A2anon-A2

>It's not the first time you've been to a gunshow in this area, but it might as well be.
>Nothing seems to change, pistols are overpriced, the taser stand is crackling, Mack is wheeling around a shopping cart of shit to trade.
>All seems normal.
"Hey, Sonny, you look like you could use an AR"
>Typical gunshow Fudd, probably just got into ARs
>Everything at his stand has cheap NC Star parts, from the rail systems, to the optics.
"Sorry sir, I'm just here to-"
>Something catches your attention.
>There's a third hole in one of the lowers >probably stolen from an armory somewhere and bought off a truck.
>The AR has a cheap potmetal rail system, and a mallninja tier stock, but has all the makings of an M4, not unlike the one you'd been issued.
>You look at the AR, and back to the Fudd.
"How much for this one?"
>Minutes later, you exit the venue, new rifle in hand.
>The price was irrelevant, and he didn't seem to know that he sold you what's effectively a fully fledged M4 Carbine with a Safe/Semi/Burst trigger group.
>The paperwork had been filed, and you paid in cash.
>You're technically a criminal now, but better you than some hoodrat, right?
>With a little work, she'd be back to what the factory intended when they built her.
>Some new furniture, a better stock...
>It all came together in your mind as you reached your car and dropped her in the passenger seat.

"You're gonna be a lot better this time next week, trust me."


>You had no idea how this happened...
>You'd jumped into Panama, marched into Iraq, and were eventually sold to some Kuwaiti arms dealer to eventually find your way back to the states...
>Your receiver temained intach, but the man that bought you had put such *distasteful* accessories on you...
>He'd *cut* your barrel down with a hacksaw, *removed* your stock with your old rack number on it, and didn't even bother to get you a new buffer...
>Now, you sit in a strange man's car, lying on the passenger seat in your shameful state...
>He even buckled you in, he couldn't possibly know...
>Could he?
>Every red light, he'd turn to look at you, his lips parting as if he meant to speak.
>No words ever came, you spent the whole ride with naught but the car's stereo breaking the silence.
>You arrived at his home near sundown, the North Carolina sky darkening from blue to orange as he unbuckled you and carried you up the driveway toward a simple 2-story home surrounded by trees.
>To your discomfort, there were a number of lights on in the residence, but no other cars were to be seen.
>Perhaps he had a wife?
>Children?
>No matter, you'd stayed in this form since Kuwait, you could bear with it until he got bored of you...
>He knocks twice, rings the doorbell, and enters the residence, when you hear something you hadn't heard since Desert Storm...



                                          https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wGxDsaTHjrQ



>Hair, that's the first thing that came to mind when you saw the woman in front of the TV.
>An average-sized brunette woman in a cutoff t-shirt, faded jeans, and *legwarmers*, of all things, was dancing to Billy Idol as if it were 1989 again...
>With a black haired Asian woman in a pastel blouse and a scrunchie in her hair...

>The pair stops for a moment, taking a look at you, the brunette smiles and turns down the TV.

"Pick up a new gal, Scotty?" She says, her curls bouncing as she comes to a halt.

Your apparent owner seems uncomfortable responding for a moment.

"Yeah, but she hasn't said a word to me since I picked her up, her FCG is intact and she's got a USGI serial, I couldn't just leave her there!"
>The ravenette Asian looks at you in amazement before walking over to take a closer look, bending down to inspect your receiver.

"Well, she's an A2 alright, late 80's from the serial, but she can mount optics in the carry handle, if you'd like to give that a shot."

>Korean, she was almost definitely Korean.
>She sounded like every barber and tailor on Yadkin Road...

>The Brunette looks at you with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet and clapping her hands rapidly.

"We could mount the Starlight!"

>No way...
>This random nobody *did not* have a Starlight scope...
>Even if he did, you couldn't possibly see him mounting it, you're hardly the rifle you once were...

>He thinks on it for a moment and nods his head.

