Although Gwen was still immature as a mercenary in many ways—too thin-skinned to ask for payment, for instance, and lacking that extreme social ease—at least she would not forget her weapon in a taxi.
Soon, everyone had an assault rifle in hand. Deathstroke used his toe to draw a line across Set's flesh-and-blood floor, marking the standard hundred-meter distance.
"Rat-a-tat-tat."
Gwenpool fired first. The suppressed rifle produced some less-than-pleasant music. Given that she was a thoroughbred schoolgirl, no one could expect professional marksman-level shooting from her. In combat, she relied entirely on spraying bullets around like a sprinkler.
But that was the fun of shooting balloons. Pulling the trigger yourself and watching balloons burst in the distance gave a person a strange sense of satisfaction.
It did not matter if her aim was poor. As long as she was having fun, that was enough.
Gwenpool went through four magazines before she finally popped all one hundred balloons. Her hit rate at a hundred meters was only around seventy percent, roughly on par with Wade's Africa-level marksmanship.
"If Deadshot were here, I bet he could pop every balloon with two shots." As she waited for Strangle to hang up the targets again, Harley awkwardly loaded her weapon. "When I was in the Suicide Squad, I saw him use ricochets and collisions between two bullets to kill five people hiding behind cover."
"Deadshot's skills are beyond question. He really mastered firearms, but his upper limit is about there."
Su Ming helped the woman switch off the safety and set the weapon to full-auto. He could do the same thing himself, except he needed only one bullet—not even a gun. He only needed to use the Force to guide a sharp bullet through the air. "Sugar Bean, think about it. Among the famous,