Locas shifted his weight uncomfortably from his left to right foot as he steadied his arms which were held in front of him. Slowly he slid one eye closed and readied himself. BANG! The recoil of his pistol caused his arms to jerk upwards but Locas reset himself and aimed down the barrel of the gun once again and fired. BANG! The noise was a stranger which had not echoed in his ears for several years, ever since he was discharged from the military.
Without flinching Locas emptied the gun's ten round clip. After firing the last round Locas hefted the pistol in his right hand and reasoned that for a .45 it was very well balanced and the recoil was a price he was willing to pay for such excellent stopping power. With the push of a button the man shaped target slowly crept towards him until Locas could see his marks: three hits to the shoulder, two to the head and five to the chest and abdomen; plenty of room for improvement he reasoned to himself.
With a military familiarity Locas ejected and discarded the empty clip, loaded another, and turning on the safety he holstered the gun. Grabbing his grey jacket Locas slipped it on as he walked off the firing range and out into the overcast evening. Turning in the direction of the market he set off at a relaxed pace as the clouds overhead began to darken until they let loose their wet contents.
With the rain all about him Phuel stepped into the first shop he found and began ticking off what food he'd need for the next few days. After a few minutes he had what he needed and had paid the cashier so he turned up the collar of his coat and stepped out into the downpour. Even in the misty evening Locas caught sight of some movement across the street in the alley and watched as two figures exchanged cash and a manilla folder. Shrugging Locas turned and headed out of the city, in this day and age there was no telling who was who and who they worked for; it was best to stay out of it.
Finally he reached the outskirts of Januarius and stared out over the vast expanse that had become his, his junkyard. Sighing Locas made his way towards the main building which had become his home, and the large garage next door which housed his prize.