The Kingdom shooting range is a stretch of cracked asphalt lined with weathered targets. Dust motes dance in the harsh midday light. Seth stands at the firing line, his left arm wrapped in fresh, white bandages that end abruptly at his wrist. The weight of the Colt 45 in his right hand feels alien yet necessary.
Seth
My aim is off. The balance is all wrong now. I need to adapt, or I am as good as dead.
Miller
Seth You are favoring your right side too much, Seth. You cannot rely on your old stance. Take a wider base, lock your core.
Seth
Miller It is not the stance, Miller. It is the missing piece of the puzzle. I have to compensate for the weight shift. Watch the target.
Seth raises the Colt 45, his scar puckering as he narrows his eyes. He squeezes the trigger. The kick is sharper than he expects, jarring his shoulder, but the bullet tears through the center of the paper target. He exhales, his jaw set in a grim, serious line.
“This guns not it Tyrese got anything else I say he says let me see digs through his bag and pulls out a sheriff revolver and says what about this”
SUCCESS (Superb Firearms, rolled -2)
Seth
Miller This Colt feels like a toy, Miller. It is too light, and the balance is ruined with one hand. Tyrese has a cache nearby. Does he have anything with more bite?
Miller
Seth You are asking for a lot, considering the state of your arm. But... let me see.
Miller grunts, stepping away to dig through a heavy canvas duffel bag tucked behind a rusted oil drum. He pulls out a weathered, heavy-frame sheriff revolver with a worn grip and a long, imposing barrel. He tosses it toward Seth.
Miller
Seth Try this on for size. It is a heavy hitter. See if you can handle the weight shift with the extra length.
Seth
Finally, something that feels like an extension of my arm instead of a burden.
+ New Item Acquired
Heavy sheriff revolver
“I start training and shooting and I get the hang of it really good and I hit all bulls eyes with my new heavy sheriff revolver”
SUCCESS (Superb Firearms, rolled -1)
Seth tightens his stance, shifting his weight to compensate for his missing hand. He grips the heavy sheriff revolver with his remaining hand, feeling the cold steel ground his focus. He exhales, squeezing the trigger with rhythmic precision.
Seth
One shot. One heart.
The heavy barrel kicks back, but Seth keeps his wrist locked. Crack. The paper target center disintegrates. He fires again, then again, the thunder of the revolver echoing against the concrete walls of the range. Each round finds the center mark, the paper rings shredded into a single, clean hole.
Miller
Seth You are making that thing look like a simple extension of your own bone, man. Most guys would still be fumbling the reload, but you are painting the target. You might just survive this war after all.
Seth
The recoil doesn't fight me anymore. It’s part of the rhythm.
Seth lowers the revolver, the barrel still smoking, his gaze fixed on the shredded target with a look of cold, calculated intensity.