I’m pretty sure I never set my alarm clock to ‘screaming in agony’. I noticed much of what I was standing sitting on was a metal slab with a glass covering, and something other than my muscles respond. My arms were gas, fluffy and full of nothing, yet there was power behind them. I touched a cool glass willing it to open, when it shattered amidst the rumbling. I dropped down to the cold white marble flooring completely boneless and despite expecting silence, a loud roar in the distance greeted my entrance. Time slowed as blue lines and numbers and words filled my vision detailing my surroundings weaponizable format. I didn’t even know there were that many ways to take someone out with a coffee machine. It gave me numerous options none of which I had any memory of ever …show more content…
Go figure. There were some odd metal cases that I couldn’t open alongside some rather strange weapons. Some looked like party toys and others looked like crowd control items mashed with a gun, seriously one had what looked like a gun with a blow horn barrel. Or what looked to be a metal pineapple grenade. Either that or it was for decoration. There were some desks and other odd things in the vicinity, I turned the corner to find a redneck’s paradise. Weapons, upon weapons all lined up on racks like it was a bargain store. I managed to find a gun that hadn’t been put behind lock and key, a weird futuristic piston thing with a blue hum. Fiddling with the small bit under it revealed, finally, a flashlight. The blue HUD came back online and - What the Fu-!? My hand bleed liquid tar and blue gasoline acid onto the gun, dissolving it. On a closer inspection I realized it hadn’t been dissolved simply broken apart, piece by piece, and then the weird alien liquid proceeded to eat the glowing blue part. [DEPLOY PRIMARY
The shell casing could be matched to a particular model of gun, further DNA and
The gun was tucked inside a dresser drawer in the green house on 81st Street. It was July 8, 2010, and scores of investigators scoured the home of Lonnie Franklin Jr., who was suspected in a series of killings of women in South Los Angeles.LAPD criminalist Rafael Garcia testified Tuesday that down a hallway inside the home was a bedroom with blue walls, a twin bed and a black dresser. Clothes hung from a closet door.He said he pulled out the top drawer from the dresser. What he discovered next would become a key piece of evidence in the case against Franklin.Strewn amid cables and remote controls was an F.I.E Titan .25-caliber semiautomatic handgun, a loaded magazine and 10 loose bullets, Garcia said.It was the gun prosecutors say was used to shoot 25-year-old
cluster revolver. The only problem was that the revolver blew up when they shot it. The reason
For the first time that night, inhuman shuddering took me from head to foot. I stood unmanned, and my dear fathers image came to mind... #
If you are doubtful about what you are seeing, then do not dust for prints just submit the firearm to the lab for examination. Personally delivering the evidence to the lab is preferred. A loaded firearm have a special case to be transported in. If being sent through the mail, it must be unloaded and packaged securely. Also make a sketch of the area that all evidence is recovered from. Make sure to include the location measurements. The serial number should be recorded as well as photographed. Older firearms do not serial numbers so they are to be tagged and pictures taken very well.
Objects for analysis can be found in a good number of places. When looking for firearm evidence, a bullet can be lodged in a body, an object, a wall, or in some cases, could have come to stop on the ground. CSIs must also check around the area the gun was believed to be fired and the suspect’s hands for gunshot residue. Searching for gunshot residue is normally done only at the crime scene as to confirm/disaffirm a suspect as soon as possible because the residue can be washed from hands and clothing cleaned. Furthermore, there can be tool marks almost anywhere. It is less likely to have tool marks appear on a body, but it is not...
In 1784, someone using a flintlock pistol shot Edward Culshaw. In those days, there were no bullets, as we know them. Gunpowder and a ball of lead were put into the gun’s muzzle and packed with paper wadding. A spark made when the gun’s hammer struck some flint at the back end of the barrel ignited the powder. When the constable examined Culshaw’s wound, he found a piece of newspaper used as wadding to pack the powder in the killer’s gun. The prime suspect in the killing was a man named John Toms. When a piece of newspaper found in Toms’ pocket was compared with the piece found in the wound, the pieces fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Based on the evidence, Toms was easily convicted. The Toms case was probably the first in America in which ballistics was used to solve a crime.
A calm crisp breeze circled my body as I sat emerged in my thoughts, hopes, and memories. The rough bark on which I sat reminded me of the rough road many people have traveled, only to end with something no one in human form can contemplate.
One of the theories of this unsolved mystery is that someone got through the window and used the gun silencer to kill Isidore Fink, and escape from the window with
I am also pro-gun, I own three and have a concealed carry permit. I just don't believe that anyone needs an AR15 in Walmart, lol.... It is also who has guns here in Florida. The testing is far too easy for a concealed carry, and the back ground checks to lax. All I want to happen with gun control is tougher background checks and a waiting period. If you do not have a criminal history, that should not bother you. I think what Bethany has tried to convey in her posts, and I as well, is the strong double standard and hypocrisy that exists in the south. Now, I have never lived in the Mid-West or West coast, perhaps it is there too, but it is strong in the South. During my time in South Carolina and now Florida all seems forgiven as long as you got to church on Sunday. You can be a down right cruddy individual all week, and people seem to feel forgiven on Sunday. In upstate NY, where religion is not that influential in
Disappointment, disbelief and fear filled my mind as I lye on my side, sandwiched between the cold, soft dirt and the hot, slick metal of the car. The weight of the car pressed down on the lower half of my body with monster force. It did not hurt, my body was numb. All I could feel was the car hood's mass stamping my body father and farther into the ground. My lungs felt pinched shut and air would neither enter nor escape them. My mind was buzzing. What had just happened? In the distance, on that cursed road, I saw cars driving by completely unaware of what happened, how I felt. I tried to yell but my voice was unheard. All I could do was wait. Wait for someone to help me or wait to die.
I view coaching sports through my filter of being a fighter pilot (a player on a demanding athletic team) and leading around three other pilots in a 4-ship formation (the first string) as the “flight lead” (the team captain) that was part of a squadron (the team) of about 25 pilots (players) who were all technically skilled, qualified, and proficient with sound tactical awareness in a “High Ego, High Tasks” environment. We were “mastery-oriented” and “success seekers” in a “Competitive Climate”. Everyone wanted to be the best and competition was fierce yet friendly (similar, I guess, to some of what was portrayed in the movie Top Gun). We were all physically fit to fly one of the most maneuverable and physically demanding jets every conceived
I heard a noise, but at first I didn't think anything of it. Then I
My stomach retched, my throat dry, had I got myself into this mess? A distant thud echoed across the cold, hard floor, ricocheting into my ear. Someone was coming.