Chapter 7 - THE MECHANICS OF PRECISION
The range had gone completely quiet except for the distant, low hum of a generator running behind the main tower. Captain Logan Pierce looked back and forth between Daniel and Maya, his confident smile wavering as he felt the shift in atmosphere.
"Master Sergeant," Logan said, his tone turning authoritative as he tried to regain control of the line. "The board says zero. The optical sensors behind the target didn't trip a single impulse. That is an official fail."
Daniel finally turned his head to look at Pierce, his face a hard mask carved by decades of discipline.
"Captain," Daniel said calmly, "an optical sensor only trips when an impact disrupts the infrared grid mounted inside the target frame."
"Exactly," Logan interrupted, smirking. "And no grid tripped. Ergo, she missed."
"Or," Daniel continued, his voice dropping an octave, "every single round went through a point space so precise that it bypassed the frame's sensory housing entirely."
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Logan blinked, stunned for a fraction of a second before letting out another scoff. "Are you out of your mind? You're saying she put five rounds through the exact same microscopic gap at two hundred meters in direct crosswind?"
Maya did not confirm or deny the statement. She simply unclipped her magazine, catching it in her left hand, and performed a smooth brass check on her rifle chamber, ensuring the weapon was entirely clear before resting it on the bench.
