"Alright, Harold. This is the final stage of your test. Three bullets, three targets."
You can't do this, how did you even make it to the final stage anywa-
You don't control me.
Harold placed the suppressant headphones on, shrouding his ears from the dissidents in his mind. Under the earmuffs, He had two earbuds filling his ears with the slow paced rhythms of some random mix he never heard before, a secondary line of defense per se. Variety to him was one of the best combatants to pressure.
He observed the intricate details of his revolver. Its creme white surface was scratched with age; despite this, it still contrasted sharply against the brown grip. This contrast was far too close to home for Harold, his angel and devil on each shoulder bickered constantly within. To take the chance or not? That was the number one argument in his mind. In an attempt to keep his mind from shifting into its previous state, he checked the chamber one last time. Three bullets, they were all that stood between him and a raise.
The raise was a lot more than another zero on his paycheck, more than doing something mundane like paying off his mortgage. It was rather a big middle finger to the doppelganger of doubt that grew alongside him. Every time he failed, the doubtful shadow cast a darker gloom in himself. Even while he was on the final stage of his test. Although he was flown out to Wichita, Kansas specifically for this one shot. Doubts were still cast that made him question what the hell he was doing halfway through it.
Harold exhaled his breath along with the shadow of self pity that was inside of him. Pushing the chamber back into the revolver. He raised his firearm, looking at its perfect imperfections one last time before he pulled back the hammer. Hearing the crrrraaank that it made as the gun flared with readiness.
Boom…

The target folded into the ceiling, replaced by a new one. Its smoldering head still smoking from the precise shot. The second dummy descended from the ceiling.

Boom…

The second target was more difficult, moving left and right at differing speeds. It didn't prove to deter Harold. The second dummy rose to the top of the firing range. His grip tightened while he witnessed the final dummy drop down.

3 seconds

Harold hesitated, the final shred of doubt within crushing a finishing blow. He almost let go of the gun then and there.

2 seconds

He took off his headphones and earmuffs, and pulled the trigger. Absorbing the deafening noise that left a ringing sound that startled his brain.

1 second

Boom…
The revolver fell out of his hands and hit the ground. Falling to his knees, Harold knew it was time to pack it in. There was no possible way he could've passed. Harold smiled to himself, it didn't matter because the shadow was dead. He got this far despite the constant hounding to himself. The result was not a promotion at work, but a promotion of self worth.
While Harold was relishing in self victory, the judge walked towards Harold with increasing speed & intensity. He placed a hand on Harold's shoulder whilst handing him a promotion slip with his other one.

"Nice Shot!"

Item Description: A 1964 Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum Revolver. When any ammunition is fired from the third chamber, an unidentified male voice will shout "Nice shot!"
Date of Recovery: 09-03-████
Location of Recovery: Wichita, Kansas, USA
Current Status: In storage at Site 19's vintage weapons depository.
Notes: Perfectly serviceable and well-maintained aside from the anomaly. Accuracy or even proficiency with the firearm is not required for the anomaly to function. Voice sounds whether or not the shot is, in fact, "nice".