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Message: <blockquote data-quote="ledded" data-source="post: 1427172" data-attributes="member: 12744">[PLAIN]We were like gods once... [Practice makes perfect][/PLAIN]Breathe out. Hold. Squeeze. CRACK! Smitty, took a breath, cycled the action on his new Springfield, and glanced through the scope. The shot was just barely to the left of his intended target, so he made some minute adjustments to the scope.  He had strung up a length of string downrange several hundred feet out, and affixed playing cards onto the string. His last shot punched just left of the diamond on the Jack of diamonds, leaving just enough color on the card to see that he was a hair off. There was some wind that made the cards move a bit, but Smitty knew that wasn’t why his shot wasn’t in the precise location he desired; he was good at this before the 'accident', and now he was simply amazing. Smitty had been out here since before daylight, knowing that he could get better time alone this way. Time to practice, time to think, time to consider the path he was on now. At the last thought he adjusted the glove on his left hand somewhat, amazed at the difference that these scientists had made. His arm was mostly scorched bone when they brought him in, as was part of his ribcage. They told him his eye was a smoldering mess when he got to them. Some kind of ability, some power fully awakened by that amber explosion, had kept him alive and was trying to mend his wounds while he was unconscious, but there was too much damage. Taking technology stolen from the Nazis, they had made him their Frankenstein's monster. He still wasnt sure how their... additions... worked, or why just responded just like his destroyed flesh, but it did. Sometimes better. Using his new left hand was like shooting with a vice; the thing clamped down on the rifle with such ease that he had to be careful not to damage the wood. The implants in his head were slightly uncomfortable, always leaving him with a mildly cold, heavy feeling, but they increased his perception to absolutely shocking levels as the headaches of the first few weeks faded into memory. "Um, 'ello suh, would you like a spot o' tea?", came the female voice from behind Smitty, not surprising him in the least. She had quietly approached, but he had felt her leave the building over a hundred feet away; heard the dew adhering to her nurses shoes, heard the slight clink of stoneware from the small tray she carried. Using his newfound talents he had heard her breathing as she approached, noting she was slightly nervous, and had felt every footstep while he made his last few shots unperturbed. He had even noted that she was female, probably short, and slim from the sound of her movements and breathing. Without ever taking a direct look. Her sounds, smells, movements felt familiar. Sylvia. The Ward 3 day nurse. Man, these things are good, he thought, considering the ‘additions’ they had made to him. Smitty smiled and turned to her, about to thank her. Her eyebrows involuntarily shot up and she did a sharp intake of breath before quickly mastering her surprise and repainting her nice British smile. Smitty's words died on his lips as he looked down shame-faced and flipped the eye patch Captain Smith had given him back down over the steel and red-glowing eye. He sometimes forgot how disconcerting the eye and scars could be for most people. Hell, the first time he showered after being released from the horrifying bed contraption, he nearly threw his shaving mug through the mirror with a surprised shout when he turned and saw his new reflection for the first time. He turned back and fired again, this time putting the round cleanly through the opposite diamond on the card, nodding to himself in satisfaction that his last adjustments held true. "Nice shot. You're good. *Damn* good", he heard her comment. She lowered the binoculars she had picked up when she had sat down the steaming tray. Smitty just smiled at her as she looked at him with kind concern and what she probably thought was a comforting smile. But Smitty knew he detected something else in her look. Pity. He shook his head slightly, smiling without humor, and turned back to his rifle. He casually noted that the wind was picking up a bit. Smitty chambered the last round, took aim at the last card on the line as it wavered and jumped in the breeze, and let one thought enter his head before he fired the shot. Save your pity for the Nazis, honey. CRACK! He stood up, slung the rifle over his shoulder, picked up the teapot and poured himself a cup as she stood there, looking downrange with the binoculars. "Um, love, I 'ate to say it, but it looks like you missed that one", she said, setting the binoculars down and giving him that smile that warmed him almost as much as the tea as she poured herself a cup. Smitty just nodded to her slightly as he took a sip of the tea, then after a moment picked up the binoculars and handed them back to her. "Look again", he said to her, smiling, as he walked off with the cup back towards the barracks. Sylvia took a sip of her tea, used the binoculars and looked again. Maybe she missed it; the wind was making the card move more now, and it was at least a few hundred feet away. No, there was no hole in the last card. Wait, there was something on the top edge of the card.  A barely discernable smear of blood and a small bit of what looked like… yes, it was… A fly. Its legs were still on the top of the card where it had landed. Smitty heard the teacup clink as it fell to the ground. He glanced back, seeing her now using both hands on the binoculars to focus in better, the forgotten cup and spilled tea by her foot. He could barely make out her whisper of “My God… my… God… in… heaven…” Smitty let a grim smile break over his lips again as he spoke, unheard, under his breath. “That’s right. *God* may not have enough pity for 'em when I get there…”</blockquote>

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