Firing Range

Neko smiles at this. He looks at the clock. "I'd advise rest though... It's late," Neko walks to the door, "See you around I guess... A pleasure to talk to you..."

Marcus nods and places the M4 on the rack, checking his watch, "I suppose it is...I must assemble some more intel on the upcoming mission I'm apparently leading." He starts to exit the Shooting range, mumbling to himself, "Fucking nutter site command, who the hell puts a man like him in that position?"

"... In his defence... He was once sane... Good luck with your mission" Neko leaves.

Sanders enters the firing range, purposefully walking towards the fourth lane. He always took the fourth lane. No rhyme or reason behind it, he just did. He adjusted the target range, adding another meter or so between himself and the paper target. With that done, the agent pulled free his Sig Sauer from his holster, assuming the Weaver stance and slowing his breath.

The Task Force agent opened fire seven times, pausing for one second in between each discharge. When the clip had been emptied, Sanders flipped the safety mode back on and pressed a button to his left, triggering a mechanism to bring the target back. He smirked at the sight. Seven rounds fired, none had missed, and six had hit their intended target: the head. The seventh round had hit the target square on the chest. Sanders smiled. Still got it.

At that, he holstered his handgun, and proceeded to make his way to the gun rack, remembering with surprising fondness the day he had encountered the agents of the Foundation. A large group of civilians had contracted SCP-008, and he was one of the few survivors from the community who had volunteered for the "clean-and-sweep" operations. He learned that the infected required severe cranial trauma to be neutralized, and he had put this knowledge to good news. The extermination had gone without incident.

A crash is heard at the door. Agent Mothman walked in, a gun case over his shoulder, a case of beer in the other, the bandaged forearm secured by a thin rubber pad. He found a stool and kicked it towards his booth. As he took a seat, he placed the case of beer at his feet before uncasing a customized G36-C. He then placed boxes of ammo next to the rifle, then cracked a fresh beer, downing the can, and throwing it onto the range.

"Range is hot!"

With that, he loaded a magazine, cocked the bolt, and squeezed a mag on full auto.

Lola proudly marches in the fir range holding her new gun license, pistol hanging from her holster-belt-thing. She wonders how the hell she didn't get caught cheating as she grabs a pair of earmuffs and the wrong box of ammo.
She turns and see's the case of beer on the floor and a bandaged arm going for another can. "Um...Hey. Are you sure you should be drinking and shooting?"

"Are you sure a .45 fits in a pistol for 9mm?"

He opens a fresh beer and reloads his rifle, not looking at the woman

Lola looks closer at the box, then hides it behind her back. "No... that's why I was going to test it... but now I won't," she backs up then switches ammo.

"Good." He squeezed off another magazine. he then continued to drink his beer. "You might have a permit, but you have a lot to learn."

"Pfft- like you know how much experience I have," she says as she takes a seat two booths away from him. She puts down the amo and clumsily unholsters her pistol. "Crap, where's the-" Lola presses a button and the magazeen slides out, bounces on the table, and onto the ground. "... there it is."

As she bends down to get the mag, she looks over at the man. "Hey... aren't you that guy from the clinic? The one that had to get a bullet pulled out of 'em?"

"What of it..." He said as he took another pull on the beercan. "...Soldiers get shot all the time, this isn't any different."

"Soldiers get shot," she says as she inspects the mag, "Hicks get drunk and have," she reloads her gun and takes three shots at the little paper target at the end of the range, "misfires."

"Lucky for you, I'm not a hick." He killed his beer can, feeling the booze and making him slightly buzzed. He opened fire again, ripping lola's target in half. "Misfires....Pfft."

Lola glares over at him, then her target, then back at him, "So, what really happened then?"

"I got shot. There was a struggle. Wrestled a pistol from her. It went off."

Lola takes a few shots at her half target. Most of them hit the paper, but there are the grouping is a sporadic at best.

"Her?" she asks with a smirk. "That's what you get for putting guns in foreplay," she says in a singsong voice.

"Like you'd know anything about f*$#ing...doubt you've even had that opportunity."

She releases a few more bullets from the chamber, and replies with a sultry lisp, "You'd be surprised."
Then goes back to shooting until the magazine's empty.

He gave a hearty laugh and shook his head. "Too young for me, You know less than you think you do." He took a final pull of his beer can and threw it onto the range, grabbing a fresh beer from his case.

"Please," she chuckles. "Have you seen what we work with? Knowing less than you think is practically a prerequisite."
Lola takes a few shots at the beer can in the range, missing every time. She curses under her breath.

"If you stopped pulling your hand hard left, you'd be able to hit something..." he says as he scoffs.

Lola glares at the beer can for a moment, then sighs. "So what am I suppose to do then," she asks as she leans back in her chair to look over to him, "push the gun?"

"Your pistol is an extension of you. You keep that in mind..."

That bit of information penetrates through her thick, stubborn skull.
Lola stands up and raises her straightened arms at the target. Eyeing the new extension attached to her hands, she aims
"Range's hot!"
The can acquires three new bullet holes.

Lola beams, looking between him and the can.

-Angel walked up with two large semi-automatic rifles and a handgun in tote. She cracked a smirk and set them down, loading a clip into the handgun and taking aim at the target across the field. She closed her right eye and pulled the trigger three times. Three times the bullets made contact with the target's 'face' area. She smirked and lowered the gun, laughing under her breath.- "Bang bang, dude."