Thread: Special Tactics and Training Building

NameNicname Loyal Bancouer Fossoyeur. Statistics MUS Good AIM Superb FIT Great INT Fine CS Great CHM Poor Attire T-shirt , jeans, and running shoes. Weapons Five Seven Tactical semiautomatic. Location Firing range. Tagging Anyone. ------------------------ The first order of business when he had woken up that morning had been his work out. A nice three mile run in the complex's gym to start, about thirty minutes spent in the weight room, about thirty minutes in the pool, and an hour of cool-down exercises to make a relatively easy workout for the morning. After that he had gone to practice some of his hand-to-hand combatives, working on keeping his skills sharp in the down time while the former Legionnaire waited to catch a recruiter's eye, and now was the final task of the day before getting something to eat. Duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Loyal had walked in to the firing range looking like he felt like he owned the place, paying little mind to the three other warfighters off by the rows at first as he had found a locker to put his equipment in. Pulling on his shoulder holster, he had placed the Five Seven neatly under his left arm, grabbed three magazines of ammunition, and had headed over to the range. As if by coincedence, the range he picked placed himself between the young man and the older woman -- who looked vaguely familiar. Venessa-something? He couldn't remember exactly. The only reason he had paid her any mind was when he had first mistaken her private security career for work as a PMC like what he had done in the past. Nobody of interest. As far as the three and their conversation went, he seemed to pay them little mind. He brought up the target, 50 meters away, loaded a magazine, the slide clicked in to place, and he took aim. Unlike the other three, his shots were not so rapid, yet anybody who said he was inexperienced would have been a fool. Rapid pairs, though timed apart long enough to be slightly noticable since he was only training, he proceeded to empty the magazine. Rather than aim for the head, as most might, his training in the Legion shined through, and his shots hit in the upper center mass. Had he been using, say, a sniper rifle, he likely would have been aiming for the Sniper's Triangle, but this was not the case. Nor did he bring his Famas today, preferring to keep it relatively simple this morning. As he finished the first round of ammunition, he had already begun to retrieve the second, and had dropped the first moments before sliding the second home. Yet he left one round in the chamger, making it unnecessary to operate the slide manually, and allowing an almost seemless transition to the next string of two-round taps. With the second magazine expended, he dropped it from the weapon, let the slide forward, and held the weapon at the low ready ahead of him while he examined the target from the current distance. Hmm. If anything, the simple sound seemed to be a rather disastisfied one. He brought the target in for closer inspection, brow furrowed. Merde! The profanity was muttered, yet harsh, as he observed his work. It was obvious he was clearly no amatuer, a man of combat experience beyond what the younger of the trio could probably have by the looks of them if he judged them correctly, but it was also obvious that he was in no way pleased with the groupings in the upper chest that he had achieved.