A SoL quickie
>Marco glanced down at the .38 in his hand, the yellow tint of the goggles making everything slightly more intimidating.
>Picking up the revolver, he aimed, breathed...
>...and flinched as the report sounded through his headmuffs.
>A clear miss. Still an improvement from him dropping the gun halfway.
>Marco sighed and looked over
>Star was lining up shots with a .22, with mixed results.
>He laughed as she pouted from only hitting the paper twice.
>'Figures she'd be a little frustrated, what with having to deal with real recoil,' he thought.
>Looking down the lane, his eyes widen.
>Standing down at the end, with a blank state on his face, is Ferguson.
>Putting down the gun, he walked over. Ferguson noticed, stopped, and waved.
>"Hey, Ferg! I didn't know that you shoot," Marco says, watching the boy's target come back from the wall.
>"Yep," he replied bluntly. "Kinda rusty, though. Look at this."
>Marco's jaw hung as he saw the clean cluster of holes in the lower chest area of the human silhouette.
>"I usually hit the lung on the first shot, but all I'm doing is hitting his stomach," Ferg carried on, nonchalantly.
>"...Huh. Wow, didn't think you would know all this, Ferg."
>"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Diaz."
>Marco pondered those words as Ferguson casually walked away.
