stopped in front of Chanelle’s desk, a mischievous look on her face. “This is Candace Shrimpshell,” Chanelle continued. I snickered. “Shrimpshell? And I thought Chanelle’s last name was weird.” “Oh, no her last name is very weird, mine’s just an alias since I don’t want my family to be able to find me,” Candace leaned in conspiratorially. “I got it from some thing I found in a trashcan,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “Seriously? Why would you name yourself after something you found in the garbage?” Candace suddenly looked confused. “Wait, that’s not where you people get names? Shit, where’d you get yours then?” She asked. “Parents,” I replied. “Yeah, but you can’t use that one ‘cause your aunt’s a lunatic, so pick a new one, one that she won’t be able to use weird reverse mind-engineering voodoo to figure out based off of your personality.” “So… Shrimpshell?” “Shrimpshell.”

  “Nice to see that the two of you are already acquainted, now can we get on to the lesson,” Chanelle said, gesturing to the door to the office politely. “Hold your panties, and don’t get your horses in a knot,” Candace said. “Excuse me,” Chanelle said, deadpan. Candace reached into a bag I’d yet to notice and pulled out a gun. “Mkay, so welcome to Candace’s quick ‘n dirty gun safety course!” she said. Posing for applause, I obliged her with only the most sarcastic clapping I could muster, as she rightfully deserved. “Now, take this,” she said handing me the gun, and making me point it towards the office door. “Now, there are really only a few things to keep in mind. One: make sure you always know what’s in your gun. Know how many bullets it holds and how many are in it. Two: Keep the safety on, unless you are actively going to shoot it, also keep your finger off the trigger at all times unless you are going to pull it. Three: Don’t point it at anything you can’t afford to get shot. This gun is very well made, it was made by yours truly after all but pretend like all guns are unreliable pieces of shit that’ll go off randomly and without warning, that way if it ever does go off, it won’t hit anything you’ll miss. Four, never point a gun at someone you can’t afford to get shot. Only use a gun to threaten someone if you are really mulling over blowing their brains out and wanna see if you can get anything out of them beforehand. Fifth, Make sure you know what you’re aiming at, and what’s behind it as well as if your bullet will go through, although you should always assume it will. This situation doesn’t count, I made the gun the bullets in it and the door, and I know what that door can take. And lastly, you should always familiarize yourself with a gun before you carry it, get to know it, take it out for dinner, whole nine yards. No carrying on the first date y’hear?” Candace took the gun from me, throughout her little speech, she had been using it for reference, showing me how to check if there was a bullet in the chamber, where the safety was, how to turn it on and off etc. “And with that, you officially graduate from Candace’s quick ‘n dirty gun safety course,” she said pulling the string of one of those little party poppers that blasted a shower of streamers over me with a crack. Chanelle groaned. “Can it blondie, I’m not done yet,” she said. “Last thing, come to the shooting range and I’ll get you an actual gun, and go more in depth then, got it? Just drop by any time and I’ll either be there or in my lab,” she said before turning to Chanelle. “What’s your grade, miss frowny face?” Chanelle blinked slowly. “C-minus,” she said. “I’ll take it!” Candace said, before sauntering off the way she came. “Come to the shooting range, it’ll be fun!” she called over she shoulder. Chanelle pinched the bridge of her nose. “While nothing she said was particularly wrong, I would be remiss if I didn’t stress a few points.”

  It read: “Hello, it’s Candace. It’s been a while” The girl looked at the screen her face inscrutable as she stared death at it, at the email. It hadn’t been finished, it wouldn’t be finished, and in that sense, it was finished. A decision had apparently been made. Bones had been thrown and read, setting off a chain, the men fell and would keep falling as they are wont to do. Where it would end is unknown to her, but she knew she would rather find out. Yet still, stillness of the grave called her, held her in it’s grasp as her hand hovered over the mouse. This was not a decision to be made lightly, only darkly. The light had been gone for a long, long time. Was it ever even real? She couldn’t remember it. Just the reflection. How lonely mirrors must be. The girl’s death weighed on her, now she wanted to die again? How do people kill themselves? If this gives the girl pause, metaphorical as it is, how much willpower does it take to pull the trigger? Or, how much pain does it take to pull the trigger? She pulled the trigger.

  The email was deleted. She sat back in her chair and smiled up at the ceiling.

  She wanted to live for this so she would be willing to die for this.

  The closet is so full