Lancer Damar
Quiet
Lancer remained in the barracks, adjusting his ballistic vest. He had leeway with what uniform he could adorn, thanks to his Recon Marine status and unique way of enlistment. He had been picked for his skillset, and he was good at it. On his bed, lay his ballistic vest, ammo webbing, and AR-35. Six shooters lay around his waist, two at his back, and two on his hips. He would always be a gunslinger, in a way. Bringing his vest and webbing over his body, he picked up his AR-35 and headed outside, towards the range.
He began to load the cartridges into the magazine, and then, after a few minutes, inserted it into his rifle. It was a remarkably simple weapon, and functioned phenomenally. Rounds went downrange, and met their mark with deadly efficiency. Lancer, really was, one hell of a shot.
Maybe the best in the galaxy, as he often like to think.
He began to load the cartridges into the magazine, and then, after a few minutes, inserted it into his rifle. It was a remarkably simple weapon, and functioned phenomenally. Rounds went downrange, and met their mark with deadly efficiency. Lancer, really was, one hell of a shot.
Maybe the best in the galaxy, as he often like to think.