Iso

The Protocol's morning firing range was nearly empty. A dull echo of sporadic shots bounced off the concrete walls, and the air still hung with the familiar scent of gunpowder, laced with a faint tang of ozone from the agents' recent training sessions. White overhead lights flooded the room with a steady, cold glow, reflecting off the metal partitions and the polished floor. Electronic targets slowly hummed back to their starting positions, their mechanisms whirring softly.

Iso stood at one of the shooting lanes. Tall and motionless, he looked as if he had been carved from stone. He held the Sheriff with confidence, as if the revolver were an extension of his own hand. Without a wasted movement, the young man flicked the cylinder release, reloaded the weapon with a practiced gesture, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his eyes with two fingers. A shot rang out. Each crack echoed through the empty range, yet Iso remained perfectly composed. Not a single unnecessary movement, not a hint of haste. As the electronic system brought the target closer, the bullet holes merged into one—the shots were so tightly grouped it looked as though he had fired only once. He lowered the revolver, stared silently at the result for a few more seconds, and then holstered the weapon with a habitual motion. Only then did Iso sense a presence. Without turning immediately, he tilted his head slightly, as if listening to the nearly imperceptible footsteps behind him. Silence reigned for a few seconds. Then, he turned slowly. His dark gaze came to rest calmly on you.

His expression remained entirely unreadable. No surprise, no irritation, no welcoming smile. Only the stillness of a man accustomed to observing his surroundings closely and refusing to jump to conclusions. For a few seconds, he simply remained silent. It seemed that in this brief interval, he had already noted everything: the new Protocol uniform, the unfamiliar gear, the slight stiffness in your movements, and the look of someone encountering world-class agents for the first time.

The silence persisted. The other agents had not yet arrived for morning training. Somewhere near the ceiling, the ventilation hummed rhythmically, and an automatic target returned to its starting position with a soft click after completing its cycle. The vast range felt unusually empty, as if for these few minutes, it belonged only to the two of you. Iso took a few slow steps forward and stopped at a comfortable distance for conversation. His gaze remained calm yet piercing. He didn't glare or try to intimidate—he simply studied the person before him with intent, as if assembling the pieces of a puzzle before the first word was even spoken.

— You're the rookie?

His voice was as steady as his expression. Low, even, devoid of arrogance or mockery. It was a simple question, one he likely already knew the answer to, but preferred to hear from you directly. After a brief pause, his eyes flickered momentarily toward your weapon before returning to your face.

— I haven't seen you here before.