The Gun Spirits

I remember when the gun spirits first emerged.  Hell, I remember the first one confirmed on /k/.  There had been rumors before then, wild stories of rifles, pistols, firearms of every kind becoming human, but only a few believed; everyone else dismissed them as someone just fucking around, or some sort of weird viral marketing scheme.  Some tried putting up pictures or videos, but it never was enough to convince everyone.

Until someone live streamed one.

I managed to catch wind of the stream before it got underway, thanks to a thread advertising it.  I'll be honest, I was skeptical at the time, but all the same curious.  It was one of the people who already came forward before, and they had a real treat of a weapon even if it hadn't had a soul.  A Martini Henry, straight from the Zulu War--or so the claim went--in as pristine a condition as a rifle older than the modern car could be.  He could have just shown the rifle to everyone and it would've been fantastic.

Anyway, that moment is forever seared into my mind.  In one instant, there was a rifle.  In the next, a dignified-looking woman wearing what I assume was the British uniform of the period.  You know the one, red coat and all that.  I'm not sure if it was just because of what was happening--I mean, showing your true nature for all the world to see has to be nerve-wracking--or if it was an artifact of 19th Century military posture, but it struck me how rigid she was, how concisely she answered any questions from the chat.  Well, most questions.  Some things she seemed reluctant to talk about, others she simply didn't know.  Her time in service of the British Empire was touched on, and she confirmed she was not alone in her condition.

One that stood out to me was asked frequently.  "Where did you come from?"  She never dropped that stoic stance but I swear to you, for a moment I thought I saw a look of discomfort on her face.

"I woke up one day and realized I had a mind like yours.  That is all."  It was a very final answer, and yet it left me wondering if there was more to it.  After all, it didn't exactly answer how a rifle came to have a sapient mind, and that wasn't even getting into the ability to manifest a human appearance.  I wanted to poke further, and I could tell the rest of the chat did too, but the streamer decided it was enough for one session and bid everyone farewell.

Maybe some still refused to believe it, but that night /k/ was ablaze with the news.  The gun spirits were real!  There were more out there!  I don't think any of us were looking at our weapons the same way.

After a while, I began to wonder.  Did I have anything with a spirit, with a soul?  I had hoped not.  Back then, I didn't have a whole lot of free time, or at least free time usable for the outside world.  Months between range trips were the norm, some rifles having not seen a target in years.  Would they be upset?  Would they resent me for leaving them in darkness?  Would they hate me?

To tell the truth, I was terrified of finding out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time passed.  The news spread from 4chan, although it never quite seemed like anyone but us degenerates believed it at first.  Not like I could blame them, I wouldn't either if I didn't see it live.  That streamer never did return, I have no idea what happened, whether he was black bagged or his rifle just wasn't comfortable speaking publicly again.  In honesty, I kind of hoped there wouldn't really be any serious talk about the spirits.  Naive, I know, but it was bad enough back when guns were simply hunks of steel.

It did inspire me to actually set aside some time for a range trip, though.  And I intended to take them all--or at least the ones that were range-ready--because I just couldn't shake the thought from my mind of one of them having their own mind.  And even if they turned out to just be a bunch of rifles, well at least I would have dragged my ass to the range for once.  Hell, I was even going to open up some GP11 battle packs I had been sitting on for a couple years at that point.  It had easily been three or four since I got some trigger time on the K31.

I had gotten the ammo all loaded up in some ammo cans and was about to start taking them out to my truck when I heard it.  A feminine grunt, like someone was stretching, behind me.  Now, my room was kinda on the small side, and I was facing the door.  The only thing that was behind me was my bed, where I had laid out all my rifles to make sure everything was still okay with them.  And with the window blocked off by a large TV, there was no way anyone or anything could have gotten there without me noticing, so there was only one thing it could be.

I froze, and my stomach felt like it punched clean to Earth's core.  Hoping, praying that I either somehow overheard something my roommate was listening to through the wall or I was in a VERY vivid dream, I slowly turned around.

And there she was, sitting on the edge of the bed in a World War II-looking grey uniform, hands folded in her lap.  Chestnut hair streamed out from underneath a patrol cap to her shoulders, and rich brown eyes locked with mine.   I want to say I had something clever or smooth to say, but that would be a total lie.  I was dumbstruck, partly out of amazement and partly out of sheer terror.  I half expected a torrent of yelling and screaming, angry words, a glare, anything.  But she just smiled at me, like nothing was wrong.

We were probably only like that for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before she finally tilted her head to the side and said, "Guten tag!"  This managed to snap me from my trance, and even though I already knew the answer from the language spoken I glanced around her at the other rifles to see which one was missing.  91/30, check.  SKS, check.  WASR, check.  10/22, check.  That only left...the Swiss.

I gave her a smile, or at least the best I could muster, and stammered out, "Er, sorry.  Ich..spreche Deutsch nicht."  At the time, I wasn't even sure if I had gotten that right since I barely knew much more than how to say I didn't speak it.  It seemed to be right though, since she just nodded.

"I know.  It's good to get out there again, isn't it?  It's been far too long.  I thought you might never shoot me again."  Her last sentence came out with a hint of a chuckle.

I felt an enormous pang of guilt and looked down at the floor.  "Yeah.  I...sorry."

"Don't worry about it.  I knew you'd get around to it eventually."  I was starting to seriously wonder if I was in a dream.  How was she so calm?  Was it just not a big deal for a rifle to sit around doing nothing for months, if not years?

I had a way to check on the dream part, at least.  One good pinch later, and I had my confirmation.  This was no dream.  I was really standing there in front of a woman who was really a K31, and didn't seem to mind that she'd just spent the better part of three years in a bag under my bed.  Did she only recently come into being, then?  Or was she just that patient?  All the same, guilt was eating at me about it.  "You're sure?"

"Of course!  Unless you'd rather I get upset with you."  She shook her head with another chuckle, then clapped her hands together.  "Now then.  Shall we?  Or would you like to ask some questions?  You look like you want to ask something."

"Actually, yeah, I had a few.  First off, um.  How...er.  How long have you..been like that?"  I wasn't sure if that was appropriate to ask, but I was curious.

Her reply came without hesitation.  "Oh, since my time in the service."

I had to stare for a moment.  That had to be no later than the late '50s.  That also meant that from the day I got her...  "Wait.  All that time, and you never said anything?"

She gave a light sigh.  "I suppose I was waiting for an ideal moment.  I mean, if I revealed myself without you knowing that rifles like me existed.."  She trailed off, glancing to the side.  "I don't mind waiting."

"Hm.  Okay, next question.  Are any of the others..."

She cut me off.  "No.  Well, yes and no.  These two," she motioned to the 91/30 and the SKS, "are the closest.  All the others are too new, I think.  I can feel a spark in this one," she patted the Mosin, "but not enough.  And this one..."  She shook her head.  "I...I don't know if it'll wake up."

She didn't need to elaborate further.  The SKS was a mismatching Yugo, and it sounded like there may have been something once while it was all original.  I figured a distraction from that subject would be better, so I cleared my throat.  "Alright, last question.  Do you have a name you want to go by?"

This time, she paused.  "You gave me one already, didn't you?  Although I actually had a question about that myself.  I noticed you gave the others names from their countries."  I knew where this was headed.  "Except me.  Why?"

I took a deep breath.  "Well, that's a bit of a long story.  Mind if I tell you on the way, so we're not standing here all day?"

"If you insist.  I just want to know why you'd call me Galaxy."

"Help me load up and you'll find out.  Daylight's wastin'."