08-10-2012, 04:30 AM
Korey Hynson: The Ninja
The semi-automatic metal frame Beretta 92S was chambered in 9x19mm Parabellum. The widely popular Berretta 92 was reliable, accurate, and commonly endowed with eighteen round double-stack magazines. To Korey it there was more to it than it being a good gun, it was a staple in the police and military communities of the world. After a little rooftop gun firing dance with the local authorities Korey ended up ditching his sidearm. It was time for something new.
While sifting through the resistance’s armory he’d stumbled across a smuggled crate of 1990’s Beretta 92S’s meant for the Italian police departments or something. Everyone knew what a Beretta 92 looked like, whether or not they knew the name. It was common every. If Korey tossed it the weapon would probably just get lost in the piles of weapons confiscated from gangsters, hoodlums, and the rest of the city’s scum.
The Beretta had started out as mass of grease covered metal and now it practically glowed after be dismantled, cleaned, and reassembled. To accommodate quieter subsonic ammunition he’d made on simple change though; replaced the recoil spring with something much thinner. When combining subsonic ammunition with a robust suppressor the weapon’s diminished stopping power was well worth replacing the weapon’s sound barrier breaking clacks with suppressed wispy claps. The Fiocchi sub-sonic full metal jacket 157 grain full metal jacket rounds were a good fit.
The weapon’s suppressor was a hefty twelve unwieldy monstrosity when fitted to the Beretta it was simply massive. The price of silence Korey lamented. He strapped the weapon to a modified leather should holster, the silenced weapon hanging from beneath his left arm, two eighteen magazines on his right.
Despite the weights and daily exercise Korey still wasn’t getting any more beefy. At 5’10 and 140lbs he was a slender knot of muscle with the metabolism of a speed boat. Doc Felton had suggested something like a fourteen hundred a day calorie diet. Munching on the remnants of breakfast Korey remembered how impossible that was. Maybe it was twenty-two hundred. Regardless, the worst thing about waking up was waking up the MRE’s. They had become a bitter taste that regardless of the amount of off brand earl gray he managed to gulp down in the mornings the taste was there all day until he ate something that he actually considered food. At least he got out more often than not.
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