[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ktlhhm5.png[/img][/center] Three shots, but there was a fourth. [i]No reward.[/i] In the same half second that took his three shots to travel 200 meters, a fourth subnatural burst from the very APC itself, a half-gargoyle, half-female with wings that caught all his shots. The purple beams were stopped in their tracks, energy dissipating against the magically-generated flesh. Only scorch marks remained, the gargoyle girl shooting a single glare into his direction before putting her attention onto more important things. His shots weren’t powerful enough to pierce her hide, and now that the element of surprise was lost, his next shots were going to be so much less effective. His teeth ground against each other, Brent’s jaw tightening as the Desert Eagle groaned and creaked beneath his grasp, slowly losing its form. He was running out time, and he was distinctly aware of it. The next shot or the shot after would start to have a lasting impact on his weapon, and once those malfunctions began, there was no way he’d be able to effectively snipe afterwards. Shit, shit, SHIT. It was pure bad luck that the fourth subnatural had burst out of the APC in the same second as his shots. If it was a bit later, he would have killed all three. If it was a bit earlier, he would have held his fire and waited for another opportunity. But this? THIS was the worst situation! His amethyst eyes flared violently as silver blood boiled within. Everything was falling apart so fast. Savannah was dying. Marcus was completely restrained. Lawrence was bleeding out. Sophia was useless! All because he didn’t have the destructive force necessary to punch through the thin membrane of a subnatural’s wings. [i][color=000000]Weak as ever.[/color][/i] He spat out the current situation robotically for all to hear. [i][color=000000]Unlucky as ever.[/color][/i] He replied to Ernie’s query systematically, pausing only once as he almost prohibited something attached to ‘winning’. [i][color=000000]Pathetic as ever.[/color][/i] A wall of spikes, the growth of ice, as well as Emma and Callan’s speedy arrival. Offensive Support coming in for the assist while, on the map, it was clear that even Christmas, Zoe, and Ernie were going to join the fray, supporting people. Tortured pleas that were suddenly cut off from Sander’s transmitting cuff made it clear that the bloodlusting berserker had killed another enemy subnatural, while Chris had disappeared, tumbling into the earth. Everyone was moving, moving, moving, and yet, he was still here. Stagnant. Watching. Not even trying to strategize. Savannah’s neck broke before his very eyes, Callan’s aggressive tackle not taking into account the fact that the gargoyle girl had the small child in her grasp. Without being able to do a thing, Brent watched through his scope as a life was extinguished. Sav, the brat that got super pissy whenever he talked about drinking milk. Sav, the idiot who spent so many years teaching herself the violin and only now getting the chance to learn from a professional. Sav, the girl that had such a bright, eager smile when she was praised! What was winning? Before, it would be saving Sav, but now that she was dead, it w- [i]FUCK, SHE WAS DEAD.[/i] It was black and white, wrong and right, zeroes and ones, lose and win. There obviously wasn’t any other path but to fucking KILL the bitch that killed Savannah! How much of a snivelling fucktard was he, if he couldn’t even understand that immediately? Why would he even CARE about how Callan was currently smashing a fist or two into that bat-winged slut’s skull? Lawrence can bleed out, Brent hardly talked to that dude, but Sav?! [i]He had known them all, from the bookstore owner to the panhandler.[/i] [color=B0C4DE] [i][b]“CALLAN, BACK THE FUCK OFF!”[/b][/i][/color] Every bit of restraint, every bit of pessimistic logic, he tore it all apart. A stream of silver circuitry rushed down into the already overloaded weapon, springs and bolts and plates popping off as the Desert Eagle became more magic than steel. Grasping the weapon tightly in both hands, Brent’s eyes smouldered as they glared through the tortured, distorted scope. The gargoyle’s body. Her head. Her eyes. Her pupils. If her skin was enough to deflect bullets, then he’ll shoot through the hole in her eye and scramble her brains from within. The hot wind continued to blow even after the final form of the weapon was revealed, jet-black with turquoise lines racing up and down a barrel that was much too large for the small chamber. Sparks of energy burst from cracks within, and it thrummed, dangerously unstable. How many shots would he have? One? Two? How many people was he abandoning with this? Emma? Marcus? Lawrence? Sophia? This single bullet could have been used to take down someone much more dangerous, someone that Callan, their powerhouse Striker, wasn’t already grappling. And perhaps, this single bullet may still be insufficient to piercing the cornea of someone who had superhuman durability. [color=B0C4DE]“Losers and winners,”[/color] he muttered under his breath, tensing in expectation of the pain that would follow, [color=B0C4DE]“Doubt and faith.”[/color] The fourth shot seared the skies, darting towards the individual that mocked the first, second, and third. [hider=Cliffnotes] Desert Eagle with Scope: 1min First Clock: Accurate Beams Second Clock: Auto-targetter + Multi-Lock Third Clock: Specific Targetting + Intelligent Homing Aiming for the pupil of the Gargoyle. Remaining in position. [/hider]