[Inventory] Primary Secondary Pistol

AKM

Wt: 4.24 Kg

[Empty] M1911

Wt: 1.21 Kg Pockets Backpack (Not Equipped) Universal Chest Rig (3 Slots) 6L10 Bakelite Magazine (0/30)

Wt: 0.2 Kg 6L10 Bakelite Magazine (0/30)

Wt: 0.2 Kg 6L10 Bakelite Magazine (0/30)

Wt: 0.2 Kg Weight: 8.1/28 Kg

Further back inside Stoner’s armory, metallic clacks echoed throughout the room. Shelves filled with random gun parts and machinery surrounded Marcus as he underwent his drills. If one was so audibly inclined, they would recognize the sounds as the clack of a rifle's magazine being slotted in, magazine catch engaging, and the action racked back and released.

Marcus stared ahead and aimed his AK to the lathe positioned against the armory wall. He fished another empty magazine from his vest. Smooth and deliberate, without taking his eyes off the target, Marcus fished out a fresh magazine from his vest and used his thumb to press on the catch, letting the empty magazine fall into the floor. With one smooth motion, Marcus rocked the magazine into the well, feeling more than hearing the catch engage as it locked the magazine in place. He followed by reaching under the receiver, tilting the rifle slightly, then pulled at the charging handle using the tip of his finger and releasing it with an audible clack.

Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Marcus repeated the adage. He had spent almost all of the time he had before the face-off practicing his sight alignment as he knew it would be the sticking point in the coming match. It was the best time and cost-effective method to have his fundamentals drilled, save being in the range and shooting targets himself. It would be enough, given that he won't be going against a rifle champion in the coming face-off.

At least, that was what he hoped.

“Hey, Hart. Your competition came early.” Stoner called from the front, taking Marcus out of his headspace and back into reality.

“Got it. I’ll be coming shortly.” Marcus replied, doing one more reload drill, this time attempting to do it as fast as possible. He pulled his last mag and pushed at the catch rocking the fresh magazine home as the other magazine clattered on the floor, and within a second, reached under the rifle and racked the bolt. Tilting his head slightly forward, he could see that the sight was aligned and still centered on his target. It was fast enough, and it should do, for now.

“You keep doing that kid and you’ll run out of things to surprise me,” Stoner remarked, walking in his direction while wiping his hands with an oily rag. He threw the rag towards the tables on the side, landing on a partially assembled RPK, secured to the table with a vise. It's Stoner’s latest project.

Marcus thought about trying to ask him if he wanted some help in his shop as he did have previous experience in building guns. He may not be at the level Stoner is at but enough to be a simple assistant. Marcus still remembered fondly his perfectly balanced AK, chambered in 5.56. He had painstakingly modified it from a Russian import Saiga and had been heavily modified to look like what Russian special forces would take to battle.

“Stop putting your bar so low and I wouldn't have to,” Marcus replied, bending over and picking the magazines from the floor.

“With all the shit I had to deal with, you know I had to,” Stoner replied, walking over to give Marcus a pat on the back. "Good luck kid, I'm rooting for you."

"Thanks." Marcus nodded.

Walking to the front, Marcus was surprised as he recognized the woman standing next to Colombus. Meeting gazes, Marcus guessed that she was surprised to see him too, given the look she sent him. Marcus went through the partition door and greeted the two with a handshake.

“You ready?” Colombus asked, straight to the point.

“Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be.” Marcus replied.

“Ylenka, this is Hartdegen. Hartdegen, Ylenka. I’ll get everything prepared. You two get acquainted.” Columbus said, then walked away.

“Could you have been at least a bit considerate and took an easier name?” Ylenka asked, breaking the silence. Like Marcus, she wore the same newbie grays along with a type 56 chest rig filled with magazines. Slung on her shoulder is an AKS-74U, the shortened version of the AK-74, its triangle stock folded to be even more compact.

Marcus grinned. “You wouldn't get it.”

“I wouldn't remember it either.”

“Just call me Hart then. That short enough for you?”

“Short would keep it in my memory, but won't take my attention.”

Marcus scoffed, feigning offense. “Women.” Curious, he asked. “So how did the guy found you?”

“I got my friends to give me a connect, Bossman over there is looking for a good shooter at a low level. They're vouching for me that I’ll be able to come through, the pay is too good to pass up. You?”

Marcus shrugged. Looking away, Columbus was busy talking with Stoner, passing the armorer a credit chit to which he pocketed. “I got his attention. He came down and asked me himself.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Maybe it's because of my good looks? I just batted my eyelashes then gave a strut and he came coming.”

