Sterling Security Base — Indoor Shooting Range
Concrete walls. Powder-burnt air.
A dozen shredded target sheets fluttered like dead leaves.
Miles stood at the center lane, jaw locked, eyes empty, body moving with mechanical precision.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Another magazine emptied.
Another target obliterated.
He didn't stop.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
Agents at the back watched silently — whispers slipping between their shock and concern.
"Boss is on another level today…"
"He emptied five mags without pausing."
"He's venting something… just let him."
Shell casings rolled across the floor in a metallic storm.
Miles inserted another mag, racked the slide, took aim—
A familiar, steady voice cut through the haze.
"Boss."
Charles stepped forward, expression calm but eyes sharp with understanding.
He held out a cold bottle of water.
Miles took it without a word.
He swallowed half in one go, then tilted his head and poured the rest over himself.
