Decent, at best.

Your first shot hits the target, and an audible ping rings into your hearing protection. You work down the dueling tree, missing once before dropping your magazine and going in for the poppers.

PING, PING, PING PING PING.

You snap plate-to-plate and squeeze the trigger, and that’s when your pistol stovepipes. You clear the malfunction and continue the stand-still stage, but it happens again. Your last four bullets are troublesome. You feel less-than-pleased with yourself between the soft strikes, stovepipes, and feed issues.

Scarlet spits another shell out. “Good job,” she says, patting your shoulder. “Half-Gob, you’re up.”

“Keep your gun clean,” Half-Gob mumbles to you as you pass her.

Scarlet does the exact rundown with her but eyeballs her pistol as Half-Gob loads it. Unlike you, there’s no energetic fidgeting with it. Scarlet looks up at her as she cleans her teeth. “Shooter, are you ready?”

Half-Gob nods.

There’s a long pause as Scarlet chews on her peanuts. Then. “Beep.”

Half-Gob manages to get four shots out of her pistol before it locks up. Her pistol jams twice and fails to eject once before she’s onto the poppers. Overall, though. She clears her malfunctions but gets uptight by the end of. She snaps her gaze at Scarlet when she holsters her pistol. “This game is rigged,” she growls. “Your shitty ammo is fucking up my shit.”

Scarlet shakes her head slowly. She shares her intense staring before looking at Softspot. “You’re up, kid.”

Softspot takes Half-Gob place. When she stands next to you, you can’t help but mutter. “Keep your gun clean.”

“Shut up,” she spits.

Softspot is next, and he suffers the worst fate in terms of performance. It simply seems he doesn’t know how to clear or control his firearm when it malfunctions. He doubles the amount of time to complete the stage. He fumbles fucks his firearm, and curses throughout. Not helping was Scarlet’s pressure.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She shouted the first time.

“What the FUCK ARE YOU DOING??” Scarlet screamed the third time.

When he’s completed the stage, Scarlet yanks his pistol from his hand and points him back with you and Half-Gob. “Maybe try picking up a career as a fuckin’ musician instead because that was painful to watch,” she gestures at the other two. “Both of you come up.”

“Why do they get to work together?” Softspot complains.

“Because they only have six bullets. As long as we don’t have long rifles, they won’t be more than 6 feet away from each other,” Scarlet says. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Only since we signed up at the circus,” Fifth-Finger says.

“Communicate and clear the stage then,” Scarlet steps back, absentmindedly spitting out the shells she’s collected since Softspot became the center of attention. “Go!”

By the end of your session, it becomes clear that you and Half-Gob are the only two members of your throw-away contractor party. Scarlet has difficulties expressing her annoyance with this newfound discovery. “If you’re this bad at handling your weapons,” she commented. “I shudder to think how well all of you can aim. Warren, Half-Gob, feel free to leave. I’ve got my hands full as it is.”

Half-Gob turns on her heel and starts down the path to this range without saying anything.

Half-Gob takes a turn, giving you a good look at the circus tent and all the vehicles it uses parked in the rear. When you catch up to her, she looks back. “You’re following me?”

“There’s no other way back,” you say.

“You can walk around me,” she suggests.

You scoff. “You ought to like me more since I’m actually cohesive with my gun.”

Half-Gob laughs, turning her head forward. “I can’t believe the circus hired so many clowns! We were supposed to be expert killers, not Boy Scouts with air guns,” she stops mid-rant and points at you. “You’re not much better, by the way!”

You can’t help but lift an eyebrow. She marches over and jabs your chest despite being so much shorter than you.

“I had more malfunctions than you, and I still managed to clear and complete the stage simultaneously! How dare Scarlet ignore that fact? I should be alone now, not venting to someone much less than me!” Her eyes flare up; before you know it, she’s almost stepping on your toes. “I could beat all of you with one arm tied behind my back, you know? You and Scarlet!! I’ve got the training, the experience, and the hardware. I should terminate my contract now and go somewhere else.”

“You’re not better than me,” you say confidently.

Half-Gob leaps back before taking a laugh. “Honki na no? Damare, Baka.”

It’s your turn to grumble. “Speak English, wrench.”

“I said you’re an idiot for making such stupid jokes.”