Information

Caliber has a minion!

Sureshot the Smolder

Caliber
Legacy Name: Caliber

The

Silver Cadogre
Owner: Tribe

Age: 10 years, 10 months, 5 days

Born: September 2nd, 2015

Adopted: 3 years, 2 months, 1 week ago

Adopted: April 27th, 2023

Statistics

Level: 235
Strength: 586
Defense: 584
Speed: 575
Health: 582
HP: 572/582
Intelligence: 57
Books Read: 53
Food Eaten: 0
Toys Played: 0
Job: Part-Time Test Subject

CREDITS

profile template (c) helix (get it)
template edited by Tribe and User not found: cauld
story by Tribe
Background courtesy of Unsplash user drmakete lab (drmakete)

Codename: Caliber

Legal name: Avery Calhoun
Gender: Male
Age: 33
Division: Research and Innovation
Specialization: Weapons & Tactical Support
Field Missions Completed: 27
Missions Incomplete: 2
Disciplinary Actions Issued: 0

give it your best shot

The trainee--initiate stripe medal crookedly pinned to their lapel--steps up to the range, empties the magazine with frenzied, undisciplined movements--sloppy, sloppy. It'd take half a miracle for them to shoot decent.

"Geez, which clown taught you to shoot?" I motion another armory agent over, mouth for them to cover the counter. I vault over, surveying their scattered shot pattern. Most of their shots flew wide, with a couple shots hitting the critical zone. "That barely looks like a grouping."

"I've already assisted on multiple ops." They snort, pride in their eyes. "You wouldn't be working armory if you could shoot for shit." Their finger hovers on the trigger itself.

Are you for real? What is in your goddam water? I hold my tongue, thoroughly irritated with their brazen attitude. Your trigger discipline absolutely screams incompetence.

"Excuse me?" I unholster my firearm, flipping the safety off in a deft movement. I coolly stare down the target before steadily emptying four shots into the centermost target circle. my stance is solid, absorbing the firing recoil, my shooting pace is smooth, measured. "Here's your lesson, fresh meat: to work armory, you gotta know how to work the weapons. We don't just exist to hand you new toys. We're some of the best arms handlers here, some of the best shots. Keep your ego in check and we'll get along just fine."

"Shhh, give them a chance to feel like the protagonist, Cal." Soft footsteps on the range floor approach from behind, a kind of restrained snicker from an arrival--I hear it and I know it's her: it's a quiet laugh that doesn't quite jeer, inviting you in on an inside joke instead. "You know us fieldwork folks and our egos. We like to imagine we run the world."

She smiles at the rookie, and hefts her firearm into a comfortable carrying position--an unceremonious football carry for the world's most dangerous football. "What's your callsign, trainee?"

The trainee bristles, looks her up and down, nose crinkled in contempt; they don't seem to find her all that impressive. "Why is that any of your business?"

She laughs good-humoredly. "Alright bud, let's try that again. Callsign?"

I see the gun first: semiauto rifle with a damn good silencer, barrel pointed to the ground in that kind of routine habitual manner, I turn to find someone unfamiliar: grey eyes, ruddied light medium complexion, muddy brown hair choppily cut at shoulder length, askew sunshades atop her head--new look or a new operative?

A six-stripe pin is fastened on the strap of her body armor, signifying a distinguished operative; an espionage emblem is pinned right beneath, followed by four exceptional merit medals. Leadership's famously stingy with those merit awards. It's Em, alright. Her manner is grounded but aware: comfortably mussed, fully in her element.

"You've earned the right to believe that." I snort, flipping the safety on before unloading my gun and offering it to her. "You here to show 'em how it's done, Keej?"

The trainee looks at her with confusion at first, but it quickly morphs into awestruck recognition. Keej. KJ... Killjoy.

"Not everything is about beating the trainees into the dirt, friend." She chuckles, lays a familiar hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you give us a rundown of how to shoot proper? I could use a refresher, anyhow. You're one of the best shots I know, Cal."

My expression flickers into aghast incredulity before recomposing myself.

"Trust me, Cal, I've done my time doing trainee workshops." She looks at me dead-eyed, breaking into a slight giggle as she talks. "You can't hoist every ass-up trainee on me; I'd never go on another mission at that rate. I'd go every kind of nuts at that rate: almonds, peanuts, cashews, the like."

The trainee seems to bristle at her comment, but they're doing their best to keep their temper under wraps in front of one of the Agency's idolized top ops.

I sigh, shoot her a look of mock desperation. "You're killing me, Keej. Just put a bullet in my head and put me out of my misery."

She looks on with much amusement. "I literally just came from the research range; I think I forgot how to shoot bullets while I was there."

Ah, playing with new toys. R&D's probably got her testing the new plasma repeater rifle tech--makes sense, makes sense.

Defeated, I load the gun and flipping the safety back off. Tapping my hand over the grip, I start talking. "This end don't shoot, but this--" I tap the barrel, "--does. Watch your aim etiquette; if you don't plan to shoot it, then don't point it."

"Damn straight." The trainee rolls their eyes. "That doesn't take a genius to know."

My patience runs short; my exhale comes out huffy. "I'm sure you know it, but to know and to practice are two very different things. Your handling etiquette is poor enough to warrant the review." I chuckle, but it's a bitter laugh. "Being here isn't a carte blanche to play with whatever toys are around. No one is entitled to weapons access. Are we clear?"

They look on distastefully, briefly curling their lip before nodding.

"I will warn you; watch your trigger discipline. I won't mince words: yours is abysmal. When you're not shooting, dock your finger against the side of the trigger--" I turn the gun to demonstrate. "--rather than keep your finger on the trigger. Any field operative worth their salt makes sure it becomes instinct. Get your basics together before you start throwing your weight around; that can make all the difference between being an agent and being a great one."

Em takes up the next lane on the range, starts taking shots in short calculated bursts. Her eyes are trained on the target, but she strategically shifts her weight in between barrages; she's thinking through taking cover, of keeping sight lines in mind.

She's as good as they come.

"Mark my words on this, rookie; you can think you look like her during your shots," I tilt my head toward Em, "but what you're looking is countless hours of practice and a damn good agent. You're definitely not there yet, but maybe you'll be one of our best down the road."

They seem to be listening, but still bristling at the lecture. Can't say I blame you. I hate lecturing too, bud; we'd both be happier if you just had your shit together.

"Just... just slow down. Take things one at a time; improvement and forming good habits takes time. So drill the little things, keep yourself accountable, and don't shoot anyone you're not supposed to." I pause, laughing lightly to myself. "If anything, take a moment and watch to see what she's doing." I point to her stance, her shoulders, her arms. "Killjoy's got good form, especially for someone who prefers hand-to-hand and melee. Watch her posture and stance, see how they work together to stabilize the shot."

The trainee's wordless, in awe of Killjoy--completely starstruck. They observe quietly, small-scale miming some of her reload motions and how she absorbs the recoil of each shot.

I guess that's sorted. I sigh inwardly. Course it takes one of their own to get them to swallow a serving of humble pie.

"Give it a shot, rookie." I point down the range with a flick of my chin. "Try applying the basics of what you see."