Prologue

  For what seemed like the 4 millionth time, Leo’s phone chimed. The unique tone indicating it was an email. A rejection email. He took a breath, packed it away in the ‘deal with it later’ box of his mind. He exhaled.

  It won’t matter after this

  Bang.

  The phone chimed again. Again, it went unanswered.

  Bang. Bang.

  His finger twitched, eyes focused on some space between pinpoint and oblivion.

  Bang. Bang.

  The sound of his ragged breathing the soundtrack to his world.

  Alpha, Alpha. Alpha, Charlie. He took score in his mind.

  His legs moved seemingly independent of his torso as he dropped the empty mag to reload. No need to reload or drop the slide, one still in. He turned to engage the next target. A hostage. His failing eyes seemed to get a second wind in times like these. He mentally zooms in and takes just a millisecond more to line up his dot.

  Bang Bang. Both Alpa zone hits- hostage untouched, he moves on with mechanical efficiency, dropping four more targets with lightning fast double taps before he finally stops.

  Exhale. Unload chamber. Show clear. Holster. He goes through the steps like they are second to breathing.

  “9.98 seconds. Best split .15” The officer yells out behind him. “You’re a natural kid!” The RSO adds in the gruff pseudo southern twang so prevalent in gun culture.

  “Thanks” Leo manages. Already focusing on his next course.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Not much has gone right for Leo. Well, That relative. First world problems, really. He was born into a life of wild privilege, lost it all before he could appreciate it, and has been struggling to find that life, to no avail ever since. He did it all like he was supposed to: went to college, didn't major in underwater gender studies or whatever the joke was. He graduate, college, went on to grad school and studied law and statistics. He even went on to start a business. Like everything else, it all came crashing down. Somewhere in that eternal cycle, he got married to a wife who probably now hates him. This isn't what he signed up for either.

  It’s not supposed to be like this. The same tired thought played on repeat.

  Leo adjusted a loc. A few years back Leo decided to grow his hair as an act of rebellion against all the shitty people he encountered that tried to stuff him in a box his giant frame was never meant for. Now, they're more of an albatross than anything else, but whatever, this was his rebellion- that, and the bright blue tattoos.

  If he was being honest, Not much of this world made sense to him. He didn't understand how people could be so selfish. He didn’t understand why not much in life doesn't make the sense that everyone says it should. He scrubbed his pistol with a cloth at the maintenance station. The pistol itself is a remnant of a time when he could afford ridiculously expensive things. The custom Ultra black ported 10 millimeter Tanfoglio Defiant, another albatross of his past life. There was a timeless beauty in its simplicity, bringing back that creeping thought.

  It’s not supposed to be like this.

  “Dude! How the hell did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “ You have like,” the chubby man mimed a pistol slide cycling “No recoil. It’s freakin’ awesome!”

  “Thanks.” Leo offered. He was never great at conversations. Though his wife helped him be more ‘human’ as she put it. When he was in his element, he tended to leave that mask behind. The man stared expectantly at leo.

  “Ah, I get it. Trade secret. Right?” he lightly jabbed Leo with an elbow. Eliciting a grimace. Leo had issues with people touching him since he was young. He quickly covered it up with a smile. Easing the man’s growing confusion.

  “Not at all, it’s actually all about the left hand. Don’t think of your right hand, it’s just a trigger. It’s all in the left.”

  “Duuuude! Thanks!” The man exuberantly waddled off to his range bag miming gripping an invisible pistol making childish pew pew sounds.

  Leo shook his head at the man’s antics, grabbing his range bag with his backup pistols, but for some reason, the floor seemed to keep moving. The world spun. He struggled to catch his balance, knocking over someone's tin of ammunition. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint. The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was someone, maybe himself- screaming.