Mordecai things back to when he was 17 the last time he entered a sharp shooting competition. Getting banned from the competition for ‘ ‘unsportsmanlike behavior’ all because those sorry bastards were losing to a kid, using a revolver. He was cocky and arrogant back, then competing with a revolver instead of a scoped rifle, like the rest of the contestants. Not much has changed as the 39 year old Truxican still love to show off He takes a look at his side arm as he takes a drink from his bottle of Rakk Ale. He Glenn’s around at the other competitors on the shuttle and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself “These Payasos don’t look like much competition. Eh Blood?” *Bloodwing screes as if in agreement. Mordecai smirks as he continues drinking. Having some booze in his system is not concern to him since he always proclaims he’s a better shot when he’s drunk. “These Pendejos should just quit and save themselves the embarrassment” He glanced at the number 15 that was on his shoulder. He knows this number is going to match him with his spotter. A complete stranger he’s never met before, but consider how laid-back he is Mordecai is willing to get along with anybody. When the shuttle bus stops at the makeshift arena, held inside of an old Atlas factory, Mordecai steps off the shuttle finishing off his drink. The situation with his rifle on his back and he follows the rest of the contestants inside looking for the spotter he’s going to be working with