Rob pulled some of the pilfered equipment from my bag to distribute it between us. The largest items were the rifles Paul and Ted had been armed with.
"We've got two of these. Each of you take one."
Rob handed me one of the dense rectangles. I'd never actually seen one up close like this before in person; while I'd had enough exposure to popular culture over the years to understand where to put my hands, I was by no means a subject matter expert. Like a lumpy bed, on those nights I couldn't fall asleep, I felt restless and uneasy just from the touch of it. The arm-length gun felt oddly alien to my chilled hands: it felt heavy and dangerous.
"SK-Thirteen-R, Schwertkaufe models," Rob said. He manipulated my hands around the grip, which had buttons, labels, and all sorts of nonsense I wasn't sure I was ready to mess with. He slapped the back of the gun lightly and paused to ensure he had my full attention. "Hold this part to your shoulder. Point that end where you want it to go 'bang.' Squeeze, don't jerk."
It was a lot for my muddled brain to take in all at once. Though I'm sure Rob's delivery was rather precise and smooth, it was all jibberish as far as I was concerned. I sputtered, too busy in my attempts to not set it off unintentionally to pay attention fully the first time.
"I—uh, wh—bang where?!"
Rob actually snorted before he caught himself.
"You remember those shooter games, right? Karl and Preston wouldn't stop talking about em. I thought you were in the same circles, weren't you?"