"Are you perhaps going to practice shooting?" I asked Ken, ignoring me until we arrived here at the shooting range.
"..."
Still not answering nor looking at me...
"Excuse me," I called out to him again. "Are you practicing-"
"If you think I won't practice shooting," he hissed, finally looking at me with a glare, "then what do you think I'll be doing in a fucking shooting range, Mr. Smarty pants?"
"..."
Mr. Smarty Pants...
Just how many nicknames do I have?
But, he got a point...
I didn't think of that...
"You said you're a robot, right?" he added.
"Yes," I replied.
"Then why the hell are you stupid?" he said in a serious tone.
"..."
His way of speaking somewhat reminds me of Sergeant Charlotte. Just like the way he says things bluntly and with a serious expression. How ironic that these two people with some similarities don't get along with each other.
Or perhaps it's the other way around? They get along really well that they are comfortable arguing with each other. Just like the saying - Those who are similar to each other, also attract each other... Wait, is there something like that? I don't know...
"...That's what they always tell me," I said.
Sergeant Charlotte, at least.
"But I'm not quite sure why..." I added
He looked at me for a moment and sighed. "...You know what, forget it," he lazily said. "If you're here to practice too, then do your shit. Don't bother me here."
"I can't practice if I don't have a gun."
Though practicing won't make any difference to me. Plus, I don't know how to shoot, let alone hold a gun in the first place. So before practicing 'shooting', 'learning' must come first.
"Ah shit, that's right...." he whispered to himself, " I forgot my rifle at the tent..."
Without saying a word to me, he ran, back to the tent it seems, to look for his gun.
Roughly five minutes have passed.
He still hasn't returned, and I'm still standing in the exact position where I am earlier, not moving a single metal. Yes, a single metal. You think that my wording is a little bit wrong, but it's not – That is because... I don't have any muscle...
"..."
...Moving on from the current scene.
As I was glancing through the shooting range, I noticed something from afar, something lying down. I walked towards It and turns out to be a rifle still filled with bullets. Maybe someone forgot it.
I picked it up and then thought of something. "Can my body handle a bullet," I mumbled, "or will it pierce through...?"
I remembered the time when I fell from a forty feet apartment face first and was still scratchless afterward. If I survived that, then how about a live bullet...?
I aimed the gun right at my head. The moment I was preparing to pull the trigger, someone tackled me from behind. It was Ken. We both fell to the ground, he on top of me struggling to take the rifle off of my hands.
"W-What the fuck dude?!" he exclaimed, breathing heavily while sweating bullets. "Are you insane?!"
"...No, I am not," I replied. "I was just testing if my body can handle a bullet."
