I hefted the AK-47. The system's weapon mastery file unspooled in my mind instantly, filling me with intimate certainty. The rifle weighed 8.5 pounds. Chambered for 7.62x39mm. Thirty-round magazine. Selector currently flicked to full auto. Effective range four hundred meters. Every screw, every angle, every flaw felt like I'd known them all my life.
But there was weight here no download could carry. The weapon felt heavier than numbers suggested. Steel and wood, yes—but also mortality. It wasn't an accessory, it wasn't a prop. It was a tool designed to erase human lives, and I had just proven it worked.
"Two hostiles incoming," ARIA repeated. "First target emerging from behind the generator building in five seconds."
My body moved on its own. Left hand slid to the forward grip. Right found the pistol grip, finger hovering just outside the trigger guard. The stock pressed against my shoulder, settling in like it belonged there.
Like I'd been born holding it.
