Firefight (The Reckoners, #2)

by Brandon Sanderson

Only no star had ever been that bright or that red. Crimson. It looked like a bullet wound in the dome of heaven itself.

“I’m going to destroy you, little man!” Sourcefield yelled after me.

Lol

My name is David Charleston. I kill people with super powers.

limited experience with social interaction. I mixed with ordinary people about the same way that a bucket of paint mixed with a bag of gerbils.

Yes…and after that, she’d starred in her own reality television show. Judge Regalia.

How unique

I liked guns with some wood on them, a gun that felt natural. Like you could take it hunting, rather than only kill people with it.

My eyelids drooped like angry drunk men stumbling down a street, looking for an alleyway in which to vomit.

hadn’t been a nerd, mind you. I’d just been the type of guy who spent a lot of time by himself, focused entirely on a single consuming interest.

For me, it was stressful. I wanted to do it right and not give away that I’d never done this before.

True, all the color was garish, but I couldn’t help but admire it just a little, particularly in contrast to the desolation between here and Newcago.

This time, when she’d pointed it at me, she’d flicked the safety on. If that

wasn’t true love, I don’t know what was.

“I joke about death, David. It’s an occupational hazard—you learn to laugh at it when it’s all around you. But we already lost one point man from this team.

Well, if you wanted to be pedestrian with your metaphors.

“You said ‘awesome’ wrong,”

“Like, I can spot stupidity, because I know it so well. The way an exterminator knows bugs really well, and can spot where they’ve been? I’m like that. A stupidinator.”

“I’ll be quiet as a buttered snail sneaking through a Frenchman’s kitchen.”

if a fat man at the buffet had suddenly forced his way between us to get at the mac and cheese.

“I’m pretty good at being me,” I said. “I’ve had all these years to practice—I hardly ever get it wrong these days.”

It was like jumping into a swimming pool without first looking to see if your friends had filled it with snakes.

“Nah,” I said. “I’m a washing machine at a gun show.” She blinked, looking totally befuddled. “…What did you just say?” “Washing machine?” I said. “Gun show? You know. Washing machines don’t use guns, right? No fingers. So if they’re at a gun show, there’s nothing they’d want to buy. Anyway, I’m good here. Not interested.” “Not…interested. It

there was a universal law regarding mankind, it was that they’d find a way to ferment anything, given time.

I started, heart pounding. Without the glowing fruit, the place was as black as the inside of a can of black paint that had also been painted black.

“The theory makes sense,” I said, blushing. “It’s like oatmeal on pancakes.”