"Ready!"
"Beep~~"
With a mechanical sound, the competition officially began.
The woman in the baseball cap gripped her rifle with both hands and quickly sprinted to the rifle shooting zone.
She stopped abruptly, took her stance, and raised her gun.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang."
Eight crisp gunshots rang out in quick succession as her finger repeatedly pulled the trigger. With each target hit, she made only slight adjustments before firing again.
Her shooting was swift and decisive, firing one shot at a time, yet every single bullet found its mark. Eight bullets, eight targets, not a single one wasted.
The eight rifle targets were scattered throughout the shooting zone at varying distances, ranging from a few meters to over ten meters away.
Once all eight targets were down, the woman in the baseball cap turned sideways and sprinted toward the handgun zone. While running, she flicked her rifle backward, letting the AR-15 swing onto her back with the momentum of the sling. Meanwhile, her right hand smoothly drew her Glock.
By the time she raised the Glock, she had already reached the handgun zone. She came to a stop, barely needing to adjust her stance, and immediately assumed a textbook Weaver shooting position. The muzzle of her Glock spat fire.
"Pop~ pop~ pop~ pop~ pop~ pop, pop~ pop~"
Just like with the AR-15, her handgun shots were equally precise and rapid. The first five shots each took down a target with no surprises. But an unexpected mishap occurred with the last target.
After firing her final shot, she instinctively lowered her gun, preparing to move to the shotgun zone—only to suddenly realize that the last target hadn't fallen.
The handgun targets were also humanoid, but much smaller than the rifle targets, about the size of a child. No one expected her last shot to miss.
However, she reacted quickly. The moment she noticed the miss, she stopped, swiftly fired two more shots, and finally, the last target went down.
The woman in the baseball cap then moved toward the shotgun zone. As she ran, she holstered her handgun. Upon reaching the station, she grabbed the Remington from the table and immediately aimed at the first target, pulling the trigger.
The sound of the 12-gauge shell hitting the humanoid target rang out crisply—"Bang bang." Three larger humanoid targets were quickly marked with black impact spots.
Next came the soda can targets. The woman in the baseball cap worked the pump-action shotgun smoothly, ejecting the spent shell while chambering a fresh round. With each pull of the trigger, the primer ignited the gunpowder, sending the buckshot flying.
One by one, the soda cans were hit and knocked down.
After taking down the last can, she lowered the Remington's barrel and inserted it into a nearby barrel, just like holstering a handgun—a standard procedure.
Then, she sprinted to the control panel and slapped the button. With a "beep," the timer stopped. The large screen displayed her final time—21.83 seconds.
Applause erupted from the crowd.
A time of 21.83 seconds was already an impressive achievement.
Unlike staged exhibitions where people are prompted to clap, this applause was entirely spontaneous—a genuine sign of respect from one shooter to another for their marksmanship.
The three-gun record at this shooting range was 20.2 seconds, set by a Texan cowboy. The woman in the baseball cap coming this close to that record was proof of her elite skills. Reaching this level of shooting required both talent and relentless effort.
As she walked back, she smiled and accepted the applause. Just minutes ago, Steve Owen had been the one enjoying this kind of recognition.
It was clear she was satisfied with her performance—20 targets in 21.83 seconds. Even with one missed shot, it didn't matter in a three-gun competition, as long as all targets were eventually hit. The deciding factor was time.
Now, it was Steve Owen's turn.
Officials took the woman's weapons, inspected them, reloaded them, and reset all the targets.
"Ready!"
"Beep~~"
With the same mechanical beep, Steve Owen dashed forward with his rifle. Unlike the woman in the baseball cap, he didn't stop to fire. Instead, he switched from sprinting to a slow walk, engaging "bullet time" as he raised his AR-15.
"Bang bang, bang bang, bang bang~~~~"
Unlike the woman's precise single shots, Owen fired in double taps. This habit was ingrained in him—whenever he pulled the trigger, it was always a "double tap."
As he fired, his feet never stopped moving. By the time all eight rifle targets were down, he was already at the edge of the rifle zone.
Anyone watching could tell that Owen was moving faster than the woman in the baseball cap. Even though he fired double taps instead of single shots, the extra trigger pulls barely affected his speed.
Following almost the exact same sequence as his opponent, Owen flicked his AR-15 back, letting it hang from its sling, while smoothly drawing his handgun.
"Pop pop, pop pop, pop pop, pop pop, pop pop, pop pop."
Six sharp gunshots rang out, each a double tap. All six handgun targets fell instantly.
At this point, Owen was becoming increasingly skilled in utilizing bullet time.
To the audience, it seemed like he never stopped moving and fired continuously while walking. But if someone recorded him with a high-speed camera, they would see that every shot was actually taken from a stable stance. The difference was that, under bullet time, his pauses were so brief that they appeared nonexistent to normal observers.
Earlier, while watching the woman's performance, Owen had been using bullet time to analyze her technique, searching for useful insights.
He knew he was technically "cheating," and he fully admitted it. That's why he admired real sharpshooters like her—she had nearly reached the peak of human shooting ability.
From his observations, he noticed that despite using single shots, she subtly controlled her muzzle movement to counteract recoil—a technique known as "recoil control."
In firearms, especially automatics, recoil causes bullets to spread in a loose pattern rather than hitting a single fixed point. That's why recoil control exists.
Some shooters even developed a technique called the "Magpul method," which involved gripping the rifle closer to the muzzle to minimize barrel movement.
But Owen didn't need that. He could perfectly gauge the exact recoil of each shot and adjust accordingly before firing the next round.
He reached the shotgun station, holstered his handgun, and grabbed the Remington. The moment he had it in hand, he fired his first shot, and from there, it was a relentless assault.
The 12-gauge shells spewed out, sending dozens of tiny projectiles into the targets. To Owen, shotguns were the easiest to use—precision wasn't crucial, as long as the shot was roughly on target, the spread would handle the rest.
In mere moments, all three humanoid targets and three soda cans were down. Owen then followed protocol, placing the shotgun muzzle-down into the barrel before running to hit the button.
"Beep!"
The timer stopped. The large screen displayed his time—20.11 seconds.
The crowd was stunned, then erupted in applause.
Jamie excitedly rushed over and shouted, "Hey, man, you just set a new record!"
People gathered around to congratulate Owen.
The results were clear—Owen had broken the record and was nearly two seconds faster than his opponent.
Jamie was still enthusiastically celebrating, but Owen ignored him and took the opportunity to extend an invitation. "Hey, Jamie, I'm hosting a barbecue at my place tonight. You should come."
"Of course! Thanks for the invite. I love barbecue! Oh, I better head home and change."
Jamie hurried off.
It was only then that Owen noticed the woman in the baseball cap hadn't left. Instead, she was standing nearby, watching him.
Having competed against each other, they now had a sense of mutual respect.
Owen stepped forward and spoke first. "Hi, I'm Steve Owen."
The woman nodded slightly, as if committing his name to memory, then replied, "I'm Monica Weiss."
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