America: The Cremator

The Russian bartender soon emerged from the storeroom behind the bar, three gleaming yellow bullets lying in his palm.

Instead of handing the bullets directly to Su Long, he first walked to the control panel at the firing range and pressed a few buttons.

With a slight mechanical sound, a brand new target paper was slowly sent to the designated position fifty meters away.

"Fifty meters, pistol target, this distance isn't unfair to you."

As he spoke, he placed the three bullets on the firing table in front of Su Long.

Good luck, kid.

Those drinkers who had initially just been there to watch the spectacle now gathered around.

Some of them even put down their glasses and looked with great interest at Su Long and the nearly perfectly maintained vintage revolver in his hand.

Ignoring the stares of those around him, Su Long picked up a bullet, loaded it into the cylinder of "Sirius," and gently closed the cylinder with a crisp, pleasant "click."

Then, he raised his arm and aimed the gun at the bullseye fifty meters away.

The moment he took aim, a strange change occurred.

In his field of vision, directly above the front and rear sights of the revolver, an extremely thin, floating sight made of pale blue light appeared out of thin air.

This crosshair is not static; it undergoes extremely precise real-time compensation with every slight movement of Sulong's wrist.

A sense of understanding flashed through Su Long's mind.

This is the effect of "hovering sights".

It not only provides a perfectly hovering aiming point that is not physically obstructed, but more importantly, it seems to be able to predict the trajectory of the bullet and make dynamic corrections based on the user's current body posture, simplifying the complex shooting calculation process into a simple action of just aiming the light at the target.

Su Long felt the stability coming from his arm, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled the air from his lungs, pressing the pad of his index finger against the cold trigger.

Everyone in the tavern held their breath at that moment, their eyes all focused on the target paper at the end of the track.

The next moment, Su Long suddenly put the pistol back on the shooting platform in front of him.

This abrupt action startled the burly men around him who were holding their breath, instantly breaking the tense atmosphere, and many of them began to murmur their dissatisfaction.

Su Long didn't care about any of that. Instead, he casually raised his right hand and pointed to the table in another shooting lane, where a small leather-bound notebook lay open.

"What is that?"

The Russian bartender glanced in the direction he was pointing, his facial muscles twitching impatiently. He took a deep breath, seemingly struggling to resist the urge to shove Sulong's head into the bar's barrel.

"That's a ring book for storing target papers; you can keep the target papers you shoot in there."

Su Long nodded: "Give me one, I want to keep some target paper for later."

These words were like a stone thrown into a pot of boiling oil, instantly eliciting undisguised laughter and whistles from all around.

The Russian bartender's face darkened completely. He gritted his teeth and spat out a number.

Fifty dollars.

After he finished speaking, he strode to the table, grabbed the leather-bound book, and roughly tore off the three target papers that were already bound inside, leaving them scattered on the ground.

Then, he walked back to Su Long and slammed the empty booklet onto the shooting platform with a "bang".

"Kid, you'd better make a target worth keeping."

Su Long opened the well-made leather notebook and roughly measured the distance between the two metal rings inside with his fingers.

He nodded in satisfaction, set it aside, and raised the revolver in his hand again.

The surrounding noise subsided again, and the onlookers craned their necks, ready to watch how this arrogant Asian boy would make a fool of himself.

Sulong aimed, took a breath, and then pulled the trigger.

boom!

Fifty meters away, a clear bullet hole appeared on the upper left edge of the square target paper.

The bullets didn't even hit the target area.

"oh--"

A huge, disappointed chorus of boos erupted from the crowd.

Many people began to shake their heads, pick up their glasses, and prepare to turn and leave, clearly having lost interest in this farce.

Sulong's expression remained unchanged as he pulled the trigger again, firing a second bullet.

boom!

Another bullet hole appeared on the lower left edge of the target paper.

Still no hit.

"Get out of here, kid!"

"What a waste of time!"

"That kind of guy should be beaten up and thrown out!"

This time, the mockery became unrestrained, rising and falling in waves.

The Russian bartender shook his head in disappointment.

Ignoring the noise, Su Long took a deep breath and fired the final shot.

boom!

In the very center of the target paper, in the center of that black circle no larger than a fingernail, a bullet hole appeared precisely.

All the boos and jeers stopped abruptly at that moment.

Those patrons who had already turned around stiffly turned back, their eyes wide with disbelief.

The Russian bartender also stopped in his tracks. He looked at the target paper in the distance, then at Sulong, his eyes filled with surprise and doubt.

"Good luck."

After the bartender finished speaking, he pressed a button on the control panel, and the machine's slide slowly delivered the target paper to Su Long's face.

Then, the bartender reached for the hole punch on the table next to him.

"No need to drill any holes," Su Long's voice rang out calmly.

He reached out and took the target paper, then picked up the leather-bound notebook next to him and opened the metal clasp.

Under everyone's astonished gaze, he precisely inserted the two bullet holes on the side of the target paper into the two metal rings of the snap-lock notebook.

Exactly.

He gently closed the clasp.

The target paper with a perfect ten-ring printed in the very center was thus perfectly bound into this booklet worth fifty dollars.

The tavern was deathly silent.

At a distance of fifty meters, using a pistol bullet as a hole punch, two holes that meet the binding specifications are precisely punched on a target paper.

This understanding of ballistics and this control over firearms is definitely at an expert level.

All the contempt and impatience on the Russian bartender's face vanished without a trace, and he solemnly said, "I'll go mix you a drink."

"No need," Su Long said, putting the bound target booklet into his equipment bag. "Just take me down there."

The Russian bartender nodded: "Okay, come with me."

The two passed through a heavy iron door next to the counter, behind which was a concrete staircase that led downwards.

The iron gate slowly closed behind us, and a cold airflow mixed with engine oil, gunpowder smoke, and mold surged up from below.

The tunnel was very deep; they descended nearly a hundred steps before arriving at a heavy iron gate that looked exactly like the one at the entrance.

The Russian man pushed open the iron gate forcefully.

A huge underground space unfolded before Sulong's eyes.

The space here is much more spacious than the pub upstairs, and the bright shadowless lamps illuminate the entire space as if it were daytime.

The walls were covered with all kinds of gun cabinets, from classic AK series assault rifles to the latest tactical shotguns, to heavy sniper rifles that you could only see in military magazines, and even heavy machine guns and rocket launchers... It was practically a small armory.

In the center of the space stood a reception desk made of thick steel plates, and behind it stood a slender figure wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt.

She was looking down, carefully wiping a disassembled gun with a soft deerskin cloth.

Su Long's gaze swept over the dazzling array of firearms before finally settling on that figure.

He stopped in his tracks.

The figure seemed to sense someone entering; she stopped what she was doing and slowly raised her head.

Surong looked at her hands, now neatly bandaged again, and raised an eyebrow: "Hannah?"

"I didn't expect to meet you here again."