Point Blank Range Mentor の小説・ストーリー

Mark had grown up with guns in the house as his father was a policeman, so he'd been to the range half a dozen times and had a basic grasp on firearm safety. While Maddy hit the target sometimes, and Mark hit it most of the time, Myra proved to be the best shot of the three of them, hitting the targets centre-mass with most of her shots. Brian Kane hit the centre mass with every shot which was impressive, until Connor stepped up and hit bullseyes and eyeballs for fun.

“Status?” “Stable.” “Proceed.” --- Night. City lights blur beneath me as I stand on the edge of a rooftop. Wind cuts across my skin. Cold. But I don’t feel it. Not really. Below— the target exits the building. Surrounded. Guarded. Predictable. “Distance: 84 meters.” “Wind: negligible.” “Clear shot.” I raise the weapon. Align. Focus. Everything narrows. Everything simplifies. One breath. One moment. One—

I also think that being fit is Daniel’s middle name, and that’s what defined him. We moved closer to Kourtney and Hansel’s side as William handed us the equipment needed for shooting range. He handed Daniel and me the holster belts we could clip around our waists, some safety goggles, and the earmuffs. After we’d prepared ourselves, we moved to the side to face the five human-shaped splatterburst targets which stood about twenty yards away from our vicinity. This moment reminded me of that time when I had the first firearm training with William. At first, I had difficulty shooting the red spots targets that were both on the head area and the chest. But now, I was certain that I would nail th

I asked. We walked towards my shooting range. Yes, I do have my own shooting range on my estate; it is better than going to one every time we train. We made our way over to the target area and pulled out ear muffs. I let Bella go first and watched as she took off the safety of her gun. I stood back and admired her backside. She had a fucking nice ass. One I would like to spank. Get your head out of the gutter, Ace. I scolded myself. I watched as she shot the dummy in the head, heart, and in the goons. Fuck, she was good. I thought she would miss it since it was a few meters away.

Close-cropped grey hair, flat voice, emotional availability of a padlock. "You here for sport? Defense? License requirements?" "Competence." His eyes lift. Maya smiles politely. It is a good answer because it sounds reasonable and explains nothing. "We can work with competence." The first session is safety. Rules. Procedures. Range etiquette. What to touch, what not to touch, when to stop, when to listen, when to keep her finger absolutely nowhere near trouble. Maya listens with the focus of someone being handed instructions for not dying stupidly. When Grant demonstrates proper handling, she watches his hands. Not the gun. The hands. The calm economy of movement. No flourish. No performance

Most activities just require a willing mind and hands to run. My own personal specialization is riflery, even though as a counselor, I don't actually get to shoot much more than demonstrations. But I'm a really good shot, and I admit to being a show-off. The actual instruction and range safety is handled by a senior staff member named Craig, an Army vet who has about every certification in safety and instruction either the military or the NRA can give. He is fifty-something and looks like he takes a ten mile hike each morning before breakfast. He is a good teacher, hyper safety conscious, and pretty funny when he wants to be... which is seldom.

I nod, still trying to push past the rising panic in my chest. He rakes his finger through his fluffy long brunette hair, pushing it aside, then turns to me. “For a beginner, your stance matters the most.” He positions himself, standing with his feet about shoulder-width apart. His body is squared up, feet planted with a relaxed readiness, shoulders back but firm. He raises the pistol, aligning it with one of the targets at the end of the range. He glances at me, making sure I’m paying attention. “Then your aiming, a hint? Use the sights to line up your target.”

The soundproofed room was empty that morning when Colton opened the door, and then waited until the redhead entered. Deep down, the militarized man didn't like what he was doing. Teaching Blair to be an agent, when she hadn't even mentioned that she enjoyed the profession, seemed wrong. - "Today is your lucky day. Let's practice some shooting" he commented. Target shooting was an activity that involved testing proficiency and accuracy, prediction and speed. It did not matter whether the shot was short or long range. - "Where do we start?" The redhead asked. There was a marking on the floor of the room indicating where people should stand, aim at the target and shoot. The distance between the

> "Why would you help me? After yesterday, most mentors would just give up." _*]:min-w-0"> "I'm not most mentors. And you're not most students." Ryder's expression was unreadable. "I told you before. I don't care about your bloodline. I care about results. Yesterday was a setback. Today is a chance to prove it was a fluke." _*]:min-w-0"> "And if someone sees us? Thinks we're breaking rules by training alone?" _*]:min-w-0"> "I cleared it with Sterling. This is official mentor business. No one will question it."