Devero manages a snort of laughter. It's... actually a little reassuring, Sanzo's reminder that he's in the company of someone who has to fight against pretty much his entire world all the time. Sanzo's more suited to this than he is by far.
Not that there's long to ruminate on that. The monsters attack, and then there's only room in his head for the cycle of aim, fire, reload.
He's not the preternatural shot that Sanzo is, but he has been practicing his marksmanship since ordering his P-18 for the train. Between that, the sheer crush of monsters, and the fact that the holy pistol packs a hell of a punch, he's able to provide Sanzo with solid cover even if the bullets only strike a limb or graze past their target.
But though they're not talking, these fuckers are canny. They learn the pattern real quick, beginning to draw back to the cover of shadows and street debris when Devero has the pistol loaded and then rushing to overwhelm Sanzo as soon as that fifth shot discharges. He reloads as quick as he can with fingers that are at least steady, but he knows he's slow. He's too damn slow, and there are a lot of monsters out there, and the number of bullets in his pocket is chillingly finite.
It's probably for the best that there's no time to think; he can barely spare a though towards how long they'll be able to hold out.
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Not that there's long to ruminate on that. The monsters attack, and then there's only room in his head for the cycle of aim, fire, reload.
He's not the preternatural shot that Sanzo is, but he has been practicing his marksmanship since ordering his P-18 for the train. Between that, the sheer crush of monsters, and the fact that the holy pistol packs a hell of a punch, he's able to provide Sanzo with solid cover even if the bullets only strike a limb or graze past their target.
But though they're not talking, these fuckers are canny. They learn the pattern real quick, beginning to draw back to the cover of shadows and street debris when Devero has the pistol loaded and then rushing to overwhelm Sanzo as soon as that fifth shot discharges. He reloads as quick as he can with fingers that are at least steady, but he knows he's slow. He's too damn slow, and there are a lot of monsters out there, and the number of bullets in his pocket is chillingly finite.
It's probably for the best that there's no time to think; he can barely spare a though towards how long they'll be able to hold out.