It was a quiet night on the range. Lane Six had been prepared, several clips of FMJ ammunition sitting in a little row next to some safety goggles and ear protectors that Neil Kingsley would never use. He wasn't going to tune out the world. The sound of the gunshot was important to him; with the silencer and subsonic rounds, he could hear everything with his Gifts without having his mind explode from an overload. The way the firing pin struck. The way the bullet spun from the threaded barrel, through the suppressor. The next bullet sliding into position from the magazine. Firearms were beautiful things indeed.
Neil had left the silencer at home today. It wouldn't do to have such things in public. Some ranges had some, licensed for people to try. But wasting subsonic ammo on the range to actually get a quiet shot was simply pissing cash away, and Neil Kingsley did not remain highly liquid by pissing cash away. And firing a full metal jacket .40 round through a silencer didn't silence shit. One had to have the subsonics to match it if one wanted any sort of actual quiet shot.
Speaking of beautiful things... where was Alice Brown , anyway? Neil leaned against the lane divider, his Beast silent, his blue jeans and black t-shirt sleek against his body. He relaxed, settling in to wait.