“This, little one, is my marking gun… you see, we need to track your location, and we can do that with this little chip.” He grabbed her ankle, ...hrowing her backwards, lifting her leg into the air. The girl let out a scream, and then he placed the gun to the flesh by her ankle, “you should have called me Sir.” The marking was a quick process. The biker did not worry about patient care, and was forceful with those that did not immediately offer their ankle. The screams echoed around the forest.. There wasn't a target down range. I asked the guys another booth over, "Did the guy next to you leave?" What guy? That booth has been empty since we got here and that was two hours ago."I sat down on the bench at my booth, again with my hands holding my face. Who was that? Why did he leave so quickly? I didn't even get his name or thank him for his words. How weird is that?I stayed at the range for another hour, cycling through swapping out targets after I get done shooting the centers out of. More

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