America: Starting with Daily Intelligence
Chapter 179 - 136: Document Assessment_2

Chapter 179: Chapter 136: Document Assessment_2

If it were the second event, Allen Zhang might score pretty high, but he’d struggle just getting past the first stage, with poor marksmanship, anything else is basically moot.

There are security personnel all over the base, but they are there mostly for show, and no one would stir up trouble here. Not far away, there’s a shooting range, where many nervous folks are firing away, trying to warm up their trigger fingers.

Allen Zhang was quite interested and went over to ask about the price.

The staff replied: "This shooting activity is specially set up for assessment participants and accompanying family members, with a $50 entry fee per person, including any firearm of choice and unlimited ammo."

That cheap?

Allen Zhang immediately took out fifty US dollars to register and pay, got his hand strap, and entered the shooting range under the guidance of the staff.

The sound of gunshots from those firing nearby was nonstop. Bullets were abundantly placed in boxes, and the weapon racks were filled with all kinds of handguns, rifles, sniper rifles, and submachine guns.

The reason why the bullets were relatively cheap was that most of the stock here was nearing its expiration date and had to be dealt with quickly. The procurement was low-cost, and you could find any caliber, with the production cost for a brass bullet only being several cents. Steel ones were even cheaper, only more expensive at stores and convenience shops.

A box of bullets commonly sells for between ten and several dozen US dollars at supermarkets. Like when Sieg sources from his friends, he could even make a profit at five dollars a box.

The staff, upon seeing Allen Zhang as an Asian who found everything novel, assumed he didn’t shoot much and probably wasn’t familiar with the rules here. They also gave him a detailed introduction to the activities and safety regulations, such as not to point the gun at people, and to check the safety when firing and loading bullets, etc.

Basically, just the major safety rules, which Allen Zhang still understood; after all, he had played around in shooting galleries before. He just couldn’t shoot accurately, not that he had never handled a gun.

He picked up a Beretta 92F that felt just right for him, liking it for its comfortable grip, mild recoil, and cool appearance.

Grabbing a few boxes of ammo, he took his position and started shooting with rapid-fire.

At thirty and fifty meters, he would hit maybe two out of ten shots and even those were grazes. On a good day, he might hit the bullseye, indicating he had little to no natural shooting talent.

With this level, he was the amateur of amateurs at the vast shooting range, bottom of the bottom.

A pure novice.

After firing two magazines in succession until his wrist began to ache, Allen Zhang chose to stop and rest, his shooting showing a slight improvement.

He glanced over at some of the other professional shooters.

A bearded, chubby guy in overalls and Martin boots, handling a Glock 21 expertly, was loading and aiming at a 100-meter fixed target, firing away and making the target ding and clatter like it was dancing.

He hit every shot.

Allen Zhang glanced at the man’s shooting, then at his own target.

Thanks, I feel really humbled.

Why can’t I hit the target? Because it’s inherently good! I just can’t bear to shoot it!

"Buddy, are you here for the assessment? With your accuracy, you could go perfect across all the events, right?" Allen Zhang asked the bearded man during a magazine change.

"Not really, I was too nervous and lost a lot of points on the moving target shooting."

The bearded man glanced at Allen Zhang’s target and chuckled, "You here accompanying a friend?"

"Yeah."

That’s the only explanation Allen Zhang could offer. With his level of shooting, it was uncertain who would end up being protected. Discussing something like getting someone to take the test for you isn’t exactly appropriate.

"I didn’t pass this time, just have to wait for the next one," said the bearded man, pointing at a person dressed as a Western cowboy, "His shooting is super accurate too, pinpoint precision on fixed targets, and just as deadly on moving ones, but like me, after four or five attempts, he still hasn’t passed. It’s mainly the psychological tests and the ability to react on the fly that get us."

"Being a good shot is useless if it doesn’t show you’re working for your employer. You have to protect your employer and yourself at the same time."

Well, if this guy can’t make it, then I definitely can’t.

Allen Zhang felt that this wasn’t an assessment for a gun license or a security certification; it was like selecting top-tier Special Forces!

