[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ktlhhm5.png[/img][/center]
They were leaving.

[i][color=B0C4DE]Good.[/color][/i]

She was coming.

[color=B0C4DE][i]Good.[/i][/color]

If he failed, Callan could finish it. Or maybe Marcus, with his instant movement abilities, would be able to blindside those three subnaturals before any more damage was caused? Maybe Sophia could reveal that she had some sort of secret power hidden all along, something beyond merely having magical vision? Or maybe, maybe, Savannah could actually do something.

As cruel as it was, Brent’s grim expression broke out into a genuinely meaningless smile.

Was he that afraid of failure that he had to set up all these safety nets instead of telling his teammates to leave it up to himself? Was he really satisfied with just being the guy who killed a single clockwork canine after it had already been immobilized by Angelic? His grip tightened, his knuckles creaking, burning through excess energy. Far down the road, the soldier had been the next to bite the bullet, impaled by a metal spike before being shot in the face by the olive-skinned man. Amethyst eyes flickered as Brent caught that glimmer of magic, originating from the blonde ponytail girl. Almost too small to be noticed, until it had disappeared.

So that was her magic.

Thank god.

He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and allowed his power to flow once more. The Desert Eagle creaked, evolving a second time, glowing a hot angry orange that threatened burn his skin as a burning gale encircled the object, wisps of it blowing in his face and causing him to squint. The object was practically squirming within his grasp, an inorganic weapon brought to life by silver blood as its parts creaked irregularly.

But, as always, before it fully escaped him, the Desert Eagle settled down, a light blue glow humming over its surface. Replacing the scope was a holographic projector, displaying a blown-up display of the trio as they stood before the APC. In his hands, the jet-black gun, barrel elevated slightly, swiveled, revealing that the trigger was no longer attached to the barrel. Like a camera, it swayed from side to side slowly.

The improvement was accuracy. The function was the ability to have a machine lock on and automatically center itself onto its targets. The projectile was an energy beam that cared not for environmental conditions.

His spare finger pressed against the holographic display, holding on until the crosshair graphics turned from red to green, indicating that the machine had locked on. One by one, he selected his targets and dictated the order in which the machine would pursue them. This was going to be simple. This was going to be easy. They didn’t know he existed, he could accurately shoot them down without thinking about aiming, and if they were human, they should definitely die.

He won't fail. Won't miss. Won't think.

[i]Breat-[/i]

No meditation necessary.

A callused finger pressed against the trigger and pulled.

[i]Once.[/i]

No recoil.

[i]Twice.[/i]

No remorse.

[i]Thrice.[/i]

No response.
[hider=Cliffnotes]
Desert Eagle with Scope: 2min
First Clock: Laser Beam
Second Clock: Auto-targetter.

Shots are fired almost consecutively, because the gun wouldn't need to turn too much to switch targets. The targets, in order, are Blondie's head, Gun Dude's head, and Blackhead's chest. He's expecting to be able to kill the first two before they can react and dodge, before hitting the third on a larger target.

Remaining in Position.
[/hider]