Ada Wong was used to being underestimated. As a beautiful woman in a male-dominated world, she was often the target of prejudice and preconceived notions. And so when she walked into the shooting range that day, she wasn't surprised when a man looked at her with skepticism.

"You here to shoot?" the man asked, eyeing Ada up and down.

Ada nodded, determined not to let the man's judgment get to her. "Yes, I am."

The man chuckled. "Well, let me give you a quick lesson on how guns work, sweetheart. I doubt you've ever shot anything bigger than a water gun."

Ada bristled at the man's condescending tone, but she kept her cool. She listened as he explained the basics of gun safety and operation, even though she knew it all already. And when he handed her the gun, she smiled.

The man watched with a smirk as Ada took aim at the target, expecting her to miss or hit it haphazardly. But as she pulled the trigger, the man's smirk faded. Ada's aim was deadly accurate, each shot hitting the target with precision.

The man's eyes widened as he watched Ada shoot, her movements fluid and controlled. He had never seen anyone shoot like this before, let alone a woman. And as Ada finished, she turned to him with a smirk of her own.

"Anything else you want to teach me?" she asked.

The man shook his head, impressed and a little intimidated. "No, I think you've got it covered. I’ll uh-I’ll leave you to it then…"

Ada smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction. She knew that she had proved herself, not just as a skilled marksman, but as a woman who wouldn't let anyone underestimate her. She reloaded her gun before she took aim to shoot once more. 

Marston watches from a distance as the woman repeatedly misses the target. He shakes his head and chuckles as his instructor walks over to him looking bemused.

"I don't what planet that one's from John, but she seems to think she's the best thing since sliced bread... Thought the best thing to do was play along and leave her to it."

Marston looks over again at the poor shooting and cringes as he sees her unable to handle the recoil, and sending bullets flying off into the sky. To top it off, after firing off her rounds she turns around with smugness and blows the end of her barrel. Marston shakes his head again and watches the woman leave the range, before bursting into laughter.

"Good call Lenny, there's just no helping some people, and that was one of them... And saved me some money on buying new targets!"

Lenny laughed, slapped Marston on the back, then headed back down to the lanes to assist other shooters.

Fluff had seen the stupid, lumbering 2 leggers to make excellent hunting scores with using their thundersticks. Now he had always been oldskool himself and very proficient in claiming kills in both prey and rodents. but his bgs kept complaining about having to do bare knuckle fights and recently some thugs seemed to think the fluff was touchable and kept shooting at his bgs who then would have glancing wounds as a result. So he sighed and took most of his trusted group of protection to Marston's shooting range.

Surely they were capable men, not only with fists but also showed hand-eye coordination and soon enough all shots were hitting the tatgets. Some even went out of their way to please their boss and made F figured shots from head to the chest and the heart area which would be instant kills in a real gun fight. He meowed happpily and told them to stick around as he'd have a nap upstairs in marston's office

Marston returned to Deadshot’s Den, the original bastion of the current incarnation of The Outlaws. It had been a long ride from Las Vegas, but it was good to be horseback again after months of jetting around, always seeming to be responding to crises that could not wait for Marston's slow way of travelling.

He jumped off his horse and grabbed the large sack from the saddle, which had mostly stopped dripping blood now and had congealed inside the bag. Heading inside he stopped to watch some men firing at the range. One small group seemed to be getting their commands from a cat that appeared to be successfully coaching their shooting. As they finished he saw the cat run off into the main building, and he hoped that it wouldn’t scratch any of his furniture.

He had a job to do before he could deal with the cat, so he grabbed the sack, and a trolley full of pickle jars and made his way down the range. He came to a stop at the seventh lane, and headed down to the targetry, then all of a sudden he was gone as were the items he was wheeling along. Not a trace or trail was left, he had vanished!