“Tell me. I told you how I got here. Now is your turn to tell yours.”

Marcus sighed. “I got top scores in the pistol course.”

She paused, looking up. “What was your name again?”

“Hartdegen”

“Hart- de- gen.” She muttered, Marcus looked over her. She was busy looking at screens. “Oh wow. That’s impressive.”

Marcus didn't reply, only shrugging.

“Tell you what." She said, "We playing off each other without anything else would be boring. Let's make a bet. If I win, you coach me to get top in pistols.”

Marcus didn't reply, instead, he looked over the girl next to him and wondered what angle she was playing. 'Was getting to the top scores really that impressive?' he wondered. Weighing his options, Marcus decided getting something for himself would be worth it. “You have cash?” He asked.

“I do.”

“Alright. Cash for me. How about a thousand MRC?” Marcus offered. It's his equivalent cost of living for a month. Risking a few hours to a day of playtime for a month's rent and food is easily worth it.

She scoffed. “You're not worth that much honey.”

“It's what my time is worth." He lied. "You're the one that came with the offer in the first place. But you did give me an idea. I wonder how many people are interested in a lesson and how much they're willing to pay for it.”

“Alright. A thousand credits if you win. Deal?” She said, biting her tongue.

Looking at her, Marcus wondered if he did overcharge for what she could get in return for the bet. Despite that, the bet still needed some clearing up.

“No, not yet. Since you can easily keep me tied up coaching you by throwing the course, I’ll give you an hour session teaching you everything you’d like to know and everything I could teach you. If you win that is.”

"One is too low, you're better off just working for money if you're worth a thousand cred an hour." She replied. “Five.”

"A life full of money isn't worth it if you're not having fun. I'm doing this in my own time. My own expense." Marcus rebutted. “Two.”

"Still too low. I bet you're the type of person who likes taking other people's money in exchange for nothing." She replied, “Four.”

"Oh wow. Now you're attacking my person for being firm on what I'm worth?" Marcus replied, doubling down on his lie. “I've been called worse, woman. Two.”

"Hah! then you do admit being that scoundrel. Use this opportunity to atone for what you do. Four.”

“Two,” Marcus replied. "My soul is happy where it is. this is not a place for a nun, which I doubt you are. Also, doing what you're saying won't get me points on the man upstairs anyway."

A look of defeat washed over Ylenka's face, she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Come on. Let's meet in the middle. Three.”

Marcus watched her and sighed. The woman's ultimate move appeals to a man's emotion. Still, three one-hour sessions aren't that bad in case he loses when five sessions is already a steal in the first place.

“Alright,” Marcus replied, rubbing his face from how uneven this bet was.

“Deal?” she said, lighting up.

“Deal," Marcus confirmed. "A thousand Martian credits if I win, three one-hour coaching sessions if you win.”

Ylenka nodded, composing herself to a normal expression. She offered a hand to which Marcus took.

Columbus, who had been standing on the side watching the two of them settle their agreement, decided to butt in. “I heard everything. I’ll mediate your bet. I'll hold Ylenka's money, but as for you Hartdegen,"

"- A thousand creds is not worth running away from," Marcus added. "It's not worth a hit in anybody's reputation."

Colombus nodded, content on his declaration. He looked at Ylenka who also nodded in agreement. "Okay. You two ready?”

“I’m always ready,” Ylenka said.

Marcus nodded, adjusting the rifle slung on his shoulder.

"Follow me then," Colombus said, leading the way to one of the indoor courses.

The three entered the course. Marcus went immediately to the overhead catwalks to look over everything. The course had been arranged with long sightlines reaching a hundred meters along with branching rooms with tight corridors. Going down, he laid his equipment on the benches and made sure that everything in his kit was ready to go.

“Rules are simple. The score is by time. Two shots to the chest will take the targets down, one in the head. There are thirty targets in total, all within different ranges so a perfect run would take sixty rounds. Shoot more, and you will have a three-second penalty for every shot missed, and a two-second bonus for every round saved. Shooting positions will be lit up by spotlights along with the targets for that position. This isn't the usual rifle course and is set up by me so it will not affect the weekly rankings. Any questions? No? Who wants to go first?”

“Ladies first?” Marcus said, turning to Ylenka.

“No, you do it. MR high score.” She replied.

“I’ll go first then. I’m allowed to walk the course right? Since I’ll go first.”

“I think that’s fair,” Colombus replied. “We’ll start when you come back.”

