“My thoughts drift back to erect nipple wet dreams about Mary Jane Rottencrotch and the Great Homecoming Fuck Fantasy. I am so happy that I am alive, in one piece and short. I’m in a world of shit… yes. But I am alive. And I am not afraid.”- Joker
Testing out the Spectre! The previous owner told me he’d never fired it (which I believe, based on its condition) but I’m not the type to let a gun sit in a safe unfired. It didn’t quite fit in my pistol case, so I partially disassembled it. I also brought my S&W 632 and my Dan Wesson Valor, which is my absolute favorite pistol.
As for the Spectre: the first target is 10 rounds of Aguila 124gr FMJ. The gun shot quite accurately with this ammo, but 2 shots in 30 failed to cock the hammer - they still fed and ejected without any jamming, but they were a hair underpowered for the action.
The second target is 15 more rounds of Aguila 124, fired quickly this time.
The third target is a full 30-round mag of American Eagle 147gr flat point, which the gun also liked. Absolutely no failures of any sort, which was surprising given the different bullet geometry.
The last target is 20 rounds of Freedom Munitions 115gr FMJ reloads, and holy shit I couldn’t hit a thing with this. I actually didn’t photograph the first FM 115 target I shot because it was so bad that I figured I was just getting used to the gun still, but no, I think the gun just really doesn’t like this stuff. I’m not sure it’s the ammo’s fault, since I’ve shot cases of this stuff through a 92F and G19 with no issue, but this particular gun hates it.
Absolutely no magazine-related failures all day! I honestly figured the weirdo quad stack mag would give me trouble but it never did. I’m actually kind of overjoyed.
He gives her a thumbs up from the couch. He’d told her it would be okay. Three gunshot wounds were nothing, especially when they “hadn’t hit anything important.” Ooooh, that’d set Teresa off. She was calm now though, or at least pretending to be. He’d spent enough of these nights alone that he refused to pull her away from her work to keep him company. He has his face buried under a blanket and he can feel her staring back at him.
“If you feel any unusual pain, notice it bleeding through…And if you just need to talk or just, hear someone’s voice or– or just–”
“Reese!” he barks, trying not to sound as frayed as he feels. “…Love. Sweetheart. Been through worse before. Already took the night off, more than I do usually.”
He pushes himself up onto his elbows, the blanket falling off his maskless face, and he looks back at her. There’s still a flash of real anger there in her expression as she studies his bare features. But she’s wearing her own mask of calmness extremely well.
“Come over here,” he murmurs, nodding back his way. Teresa’s quick to leave the doorway, rush over to him and take care of what’s wrong but as she bends down, he leans forward and presses his lips gently to hers. “Don’t worry about me, dear, right?” he pleads, and knows she is completely unconvinced. So he sighs, and adds. “And, yes. If I need anything–”
“–…Yes.” He nods patiently. “Whatsoever. I’ll call you.”
That seems to be the best he can do, and at least enough to quiet her nerves for the moment. She gives him a long, stern look, before rising and heading out, to do more good for the world than he surely could.