The screams of terror was audible even behind the earmuffs Ontos wore. [b]It[/b] lifted up its rifle up, looking to [b]its[/b] back. The entire gun range acted like they noticed too, but they went back quickly to their shooting. Ontos glanced at [b]its[/b] brother, sitting upon a lonely chair just beside the exit of the shooting range. Well, Winston was technically Edward's older brother by a year or so, but Ontos shared the same blood and genes as Edward.

Winston shared the same black hair and purple eyes Edward once had, but the brother of [b]its[/b] host was dressed in a black business suit with blue tie, looking too formal for a visit to a gun store. He shared the same worried expression upon his face as everyone did a moment ago, though the moment for Winston refused to pass.

Ontos lowered his personal rifle and strung it up behind on [b]its[/b] back, moving quickly to Winston's side.

"Did̕ ̢yǫu hea̧r ̷s̸o͠mèth́ing?" asked Ontos, removing the earmuffs from the sides of [b]its[/b] ears.

Winston shot a nervous glance behind him. He couldn't see behind the walls, but he heard it, even with the earmuffs on. The gunshots of the shooting range, and the earmuffs, could not silence the panic of whatever was happening behind them.

"Yes, I think I did. And I don't think it's good. I heard screams, Ontos."

Ontos nodded. The little fingers on both of [b]its[/b] hands disappeared, morphing into a pistols. Ontos handed one to Winston, and patted [b]its[/b] adoptive brother on the shoulder as it smiled reassuringly.

"We'll͟ ch̶e̴c̸k ͢i̴t o̶u̧t́. Sta̛y sa͜fe,͘ Wi͞n̷st́on."

Every soul that comprised Ontos demanded acknowledgement. That was why Ontos referred to [b]itself[/b] as 'we'. The dead usually did not speak, when they did, they were interested in not being forgotten.

The horrified feeling that hung around the entrance and store-front of the gun shoot failed to notice the short and white-haired Ontos exit from the gun range and out of its premises, pistol in hand and rifle on [b]its[/b] back. The horror could easily be explained by the black-haired girl with the eye-patch and the huge sword she brandished. Standing in a pool of broken glass and with slight cuts everywhere on her, and considering the horrified expressions of everyone in the store, Ontos guessed that she crashed through the storefront. The souls in [b]its[/b] mind registered the familiarity of her face to Ontos, but their attention quickly shot to the Minion that had smashed her into the store.

A snap decision dissolved both of Ontos's arms into 6 floating rifles, surrounding [b]its[/b] body like guardian angels with superior firepower.

"O͠pe̴n fir͟e͞!"

Ontos liked to say that. Especially just before shooting.

The bullets sprayed in rapid, accurate fire towards the Minion. A few seconds later, the guns clicked with the dry sound of an empty magazine. A few of the bullets had struck the Minion, but it still stood upright.

"T̷h̕e͞ h͠el͘l͞.̀.͡." mumbled Ontos, retrieving the guns to his side.