Marcus walked the course, taking a closer inspection on the ground. Unlike the pistol course, the rifle course was much bigger, at least three times larger in floor area. It both had short and long-range sightlines reaching up to a hundred yards all doable with the AK. With thirty targets, it was hard to remember all of them, which was probably why Colombus activated the spotlights to aid Marcus and make the runs as fair as possible. Reaching the end, he came back to the two and nodded.

"We're good," Marcus said, picking up his rifle and loading the rounds into his magazines, smacking them in the table after fully loading them. Putting the magazines in their slots, Marcus then tightened his vest and jumped around to make sure that the magazines won't fall off when running.

Picking up the rifle, loaded a fresh magazine and racked the bolt, letting out a satisfying clack, then engaged the safety. Marcus could feel the two looking at him but made sure for it not to bother him. He was making sure everything was working well, and any blunders he makes here would translate to time lost and risk him losing the match.

He slung the rifle and took a deep breath. Looking behind, he sent the two a confirming nod and pressed the button that counted down the start of his run.

With a beep, he took off to the tight hallway ahead of him. He stopped in place just as two targets simultaneously popped out and got lit up by the overhead spotlights. Marcus raised his rifle and lined up a shot, finger on the trigger. He felt a little creep on the trigger until he hit its ‘wall’ breaking into a crisp pull. His earlier trigger polishing work did what is intended. With both eyes open, he saw the bullet splatter high on the target’s torso, going down.

The round hit where a person's neck would be. The hit must've been registered as a headshot and took the target down with one hit. Breathing out, Marcus lined up another shot and pulled. Hitting high once again and taking the target down with one shot.

Lights turned off with a loud click, Marcus ran to the next area. He had to admit, this was fun. Just like going against other shooters in his previous two gun competitions were. The added fact of him going in first lit up a fire under his ass, making him sprint faster and push himself even harder than he thought. His debt, his past, the pressure to make the best in this second life was all forgotten, thrown to the back of his mind as the only thing that mattered is in the present. Everything else melted into the background as he sunk deeper into the zone. Now, he was a machine.

He sprinted as fast as he could, controlled his breathing, slid into position to take a shot prone for the long hundred-meter shots, and braced his rifles on windows and structures for best stability whenever he could. His gun went dry, the trigger only emitting a dull click instead of a bang.

For a second, he looked at it confused and realized he was out. Reaching to his vest, he grasped the magazine tight and slapped the magazine catch with his thumb, and inserted the magazine clasped in his hand. The spent magazine clattered on the floor just as he slotted the fresh one into the well and rocked it back to click into place. Automatically, he reached under the weapon and pulled at the charging handle as he was scanning in front for the next target. He found it lit against the dark backdrop. He shouldered his rifle, aiming down the sights. Breathing slow, Marcus squeezed the trigger, and the target went down.

“Time!” Colombus yelled, and the spotlights turned off.

Marcus sighed, closing his eyes. He walked back to the two to find Ylenka laughing by herself while shaking her head, next to a grinning Columbus.

“I'm going to say it. I lost.” She said as Marcus joined the two. “I wouldn't waste everyone’s time to even think that I could beat that.”

"Are you sure?" Columbus asked. "You wouldn't even try?"

"If he went for two tap body shots, I would have risked going for the head to beat him. But you saw what he did, I wouldn't be able to match that with where I am at. He won the match and the bet."

“Here,” Colombus said, handing over a card. Marcus looked at it to see that it had a million game credits plus change inside. With the exchange rate of a thousand in-game credits forever MRC, it was exactly what was agreed on the deal with some change.

“The bit of overflow should take care of the conversion. I’ll see you later, expect me to track you down for that session.” Ylenka said winking as he turned away and made for the door.

Attention!

Friend request received from Ylenka

Player ID: 305536616731

Accept? [Y/N]

“Appreciated.” Marcus could only mutter. There was still a level of detachment as he held the money that is worth a month of his living expenses. Maybe, he thought, after getting the money out of the game will the reality sink in, that he can make money after all.

“Congratulations,” Colombus muttered. Both men watched as Ylenka walked away. "If there are any reservations I had with your level of skill, then consider it all washed away."

"Thanks," Marcus replied.

“You should deposit the money in a bank, or have it converted into cash. But first, hand me your stats and I’ll set up your gear for you if you don't already have your own preference. You'll have it in two hours. Then you can rest up, or use the rest of the day however you like. Tomorrow, I will add you to my party and we'll set out to finish the quest."

"Also," Columbus added. "If you plan to betray me in our arrangement, I suggest you back out now, or simply throw away that notion. It will not end well for you."

"Don't worry," Marcus replied, quickly realizing the implicit threat. Harmless or not, he isn't that type of scumbag. "I'm not in the hobby of making enemies when I don't have to."