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“What the hell are you talking about?” Sullivan asked

“Plan C,” Ael rounds or some wimpy shit like that?”

“They’re live rounds,” Morris said “Why?”

“I was just thinking about how a gun makes a shitty metal punch”

“Where are you going with it?” Clarissa asked

“Thinking we’ve got three shitty metal punches,” Amos said “Maybe we can punch some metal”

The guns were biouards in case soot hold of them, so Amos and Rona lowered the alone The black sludge came up to Amos’ ankle, cold and slick The lowest of the cabinet-like doors had its edge under the dark surface A to the sound The beaht

“Put a round here,” A a daub of erholds”

“What if it ricochets?”

“That’ll suck”

The first round left a hole in the steel covering maybe a centimeter wide The second round, a little less Aertips They were sharp, but not knife-sharp The black rain had soaked the shoulders of his shirt, and the back of it was clinging to his spine

“Hey, Tiny,” he called “You come down here a minute?”

After a short silence, Konecheck’s growl came down “What’d you call me?”

“Tiny Just co”

Konecheck landed with a splash, spatteringshow of flexing his backout his hands, then stuffed his first two fingers into the bullet holes, braced his other arainst the wall, and pulled A nor, but the Pit wasn’t a place for normal people The s Curved rinned, the swelling of his injured face and the jutting beard ertips were red and raw-looking, but as far as Amos could tell, there wasn’t any blood