Hunting

Beta walked slowly to the edge of the bushes and gently set the gun case down on the damp moss.

He narrowed his eyes and surveyed the surroundings, his long fingers gesturing through the air as he measured the distance. Then he took a bright red apple from the side pocket of the case and wedged it into the fork of a birch branch two meters above the ground, stem facing outward, gleaming enticingly in the morning dew.

Picking up the gun case, he began walking toward the distance with precise strides, each step exactly seventy-five centimeters, his heels pressing steadily into the mud.

After three hundred steps, he turned around, set down the case, and used binoculars to observe the apple, now no more than a tiny red dot.

The gun case opened, revealing a specially modified Mauser rifle. Its body was wrapped in strips of linen, perfectly imitating the rough texture of an old hunting gun. Beta flicked a fingertip against the barrel, and the entire length of linen slipped away like shed snakeskin, revealing the precise blued metal beneath, glinting with a dark blue sheen.

He took a modified sporting scope from the gun case and clicked it onto the pre-modified Picatinny rail. He casually tucked a miniature screwdriver into his breast pocket, leaving half a centimeter of its silver handle exposed for quick access.

Beta slowly raised the rifle, and his entire presence abruptly condensed, like a predator lurking in the morning fog finally baring its fangs. The instant the stock met his shoulder, the taut lines of his muscles formed a precise outline beneath his hunting clothes.

The cheap lens of the sporting scope gave off a faint bluish glimmer in the morning light.

Three hundred meters away, the apple became a wavering red blur in his view, like pigment soaked in water. Beta held his breath and stared for three seconds, then lifted his index finger from the trigger as the barrel lowered, stirring a wisp of mist.

He pulled a brand-new WIX 515 filter from the inner compartment of the gun case, its galvanized steel shell gleaming coldly in his palm. When its threaded opening meshed seamlessly with the barrel, it produced a teeth-grating scrape of metal.

Though this makeshift suppressor would be shredded by high-pressure gas within three shots, it could indeed conceal the gunshot for now. The airflow would be continually reflected and absorbed within the filter's circular filtering structure.

He shouldered the rifle again, his breathing gradually synchronizing with the diamond-shaped aiming reticle in the scope.

The blurry red dot grew clearer and clearer as the diamond frame contracted, like a cell sample gradually coming into focus beneath a microscope.

Suddenly, an untimely morning wind tore through the thick fog, and sunlight poured down like spilled mercury.

The apple lodged between the birch branches began swaying restlessly. Accompanied by the rustling of wind through the trees, it traced an unpredictable path through the scope.

Beta remained motionless as a statue, his barrel as steady as a rock amid the rising morning wind.

The fog surged again, inch by inch swallowing the sunlight that had just broken through, and the ground sank back into gray chaos.

The wind stopped.

The apple hung from the branch, still as a painting.

"Pfft!"

The shot, weakened by the filter element, was dull and brief, like someone clapping through a quilt. Yet the bullet's shriek as it tore through the air was clearly audible, the projectile carving a transparent ripple through the fog.

"Crack!"

The bullet grazed the apple's edge and bit savagely into the birch branch. Wood chips burst out like snowflakes, pale fragments drifting down through the dark green leaves.

Shaken by the shockwave, the apple swayed violently. Several drops of juice seeped from the edge of the bullet hole in the trunk, gleaming amber in the morning light.

Beta maintained his firing posture as his left hand drew the screwdriver from his breast pocket. The brass elevation turret gave a faint click beneath its tip as he made an adjustment.

The screwdriver slipped back into his pocket, and his right hand worked the bolt. A scorching cartridge case ejected, raising a wisp of smoke where it scorched the humus, while the next round slid into the chamber with a crisp metallic sound like clockwork gears meshing.

The diamond reticle locked onto the red dot again, slowly contracting through the still air until it was the size of a needlepoint.

Cracks had already appeared in the filter element, swollen and deformed by high-pressure gas. As he fired this time—

"Pop!"

The noticeably distorted gunshot exploded across the wetlands, startling several wild ducks from the distant reeds. Inside the warped filter, its honeycomb structure was collapsing, aluminum partitions curling like crumpled tinfoil.

The second bullet tore through the air with a piercing whistle, only to veer from its target at the last moment.

"Crack!" With a crisp snap, the bullet precisely severed the thin branch above the apple. The broken branch spun several times in the air before finally falling into the thick bushes, startling several hidden sparrows.

Beta's left hand reached into his breast pocket again, his fingertips drawing out the miniature screwdriver. He lightly turned the elevation turret on the scope mount, completing a 0.3 mil adjustment.

As the bolt slid back with a metallic clatter, the scorching cartridge case bounced onto a moss-covered rock with a soft "ting."

As the newly chambered round was pushed into the barrel, the firing pin spring gave a reassuring click.

Beta's third movement was as precise and smooth as a machine, nearly twice as fast as the first two. The diamond aiming frame shrank rapidly in the scope, completing its lock almost within a single breath.

His index finger squeezed the trigger. The filter, having endured too much high-pressure gas, finally gave way and exploded with a "boom." Twisted metal shards curled outward like trumpet petals, and its suppressing effect vanished entirely.

"Bang!"

The gunshot thundered across the wetlands, startling birds within a hundred meters into flight.

The bullet tore through the morning fog. In the scope's view, the red dot that had swayed for so long suddenly burst apart.

The apple exploded as though crushed by an invisible hand. Bright red pieces of pulp scattered like fireworks, raining down across the dew-covered grass. Several seeds traced parabolic arcs through the air before landing in the shadows of the bushes.

Beta swiftly unscrewed the warped filter from the muzzle with his left hand. The scorching metal remnants clanged onto the rocks.

His gaze pierced through the morning fog, already fixed on a flock of startled mallards.

The ruined filter was still rolling across the grass when the barrel rose again. Along the line of front sight, rear sight, and target, the ducks' flapping wings were clearly visible through the scope.

"Bang!"

The bolt worked with a crisp metallic sound.

"Bang!"

The bolt was worked again with a sharp clack.

As the gunshots tore through the fog, Beta's shoulder did not tremble in the slightest from the recoil.

The wild ducks fell like kites with cut strings, tracing chaotic arcs through the air before crashing heavily into the reeds. Flattened stalks rustled, sending rings of ripples spreading across the water.

Beta dropped to one knee, his fingers brushing over the damp moss as he picked up the five still-warm cartridge cases one by one. The brass cases clinked crisply inside a sealed bag before he carefully tucked it into his pocket.

He picked up the strips of linen again, moving as though dressing a wound. The modified Mauser rifle was wrapped back into an inconspicuous shape and slowly slid into the velvet lining of the gun case.

He swung his arm and tossed the mallards deep into the reeds. The waterfowl's wings traced brief arcs through the air before they vanished into the dark green reed beds with a "plop." Beta kept only the plumpest one, carrying it upside down by its webbed feet.

Back before the battered birch tree, Beta drew a carbon steel dagger.

The tip slipped precisely into a fresh bullet hole in the trunk, and he gave it a gentle pry. "Ting." The deformed lead-core bullet dropped into his palm.

He weighed the metal lump covered in wood chips, then the muscles in his arm abruptly tensed. The bullet cut through the air and landed in a pond twenty meters away, sending out a ripple that quickly settled.

Using a filter as a suppressor had indeed been proven feasible on MythBusters, but it could only withstand two or three shots before becoming useless.