Hk | 97 Magazine

“Seventy-three percent helical tension retention,” he muttered, reading a data slate. “Better than the prototype. The 97’s double-stack, quad-feed geometry is inefficient in static storage, but under full-auto stress, it achieves zero friction lock-up. The spring is a carbon-metallic weave. It breathes. It adapts.”

“Because it’s too good, Sergeant. A magazine that feeds ninety-seven rounds without a single jam, without a single misfeed? That’s not engineering. That’s a statement. Give these to every soldier, and wars end too quickly. Logistical nightmares become irrelevant. Ammo trucks sit idle. The generals don’t like that. The contractors really don’t like that.” Hk 97 Magazine

The HK 97. Not a weapon. A secret.

A 4.6x30mm round is small, but when you send ninety-seven of them downrange in a single, uninterrupted stream, they stop being bullets and become a liquid. The first fifty chewed through the Chimera’s chitinous plating. The next thirty shredded the synthetic muscle beneath. The final seventeen turned the creature’s core into a fine, pink mist. The spring is a carbon-metallic weave

The bioconstruct, callsign "Chimera," had evolved beyond standard threat parameters. It had shed its human disguise in the abandoned subway station, revealing a torso made of shifting crab-shell and limbs that ended in hypodermic stingers. When Mei’s squad opened fire, their standard mags ran dry in three-second bursts. The Chimera just laughed, a wet, gurgling sound. A magazine that feeds ninety-seven rounds without a

Mei looked at her hands. They were still shaking. “Why isn’t this standard issue?”

The man paused. He held up the empty HK 97, and for a moment, the overhead light caught the residual heat still shimmering inside the smoked glass.