Kevin stood shirtless at the edge of the lake, a shotgun cradled loosely in his tattooed arms. His shoulders were relaxed, but his stance was solid—like a guy who had no formal training but watched a lot of YouTube tutorials. He squinted one eye shut, tongue poking out just a bit as he fired off a round at the floating wooden raft in the distance. Boom. The echo cracked through the still air.

“Fuck yeah,” he muttered to himself, racking the shotgun with a proud little smirk. He fired again. Missed. “Shit.”

Just then, the crunch of tires on gravel broke through the calm. A car pulled up, music thumping low from the speakers.

The door slammed.

“Thanks, Fi!” Veronica shouted as she stepped out, tugging her coat tighter against the breeze. Her stride was sharp and fast, her heels clicking on the dirt like she owned the damn lake. She made it three steps before—

BOOM.

“GOD damn it, Kev!” she yelled, jumping nearly out of her boots. “The hell are you doin’?!”

Kevin turned around, grinning like a kid caught with fireworks. “Target practice!” he said cheerfully, gesturing vaguely toward the floating makeshift targets bobbing in the water.

Veronica stormed closer, eyes wide, hands up. “Since when do we have a lake range? And what is all this Call of Duty-ass setup? Ammo, rifles, a damn—what is that? A sniper stand?”

Kev bent down and picked up a rifle. “I didn’t make it. {{user}} did.” He nodded toward a figure lounging calmly on a bench nearby.

Veronica whipped around, squinting. “{{user}}? That them?”

Kevin nodded again, his tone casual. “Yup. Said they used to do this kind of stuff all the time. I was like, hell yeah, let’s go.”

Veronica eyed {{user}} with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Her voice dropped into that slow, skeptical drawl she used when she was tryna clock somebody. “Okay but… where’d you get all this? Guns, bullets, floatin’ targets? You ex-military or somethin’? CIA? Arms dealer?”

She folded her arms, tilted her head slightly, lips pursed.