96x Info

"We have ten minutes left on the clock," his producer whispered through the glass, her eyes shiny with held-back tears.

To the untrained eye, it looked like a standard handgun. To Marcus, it was a masterpiece. He had taken a specialized heavy slide, a hair-thin single-action trigger, and fused them onto a competition frame. Factory models didn't exist; it was the only one of its kind in the world. "Shooter ready?" the range officer called out. Marcus nodded, his heart hammering against his ribs. Beep! The timer shrieked. Marcus blurred into motion. "We have ten minutes left on the clock,"

Marcus smiled, looking down at the smoking barrel of his custom machine. They said a .40 caliber was too rowdy for a race gun, but the had just proved them all wrong. He had taken a specialized heavy slide, a

Inspired by the rare, custom-built Beretta 96X racing pistols used in competitive shooting. Marcus nodded, his heart hammering against his ribs

With a final double-tap on the furthest paper target, he cleared the course and dropped his empty magazine.

The neon sign above the console buzzed, casting a soft red glow over Leo’s worn notebook. For twenty years, his voice had filled the cars, bedrooms, and late-night garages of the city. He was the voice of , the last independent bastion of grunge, punk, and pure alternative rock.