There were plenty of tests Cassian Abrantes had reason to worry about, but this was not supposed to be one of them. Firearms had been part of his life for so long that calling them second nature almost felt inaccurate. If anything, they were closer to first nature, something his body and mind understood more than the word honor. The weight of a weapon in his hand, the alignment, pressure, trigger. It was all one, if they jedi called the force their true weapn, this was his.
As Cassian stepped onto the firing range at Moenia's joint military and intelligence facility, he carried none of the hesitation that had followed him through the disasterious first evaluation. He approached the center lane and took possession of the weapon waiting for him, checking it with the same efficiency he had many, many times. Twenty yards downrange, the silhouette waited beneath the range lights.
The first act was easy quick fire from the ready position. Cassian would raise the weapon, acquire the target, follow through, and fire, all in one smooth motion. For someone with his experience, the entire sequence should have taken less than three seconds without requiring any real thought. When the signal sounded, Cassian moved immediately, raising the weapon and firing almost as quickly as he had expected. The shot struck the silhouette, but not where it should have. It landed away from center mass, still inside the target but far enough off that Cassian immediately noticed it. His eyes narrowed as he lowered the weapon slightly and stared downrange before glancing toward his hand. He took a slow breath, reset his stance, and brought the weapon back down into the ready position.
The second attempt came just as quickly, and this time the shot landed closer. It was still nowhere near where Cassian knew it should have been, and that bothered him more than the first miss had. A small pain stirred in his shoulder again, faint but noticeable enough to pull his attention away for a moment. He rolled the shoulder lightly before looking toward the scorer standing nearby, though the man said nothing and only offered him a small nod of encouragement.
Cassian looked away almost immediately because encouragement was nice, but it wasn't what he needed. He needed his hand and weapon to do what it always did. He turned sideways to the target, presenting a narrower profile while extending the firearm in one hand. As soon as he settled into position, the problem became impossible to ignore.
There was a considerable tremor running through his hand, enough that the muzzle visibly moved across the silhouette despite every effort he made to steady it. Cassian tightened his grip and focused down the sights, trying to force the shaking under control through sheer concentration. It did not stop, and when he fired, the round barely caught the edge of the target. The shot tore through the silhouette's left arm instead of landing where Cassian had intended.
He lowered the weapon and took another slow breath, his attention shifting toward the observation window. He knew Sibylla was there, and several others. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him. There were others watching as well, evaluators and personnel behind the glass, and although Cassian could not hear them, his mind seemed more than willing to invent the whispers for them. The sensation crawled beneath his skin until irritation began to replace thought and reason.
Cassian let out an angry breath and moved around the edge of the table, bringing both hands onto the weapon. He raised it again and began stepping forward toward the target, firing with each measured step as though momentum might force his body back into obedience. Each shot cracked through the range in rapid succession, one after another, until the tenth shot was done. The final round struck and silence settled over the lane. Cassian lowered the weapon and stared downrange at the silhouette, seeing every impact scattered across center mass. None of them had missed, but none of them sat exactly where he knew they should have either.
The range mechanism activated a moment later, pulling the damaged target away and replacing it with a fresh silhouette. Cassian rolled his shoulder again and stepped backward toward the firing line, his fingers tightening around the grip. He did not look toward the observation window this time because he did not want to see anyone watching him. He only reset his stance, raised his eyes toward the new target, and prepared to do it again.
