"Flossmoor, one final thing." Bolingbrook looked at Clownmuffle so Clownmuffle remembered she was supposed to be Flossmoor. "The Physician informed me about your condition. As is standard protocol for Puella Magi with little magical combat ability, we've assigned you a weapon."
She retrieved a small case from the inside pocket of her coat. When opened, it contained an even smaller pistol and several rounds of ammunition.
"Normally we provide training for accuracy and—"
"I can use any weapon." Clownmuffle removed the gun from the case, loaded it, and aimed down the sights at a spray painted face with Xs for eyes.
"I hoped so. Word is you're an idiot savant at combat. Prove the rumors right and keep your partner alive—but don't fire until you're in the miasma. Now night is wasting, move."
(Chicago, chapter 12)