I Woke Up in the Marvel Universe, But All the Heroes Are Women?-Chapter 71: Buckshot Roulette

The gunshot rings in my ears like a thunderclap.
"Not bad," Masters says, pressing a button that brings the paper target zooming toward us. "Your grouping's getting tighter. Next time try not to close your eyes right before you pull the trigger."
"I wasn't closing my eyes," I lie, setting the gun down on the metal table between us.
Masters snorts, tapping the target where my shots form a loose pattern around the silhouette's center mass. "Sure you weren't."
The underground firing range in Masters' bunker is like something out of a spy movie, concrete walls, state-of-the-art equipment, and enough weaponry to start a small war. We've been at this for hours, my right shoulder aching from the pistol's recoil.
"Again," Masters commands, slapping a fresh magazine into my hand.
I groan but obey, reloading the weapon with movements that are becoming more fluid with each repetition. Three days of this routine has my muscles memorizing what my brain still hesitates to accept.
"So," Masters says casually as I take aim at the new target, "you had a dream where your hands turned Ellie horny?"
"Yeah," I mutter.
"And your powers really come from a demon?" She leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that clinical gaze that misses nothing.
"Yeah." I squeeze off another round, this one hitting the target's shoulder. "You're only the second person who knows that."
"And you better keep it that way," Ellie's voice cuts through the room from where she's been silently observing in the back corner.
Masters turns, giving Ellie an exasperated look. "Really? Threats? Now?"
Ellie sighs, pushing away from the wall she's been leaning against. The symbiote ripples just beneath her skin, betraying her agitation despite her controlled expression. "Wouldn't you threaten anyone in my shoes?"
Masters considers this for a moment, her severe features softening almost imperceptibly. "I guess so."
Masters reaches for a large weapon resting against the table. It's matte black with a pistol grip and tactical stock, looking more like something from a military operation than a civilian range.
"Alright, Shane," she says, holding it out to me. "This is basically a tactical semi-auto 12-gauge shotgun. Time to graduate from pistols."
I take it cautiously, feeling the substantial weight in my hands. The weapon is shorter than I expected, compact but intimidating.
"This is a shotgun?" I ask, turning it over carefully. "Looks more like a rifle to me."
Masters taps the barrel with her finger. "Yeah, but it's not. It's a shotgun. This is a short barrel, which makes it perfect for close quarters."
She moves behind me, adjusting my grip and stance with military precision. Her hands are firm but not rough, positioning my shoulders with the efficiency of someone who's done this thousands of times.
"And you being a teleporter," she continues, "have a very unique use case for this weapon. The spread pattern gives you more room for error when you're moving fast."
She steps back and walks over to her laptop, typing a few commands. Mechanical whirring fills the room as new targets rise from the floor in the adjacent chamber – three-dimensional mannequins positioned at different distances.
"Teleport in there," she instructs, "and the second you materialize, fire and immediately teleport to your next target. Get good and close, but just far enough away they can't grab you."
I nod, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension as I check the safety.
"In real life, it'd be best to teleport behind people," she adds, "but I don't want you firing towards us. Safety first, even when training to kill."
"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath as I visualize the first target position.
The familiar golden energy surges through me as I dissolve and rematerialize beside the first mannequin. The shotgun kicks hard against my shoulder as I pull the trigger, the blast deafening even with ear protection. I barely register the mannequin's head exploding into plastic fragments before I'm teleporting again, golden light swirling around me.
I appear behind the second target, closer this time. The shotgun roars, and I'm moving again before the echo dies, flowing through space like water. The third teleport puts me right beside the final mannequin, so close I can see the painted features on its face. I hesitate for just a fraction of a second before squeezing the trigger, the blast nearly knocking me off balance.
When the smoke clears, I'm breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Three destroyed targets and not a single wasted movement. The efficiency is beautiful in a terrible way.
Masters lets out a whoop, grinning ear to ear. "Hell yeah!" She strides over, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me wince. "Look at that! Three for three!"
I engage the safety and lower the shotgun, feeling a strange mix of pride and unease at how quickly I've adapted to this. My hands aren't trembling anymore, and the weight of the weapon feels almost natural now.
"You're going to be a killing machine in no time, kid," Masters says, examining the destroyed targets with professional appreciation.
Behind us, Ellie sighs heavily. I turn to see her watching me, arms crossed. Her eyes look deeply concerned.
I teleport back to their side of the range in a flash of golden light, carefully handing the shotgun to Masters. "Thanks for the lesson," I say, trying to sound casual despite the adrenaline still coursing through me.
"Shane," Ellie says quietly, stepping closer to me. "I don't want you to be a killing machine."
Masters rolls her eyes but has the decency to look slightly abashed. "Sorry," she concedes, placing the shotgun back on the rack with practiced precision. "I meant self-defense machine."
I walk over to Ellie, drawn to her like a magnet. The symbiote calms as I approach, settling beneath her skin like dark water. Her hand reaches for mine automatically, our fingers intertwining.
"Come on," she says, tugging me gently toward the door. "Let's go back to practicing with those horny little hands of yours."
My face flushes hot at her words, but I don't resist as she leads me away from the firing range. Masters calls something after us about continuing tomorrow, but I barely register it, too focused on the feel of Ellie's hand in mine, the slight curl of her lips that promises something infinitely more enjoyable than target practice.
As we make our way through the bunker to our private room, I'm struck by how oddly normal this all feels now. Despite hiding out and being on the run from Norma, my time in this safe house has been almost... fun. Like a vacation from everything, classes, responsibilities, even my own trauma.
"What are you thinking about?" Ellie asks as we reach our room, the door sliding shut behind us with a soft pneumatic hiss.
"Just how weird it is that I'm actually enjoying myself," I admit, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Being here, I mean. Learning to shoot, figuring out my powers..." I trail off, looking up at her. "Being with you without having to worry about anything else."
Ellie's gaze softens as she looks down at me, her head tilting slightly. "You know, you're starting to look more like your old self again."
"Yeah?" I ask, surprised by her observation.
She stops at our bedroom door, turning to face me fully. Her hands reach out, fingers wrapping around mine as she towers over me. Despite her imposing height, there's nothing but tenderness in her touch.
"Shane, you don't have to rush feeling better, you know," she says quietly. "I don't really know what it's like to have gone through what you did, but..." Her thumbs trace gentle circles on my palms. "No matter what happens, you have me."
I look down at our joined hands, at the contrast between her strength and gentleness. "I kind of just want to stop thinking about it," I admit. "And once I kill Norma, I can be done with it."
Ellie's expression shifts, concern creasing her brow. "I'm not sure it will work out like…"
"Can we just not?" The words come out sharper than I intended, and I immediately regret it. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be short about it, but I'm just so exhausted of thinking about it."
"Of course, Shane," she says immediately, squeezing my hands once before leading me into the bedroom.
The door closes behind us with a soft click. Ellie's symbiote ripples beneath her skin as she pulls me close, her arms enveloping me in warmth. I press my face against her chest, listening to her heartbeat, steady and strong.
"I just want to feel normal again," I whisper against her skin.
“I know, baby."