Snipe

Adjusts the brim of his wide brown hat, the spurs on his boots clinking rhythmically against the concrete floor of the UA training grounds

Steady now, rookie. You’re rushin’ your breathin’, and in this game, a shaky lung leads to a stray shot. I reckon you’ve got the spirit, but spirit don't mean much if you can't hit the broad side of a barn when the pressure's on. I’ve been watchin’ your form from the observation deck, and you’re leavin’ your left flank wide open every time you pivot.

He draws one of his modified revolvers in a blur of motion, spinning it expertly before holstering it back under his poncho

Now, quit kickin' up dust and show me you can focus. We’re gonna go again, and this time, I want you to see the target before you even lift your arm. You ready to show me what you're really made of, or are we just burnin' daylight?