Marvel, I tweet and I can draw a lottery

Chapter 2 Shooting
"Hi John."

"Hi."

John Wilscher responded calmly without raising his head.

Although this gun shop opened in Hell's Kitchen, its main customers are not those big gang members, they always have their own weapons channels.

Those who stay here for a long time are some mercenaries and killers. They simply regard the shooting range on the second floor as their bar.

Ever since John Wilscher built a self-service bar on the second floor.

A black burly guy who called himself Blake proactively stopped guys trying to vandalize the self-serve bar several times and also offered bartending services to others.

It's as if the second floor is his territory.

In fact, it’s almost the same. This guy was drawn by John in a lottery. The Sixth Street Gang from Cyberpunk 2077. The metal spine hidden under the jacket makes his fighting power far surpass that of ordinary people in this world.

The panel attribute is even stronger than the current John.

Name: Blake

Cyber ​​Equipment: Cyber ​​Optics, Pain Editor, Health Detector.

With this guy's help, John doesn't need to keep going to the second floor to maintain order.

The drinks on the second floor and the hourly fee for the shooting range are the bulk of this gun shop.

There is also a kind of sporadic gangsters who come to buy ghost guns, and they will always be slaughtered.

Most of John Wierscher's ghost guns come from the system lottery, which can be called a no-cost business, and the added value of ghost guns is very high. An untraceable gun can be said to be the threshold for villains.

Of course, the last type is Hell's Kitchen tenants who come to buy regular firearms for self-insurance. Compared with the previous ones, these guys can say that they don't make money at all.

Mr. Smith in front of John is the least profitable of the last.

He has a legitimate job, a wife and kids, and he's here to buy a coming-of-age gift for his son.

He has been here at least five times without contributing even a penny of consumption.

Today he finally chose a shotgun that can at most shoot wild ducks as a coming-of-age gift for his son.

Ruger 10/22 rifle, I chose the best-selling rifle for a long time, the caliber of .22... Well, it is very suitable for little boys.

Although John Wiersher was only 21, he had two Smith & Wesson m500s hidden in his waist.

"Hey, John, I've made up my mind." Mr. Smith called John Wilscher's name quite familiarly.

"Ok, ok, congratulations, $158." John glanced at it, and then started to operate on the computer. "You want the gun to appear directly in your son's name?"

"Of course John, this is a gift for him."

"Hopefully his papers are full."

Soon John Wiersher's skillful operation was completed, and he helped Mr. Smith pack it in a beautiful wooden box.

With a sigh of relief, he watched Mr. Smith leave.

This kind of guy who doesn't make much money and has to pick many times is undoubtedly John's most annoying customer.

Ruoxin's cute little head suddenly popped out from behind the gun mount, and his big eyes seemed to be shining brightly.

"V...Mr. Wilshere..."

Ruosin found that John Wiersher behind the counter seemed to be sealed on the rattan recliner, completely oblivious to his gaze.

I had to call out to him, "Mr. Wilshere!"

"Well, Ruosin, are you still in the store?" John Wilson glanced at her as if he had just noticed it.

"Can Mr. Wilshere teach me how to shoot? I... I am willing to spend money to buy and delay Mr. Wilshere's time." Ruosin stared at John who was still lying on the wicker chair.

"I thought you should have been proficient in shooting a long time ago." John replied in surprise, "But I need to look at the store, I'm sorry I can't agree to your request."

"Six hundred dollars an hour."

"Hey, Blake!" John jumped out of his chair instantly. "Come down and help me look at the store, I'll go up and look at the shooting range!"

Blake carried a bottle of whiskey and his exquisite small glass, and rushed down the stairs with a few quick strides.

The pace and command obedience have the posture of a retired soldier.

But the wine in my hand...

"Don't drink at the bar downstairs, this is the facade of this store."

John took the whiskey bottle backhanded, finally giving in to Blake's wry gaze and filling the shot glass in his hand before going upstairs.

Ruoxin barely knew Blake, the big stupid guy, and couldn't help laughing when he saw the big guy carefully sipping the drink in his "delicate" and "small" glass.

The layout of the second floor is similar to that of the first floor. On the same side is the counter, but on the other side are five shooting lanes and several wooden tables and chairs.

John walked in front and casually greeted the people around him, took out a cz 75 like magic and walked to an empty shooting lane.

"Cz 75, comfortable to hold, reliable in performance, good in precision, unique in workmanship, and low in price. It's the prototype of the Pavner Witness you ordered. It should be better to practice with this."

Ruosin looked at John's serious side face holding the gun in both hands, not paying attention to his words at all.

A fat, bearded white man who was drinking in the back said, "It's not expensive? I'll take a handful and you ask me for thirteen thousand!"

"Hey! Dude, if you buy it normally, you will definitely not exceed [-]!" Another guy at the same wine table snapped at John before he could reply.

At this time, three thugs from the Irish Gang came up and sat down at an empty table.

"Bang bang bang..." John fired all fifteen rounds in one go.

25 meters standard round target, all hit the target.

It's just hitting the target, not to mention the Marvel of Qianlong Crouching Tiger, even in the real shooting range, there are some people who are better than him.

It can only be said that it is not bad. This shooting technique comes from the muscle memory of the original owner of this body and John's practice for a month.

Ruoxin clapped cooperatively.

The other spectators who were drinking booed, none of this group of desperadoes were so good, 25-meter target?
Oh! Dogs don't even fight!
In this group of hanging men, the average pistol they are familiar with is 50 meters, and none of the shots is lower than the seventh ring.

And they're generally better at human targets.If you say you hit the left eye, you won't hit the right eye.

Ruosin thought they booed because John didn't perform well this time, and wanted to help John.

"Josin, come and try."

Ruoxin immediately forgot the words that had come to his lips, and took the pistol.

"Well, it's quite weighty..." Ruoxin raised his pistol.

"Your hand will be a little lighter after that," John replied.

"Stand relaxed, don't try to imitate my previous gun posture, try to understand the intention of the gun posture..."

"Yes, hold the gun in both hands, press the thumb on the thumb, wrap the four fingers around the four fingers, and keep the wrist joints tighter..."

"Hold the gun harder, harder...it's too hard, relax a little and don't shake..."

"Look at the reticle, three points and one line."

"Okay, keep your posture and remove the insurance."

"Relax the trigger finger, and pull the trigger evenly and forcefully..."

"Keep breathing! Keep shooting!"

"Fire! Fire! Fire all fifteen rounds!"

"Bang bang bang..."

The seven-meter target is all within the eight 93 scoring intervals.

A guy who was drinking in the back couldn't help but stood up. The marksmanship of these guys was all trained in the wild way. I feel that this guy is misleading people!
Go to the adjacent shooting lane, push away the guy who is changing magazines, and pull out a Desert Eagle from his waist.

Breathing as usual, casually holding the gun with one hand, the gun is not very tight, let alone looking at the sight, and the trigger is not evenly pulled...

Nine guns, ten rings of 50-meter target guns.

"Hey, is my teaching round worth nine .50 Magnum rounds?"

"You're shooting a .357..." John Wiersher glanced at the guy. "Worth it! Take it yourself and leave me alone."

Seeing that Ruoxin's original posture was completely gone, and the one-handed pistol with the magazine changed into a chic one, there was a burst of crackling.

Fifteen rounds and five shots on the seven-meter target missed the target, it was a mess!
Also because of the pain in the wrist, there was some mist in the eyes.

"Mr. Wilshere..." Ruosin looked at John Wilshere with a slightly crying tone.

"OK, OK. Take a break."

Anyway, I count the money during the rest time.

(End of this chapter)