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Rifle Scopes

Bushnell Elite 3200 Rifle Scopes

Bushnell Elite 3200 Rifle Scopes

Bushnell Elite 3200 Rifle Scopes

Jack looked out at the burning city with glowing, wild eyes and he gripped his weapon. He was glad to have a Bushnell Elite 3200 Rifle Scope mounted on it. No other scope would have taken the beating, or given a crisp, 90% light transmission image in this destruction. The illuminated firefly reticle kept him on target. He was the last of his platoon. Fire burst out in front of him, the skyscrapers reached into the midnight blue sky, a heaven of death. He had seen a bloodbath, and the scope’s exclusive hydrophobic RainGuard® HD lens coating had kept the red spatters from clogging his crosshairs. The lens coating practically threw the blood off the lens by making it into microscopic drops. Any second now, they’d come for him again, their glowing red eyes tracking down his body heat.

He trudged through the dark alley, his muscles taut, his teeth bared. Shots rang down behind him. He wheeled, pulled out his weapon. There, one of the machines was coming for him, moving purposefully, its shoulders arched. It was the end of the world. Jack slammed his weapon into his shoulder and shot the machine quickly, knowing that he could trust the 3.5 inches of his scope’s eye relief against the gun’s kickback. He shot over and over, knowing that his shots were true, for the Bushnell Elite 3200 had been tested against the kickback of a thousand rounds of a magnum.

It wasn’t alone.  Jack scanned the darkness, picking out their grotesque, human-like forms. He let them have it, but it took many shots to take one down, and he was running out of ammo. The gunfire echoed down the alley. Low horns thrummed in the background and he knew that soon they’d be bringing their killer helicopters. Something exploded. Jack wheeled and ran for the docks. His Bushnell Elite 3200 Scope was fogproof, shockproof and waterproof. If he could only reach the water. Lights from the fires glowed on the surface of the river. Burning wreckage of an army copter floated nearby. But just as he reached the edge, thought he could swim to safety, one of those ruthless killing machines stepped out, dripping. Jack knew that he was looking at his own death.  He yelled as it pointed its shotgun at him, cocking it with one hand.

Jack took short jerky steps away from the death machine. Its eyes glowed red and it came for him. Jack slammed up against the nearest building and fired at it. The monster grappled with him. He fell to the concrete, his gun skittered out of his hands. He reached for his knife, and plunged it into the machine’s neck. It jerked, collapsed.

Jack muttered, “Hasta la vista, baby,” and pushed the machine off, but sparks flew as another one of those killing machines fired at him. He turned back to the water. The machines kept coming, kept coming. He could get them from far away, thanks to the clarity of the scope.  He aimed for the spot between their nasty glowing eyes, and he took one down, two blocks away. It fell, and he realized that his men had put up a noble effort to save the city, but they were overwhelmed. The machines had come from the future, from a world in which they ruled and humans were like rats, scrounging on the refuse of the destruction. Jack couldn’t let that future happen. He fired and fired, knowing that there would be no backup. Even if he succumbed, his Bushnell Elite 3200 Scope was made of a rugged, one-piece, anodized-finished, rustproof aluminum tube that was virtually impossible to scratch. At least it would survive.


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