Even the President’s bodyguards are only at this level, and those guys are all show, not necessarily as competent as $200-a-day security personnel on the street.

All he could do was encourage the other guy to keep trying.

Assessments are like that, the system’s quite rigid, like when you’re taking a driver’s test and have to drive according to rules, but who really drives strictly by the book?

No traffic lights, no cameras, plus you’re in a hurry, you’re definitely going to floor it.

After giving the bearded man a heads up, Allen Zhang tried other firearms at different ranges, rifles, submachine guns, even lever-action rifles. He had no feel for the guns, and the bullets were flying all over the place.

But at least he was getting the hang of it.

This is how it is without a talent for shooting; even a Sharpshooter has to rely on a ton of bullets. You wait until the General Sect Leader has fired one ton, two tons, ten tons of bullets, then would you dare say the General Sect Leader’s aim is poor?

Allen Zhang spent half a day shooting, and to his surprise, he didn’t see a single Black person here.

No wonder in the Olympics shooting events are all participated by white people, and sprinting and long distances are dominated by Black people.

After waiting a few more hours, nearing midday, Sieg came out.

Allen Zhang had left the shooting range long ago and was sitting on the side resting, chatting with Rena on his phone.

Allen Zhang: Shooting has made my hands turn red!

Rena: What kind of gun have you been shooting?

Allen Zhang: There’s a bit of everything at the shooting range.

Rena: Oh, I thought you were up to your old tricks again. Your bank card has been processed, remember to come and pick it up when you have time. When you do, I’ll personally help you shoot!

Allen Zhang: ...

After putting away his phone, he turned back and saw Sieg with an air of pride and satisfaction and asked him, "How did the assessment go, did you pass? Judging by your expression, it seems like a sure thing?"

Sieg handed him a form with full confidence, "Take a look at the results, every item is marked as outstanding, and these are all things I am good at. I’d passed once before, and even had a stricter quasi-combat assessment in the army, how could I possibly fail!"

Allen Zhang glanced at the score sheet, the name was his, the photo was his, the score was outstanding, but the person assessed was not him.

Empty! Utter emptiness!!

A hideous system! A monetary transaction! And me, taking the back door.

"When can I get the CCW permit?" Allen Zhang only lamented for two seconds before ignoring these minor details.

"I originally thought it could be printed on the same day, but today there are quite a few people passing, so we need to queue to enter the scores and review before printing. It won’t be ready until tomorrow at the latest. Don’t worry, you’ve paid after all, you’re ahead of many in line, surely it will be printed out soon," Sieg reassured.

"Will I come here to pick up the permit, or go to a special department in the city, or will it be mailed?" Allen Zhang asked again.

"It will be printed from the suburbs and sent to the city address. There is a $15 mailing fee, but the advantage is that you can get the permit quickly and it won’t delay your time. If it happens to be printed on a Saturday or Sunday, their staff are off and don’t work. You might have to wait another two days."

Sieg explained, "I haven’t finished filling out these forms either, so I wanted to come over and ask for your opinion."

"Let’s go with the mail then."

Allen Zhang wrote down the address of the Green Word Shelter and paid Sieg the $15 fee, so it could be sent directly there and picked up later.

Sieg submitted the completed forms and after leaving, both got into the car. Stopped at a traffic light, Sieg checked his phone and exclaimed with joy, "The $12,000 has been deposited!!"

"Then log into the charitable organization’s official website in Los Angeles, choose Green Word Shelter for a charitable donation. When you fill in the small project, there will be an option for an outstanding employee. Be sure to select outstanding employee Hanberger Juan Jin, and Rena."

Allen Zhang thought about it, after all, they were all his people, and Rena must have a lot more in savings than him.

Sieg immediately got to work.

"Are you donating the whole amount?"

"Yes!"

Bank account deducted -$12,000. Thank you for your charitable donation!

What Allen Zhang saw, however, was +$12,000.

Paying taxes? I’m not paying a damn thing!

I don’t want to pay even a cent.

Spent $150 today, remaining wealth $42,480.

Wuhu! Thrilling!

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