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Tension coils in your muscles as you steady your breath, the crosshair hovering over distant movement. Your finger tenses against the trigger—a hair's width between anticipation and release. The world narrows to the split-second where calculation meets instinct: a crack echoes, your sights snap upward, and the hunt begins anew. Miss, and you've painted a target on your back. Strike true, and the next breath you take will taste like iron and gunpowder.
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