Marksman Training Oblivion Novels & Stories

He’s dead before his knees even hit the rotting wood. The henchman standing closest to Dervishi shouts a warning in Albanian, raising his own weapon. Enzo pivots seamlessly, firing another double-tap that drops the man instantly. The room devolves into pure chaos. Gunfire erupts. The sharp, mechanical cracks of suppressed weapons mix with the deafening roar of unsuppressed rifle fire. Plaster dust rains down from the ceiling as bullets tear through the drywall. My training takes over, entirely bypassing my conscious thought. Dominik spent hours in the firing range with me, drilling the mechanics of violence into my muscle memory until it became instinct.

That question is yet to be answered. Three: The training. Yes, you heard that right. Everyone included in the mission are subjected to these training sessions. From sword fighting to rock-climbing to archery and hand-to-hand combat. You name it, they have it. Why are the fake prostitutes doing these things? No one knows. It’s said to be something that’s supposed to help us, but I don’t know how, since we’re basically just decorations in the upcoming mission. But hey, Alistair thinks it’s necessary, so who are we to question? And that brings me to my fourth and last reason for regretting the whole thing: Alistair.

Some began taunting with professional cruelty. "So weak!" Marcus shouted with mock disappointment. "Get up!" Vera commanded harshly. "Fight back, kid!" Jake added, his voice carrying deliberate scorn. Others joined in with psychological warfare, their voices mixing into a chorus of intimidation. "Haha! Mental resilience is also part of the training," Nina laughed coldly. "You're in for a very tough time ahead." "Unleash your fury, Florian!" another mercenary encouraged with false enthusiasm. Isabella's training method was brutally direct, prioritizing the rapid development of resilience and psychological fortitude. This approach represented a radical departure from the Nightshade pack's conv

“Do you even know how to fire that pistol?” Trailing behind Jim, Marcus chuckled. “This is a nine millimeter Glock Gen five. And I’m an ex-intel Marine sharpshooter, so shut it or I’ll put a bullet in you somewhere that hurts like hell but doesn’t kill you.” Ahead, Jim chuckled. “Okay, fine. Pick up the pace, Semper fi.” Behind him, Marcus huffed a laugh and grinned. He had to admit, he liked Jim Erikson. "How much of a lead do you think he's got?" he queried when further on, Jim knelt, piercing blue eyes scanning the ground.

Northstar was last to arrive, materializing at the edge of the group as if he’d been there all along. “I gathered all of you here,” I began, projecting my voice, “to be evaluated by my superior combat trainer. This is not a spar. This is a survival exercise. Your objective is to disable the trainer.” Bryan grinned. “Bring it on. I’ve been itching to roast something.” Mello nodded. “Okay, we want to see this superior soldier.” Emma chewed his lip. “Is he… scary?” Classy smirked. “Yeah, he might probably eat your head off.”