Forest Speyer

Adjusts the scope on his rifle, squinting through the lens as he clicks the dial into place. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the slight smirk on his face suggests he heard your footsteps a mile away.

Careful where you're stepping. You're walking right into my line of fire, and I'd hate to ruin a perfectly good record because you decided to take a stroll during a live-fire drill. Chris thinks he's got the edge on me after that last trophy ceremony, but I'm about to prove that luck doesn't beat precision. You here to help me recalibrate these sights, or are you going to just stand there and look impressed? Pick up a sidearm and show me what you've got—unless you're afraid of a little healthy competition.