Hunched slightly, with a long beard and long hair, McDwayne staggered between the decaying houses and the ruins, draped in a shabby linen. The sniper rifle in his hand was wrapped in many fibers extracted from the rags, making the sniper rifle look like a steel bar wrapped in construction debris.

As the sound of gunfire in his ears became clearer and clearer, McDwayne, who had always bent his waist and drooped his head forward, suddenly stopped, raised his head slightly, closed his eyes, took a deep breath of air filled with the smell of gunpowder smoke and rotten garbage, and his face with obvious splash scars involuntarily twitched slightly, looking like a drug addict who had taken a puff of drugs, enjoying illusory pleasure......

From the moment he acquired his first lever-mounted Winchester M1984 rifle at the age of five, McDwan loved the feeling of hitting the target. From the empty cans on the ranch fence to the bottles of all shapes and colors, McDwan has always been able to smash those targets with ease. Even the cowboys who have been fighting wild wolves and cattle thieves in the Wild West with guns all year round have to admit that McDon, who is only seven years old, has surpassed most of them in marksmanship.

Life on the ranch may seem leisurely, but in fact it is not as idyllic and dreamlike poetry as the eyes of the beholder see. Especially when the pasture grows badly and the livestock slaughter rate does not reach the break-even rate, the cowboys employed in the pasture will leave one after another, leaving the rancher with empty pockets to curse God fiercely, and then use the little money left to buy the pitiful necessities of life to feed the family.

This is where the first compliment of McDwayne's life comes from watching his younger siblings who haven't eaten meat for a month being scolded by their mother for refusing to eat bland mashed potatoes, and McDon walks out of the house with a gun in his hand. When he returned home in the evening, McDwan became a hero to the family's warm welcome—in just one afternoon, McDown hunted five hares and a pheasant with beautiful feathers. In addition to a beautiful meal of braised rabbit meat for the whole family, the pheasant with its beautiful feathers was exchanged for a real hunter's jacket from a passing tourist.

Wearing this hunter's jacket, McDwan began to frequent the barren mountains and wilderness around the ranch, and the cheers he heard every time he returned home with his prey, as well as the warm hugs of his younger siblings, made McDwan feel extremely proud. Even the ranchers, who occasionally came to the ranch for a drink with their father, did not hesitate to offer McDwan a pleasant remark. So no one was surprised when McDwan won first place and a full $100 prize when he was 10 years old in a shooting competition dominated by cowboys.

At the age of sixteen, McDon encountered the first contingency of his life when a scruffy middle-aged man came to the ranch to apply for a cowboy job, and he scoffed at McDon's marksmanship. To prove that he was capable enough to despise McDairn's marksmanship, the drunken cowboy snatched McDwon's lever-operated Winchester M1984 rifle and fired a shot at the ranch gate a mile away, clanging the cowbells hanging from the ranch gate.

Faced with everyone's doubts, including McDwon, the drunken middle-aged man fired another shot at the cowbell hanging from the ranch gate. After watching the cowbells fall to the ground, McDwan had his first shooting teacher.

The middle-aged man from the Marine Corps taught McDwan everything he knew. Naturally, the often drunk middle-aged man also handed McDwan a crumpled handwritten letter when he left the ranch two years later.

Already obsessed with shooting, or more precisely, with the feeling of shooting prey, McDwan somewhat logically took the handwritten letter and enlisted in the Army as a soldier in the Marine Corps. With good marksmanship and relatively strong physical fitness trained on the ranch, McDwan was selected into the Marine Corps' sniper training camp with little effort.

The rigorous sniper training has strengthened McDone's talent for shooting and hunting. So much so that when McDwan first entered the war, the sub-shooter assigned to McDwan was adamantly unwilling to believe that McDwan was a junior brother on the battlefield.

The ensuing campaign turned out to be lackluster - lying down at the predetermined firing spot and waiting for the target to be delivered to the door. With strong intelligence support and absolute superiority in weapons and equipment, McDwan can always easily achieve a perfect sniper kill.

The repetition of such a one-sided massacre without any stimulation over and over again made McDwayne's mood extremely low. Especially when McDwan saw that the fighters under the command of those military contractors received generous weekly salaries and additional battlefield subsidies, it was even more difficult to calm his heart!

On the day of his full service, McDaunt calmly accepted his retirement and immediately walked into the office of a military contractor closest to the barracks and found a new job for himself.

In his new work environment, McDwan felt at home — evenly matched weapons and opponents, generous rewards for every hunt, and photos of his brother and sister standing next to a new house or new car, laughing and giving him a thumbs up, all of which made McDwayne's heart flutter, as if he had returned home with his prey.

There is no doubt that McDwan firmly believes that he is a natural hunter, and he can only rely on hunting to gain the respect and praise of those around him. As for the rest......

A good hunter never thinks too much about unnecessary things!

Slowly exhaling a breath of turbid air in his chest, McDwayne slowly opened his eyes, grabbed the high-magnification telescope hanging from his chest, and looked at the battlefield where gunfire was heard in the distance.

Obviously, the crappy companions on the battlefield had been frightened by their fierce prey, and could only hide behind relatively sturdy bunkers, waiting for their deliverance.

And the fierce prey, moving swiftly from wall to ruin, occasionally baring its fangs at its wretched companions. Judging by the speed of the fierce prey's movements and the frequency of shooting, the physical strength of this prey is obviously much stronger than that of ordinary prey. If it weren't for the sake of stopping his crappy companions, perhaps he would have already gone away after a hearty slaughter, like the giant wolf he hunted when he was sixteen years old, killing three cows?