Novel & Cerita Straight Shooter

Weapon drawn before he even straightens up. He doesn't call out. Doesn't ask for ID. He just raises his rifle and targets Isla. I draw my sidearm. Glock 19. Fifteen rounds. MSA Section 4.6 flashes in my mind—The Client shall not interfere with the Contractor's operational decisions. I’m supposed to observe. Stay back. Let the sovereign handle her own war. But this isn't a boardroom. This is a kill box. I fire. Two rounds. Center mass.

I’m not thanking you for anything… shove it up your ass sideways. “Because I could have, you know. I still could.” Casually, he set his gun on the table between them. “Know why they call me Trigger?” She nodded. “Why, cunt?” Ignoring the insult, she answered him without emotion. “Because you shoot people between the eyes without hesitation. You’re said to be very fast, and very accurate at it.” He paused, a bit taken aback; she sounded like she was reading the phone book aloud. “Yeah. That’s right.”

I stand, stroll around a bit, limber up. The adrenaline is pounding. Calm down... I hold out my hand. It's trembling a little. I stroll some more, take a couple of deep breaths, then try again, splaying fingers. Steady as a rock... Taking my place, flat-chested to the ground, I sight him. The crosshairs weave one way then the other until... There... Got him... ... they centre squarely over my target. It's a hell of a shot. Over a mile

If he didn’t act now, Schading might lose his shit, decide to take his wife hostage after all, and blow the head off his expendable tagalong, Cutter. With a rapid mental ticktock in his head counting down the seconds, One-Mile realigned his shot, curled his finger a little tighter around the trigger…and squeezed. The crack of his shot resounded in his ears as the rifle kicked back, but he stayed with the scope and watched the bullet plant itself dead center in the middle of Schading’s forehead. The would-be gunman crumpled to the concrete. Blood splattered onto the screaming woman behind him and pooled around his body.

Nick BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. I took off my earpiece and lowered my rifle on the table. I pushed the lever, causing the sheet of silhouette target paper in front of me to dangle. Bullet holes peppered the black and white target. Fifteen out of fifteen of them were in the bull’s eye. I smirked. I pulled up a freshly drawn target and fired my prestigious M&P 9 M2.0, hitting the target in the head, chest, and crotch. The holy trinity.

Adjust my feet and arms. I look straight ahead. “Stop…. touching me.” I seethe. He backs off. “Will you relax! No wonder you can’t fire a shot. You’re too stiff. Look.” He grabs his gun and positions himself and fires. He hits the bull’s-eye. “See? Loose. Have fun with it.” He grins. “Fun.” My brow ticks up. “Yeah, fun. You have fun, right? Have you even heard of fun?” He crosses his arms.

he said and he got up nearing at them. “Fuck, you almost killed me ducker,!” his friend Exclaimed who was leaning on the wall while Stretching his arms and there is a little paper in his side which is they need to hit that paper without hurting him. “Let me try,” he said took the one dagger, and threw it into the target. “I am still the shooter one,” he said while looking at the Target.

Blood gurgles from the Hunter's mouth as he crumples to the ground, his lifeless eyes staring up at the night sky. "Woohoo!" Vivaldi exclaims, his face alive with the thrill of the fight. He charges at the Hunters with the speed of a cheetah on espresso shots, his wild hair whipping in the wind. Bullets, arrows, and other projectiles sail towards him, but he embraces the impact like a metalhead at a mosh pit, making no effort to dodge them.

His confidence oozed out of him, he had the ability to changes someone’s mind with one word or look. “Archer?” The nickname Archer had come from his sharp rifle skills. All through his military career, he had been the number one marksman in his unit. When he transferred to the ETT he maintained his target precision and the nickname that came with it. “Nothing. Just thinking.” He replied to Johnson. Archer ran his hand through his hair, resting his elbows on his camouflaged covered knees. He interlocked his fingers, his chin resting on the crook of his knuckles. Johnson observed his comrade, Archer’s legs fidgeted disconcertingly which he only did when he was racking his brain for a solution

The blonde man quickly asked. The white-haired geezer sighed and said coolly, "In the savanna, young hunters are given a pistol, a hunting knife, and a double rifle. The rifle has two triggers which fire separately so that in case you didn't land your first shot, you can double-tap at top speed. "And if you miss your second shot, you would have the pistol for a third. Even if that fails, you can go for a melee attack with the knife… Either way, you're either the hunter or the hunted."