"Yeah, we'll see how she groups first, her barrel's been fucked with a bit, and she probably needs some cleaning before we try to break her outta her shell."

>He was serious?
>He was actually going to help?

"I'm gonna put her in the guest bedroom and leave her be for a bit, she'll come out when she's ready to introduce herself."

>He pauses and raises you in front of his face, with a knowing smile.

"Won't you?"
>He knew...
>He knew and didn't even say anything before he'd taken you to his home and shown you to his housemates...
>The Man...
>No
>His name is Scott
*Scott* opens the door to the guest bedroom, revealing a simply furnished room with a twin-size bed off to one side, giving the room a large amount of space.
>He lays you down, and pulls a sheet over your stock up to your gas block.

"I'm in no hurry, but I'd like to know your thoughts before I start working on you. I'll be making breakfast for 4 tomorrow morning at 0730, I'd like to see you there before it gets cold."

>You almost change right there...
>The one thing stopping you was the thought of how you'd look if you took a human form once again.
>You are hardly a dignified service weapon anymore, you'd like the chance to freshen up a bit before introducing yourself.

>A good first impression lasts a lifetime, after all...


>To say you'd woken up that morning wouldn't quite fit...
>You had stayed in rifle-form all night, terrified of how you might look.
>You could *feel* that hackjob done to your barrel, and your stock had a mismatched buffer...
>you must look no better than some Fayetteville streetwalker...
>It's not even *tasteful*, what was done to you! The dumb hick didn't even file away the burrs left at the crown of your barrel!
>The sweet smell of syrup and chocolate chips wafts under the door...
>Must be 0730...

>The sound of plates being served is muffled through the door, along with what sounds like laughter.
>Fuck it, if you can't look good, might as well shit on their parade and leave on *your* terms, not like they'd react any differently if you waited.

>It's been some time, but shifting to human form comes easily to you.
>You lay in bed for a moment before throwing the covers off and leaping off the bed, running toward the bedroom door and throwing it open.

"Fuck..."

>That's the first word from your mouth in twenty years, and it was brought on by the sickeningly sweet scene of Scott in an apron, serving pancakes and bacon out of a skillett to his disheveled looking housemates.

>Yeah, you might get away with how you look for now, so much for taking the easy way out...
>All eyes are on you, maybe starting off with profanity was a terrible, idea...

>Scott just smiles at you, pan in hand with a fluffy brown pancake still cooking within.

"Well, fuck you too, welcome to the family!"

>He seems downright pleased to see you as he slips a pancake onto an empty plate.

"You take yours with syrup, sleeping beauty?"

>The two women chuckle at how hard you're blushing right now...
>The fuck were they anyway?

"Well, if you must know~"

>The brunette speaks up?
>You said that last sentence out loud, dumbass, it's been 20 years since you spoke, put a damn filter on it!

"I'm Kaylee, AR-180, pleased to meet you!"
>She nods her head, hair full of curlers bouncing as she does.

>The Asian speaks up next
"Hana, Daewoo K2, a pleasure."

>Called it, you fucking called it!
>Now it's Scott's turn to explain himself...

"Well, you know my name by now, but I'm Scott, Human Male, and I'm gonna make this the best time of your life if you let me.

>This fucker probably doesn't even jump...
>Wait a second...
>Low fade, clean-shaven, between 18 and 35 and still in good shape, living *this close* to Bragg?
>He might jump...

>Is your hair okay?
"You got a name, Lassie?"
>Kaylee asks, not noticing the bits of melted chocolate chip on her face

>You did, didn't you?
>Your first trooper, PV2 Sylvester...

"Olivia, I *was* an M16A2, I served during Just Cause and Desert Storm..."

>That got Scott's attention.

"Well, have a seat, I'll pour you some OJ and we can talk about where we go from here.

>You waste no time in cutting one of the fluffy cakes open and popping a piece in your mouth, it's texture and sweetness spilling over your tongue.
>Over 20 years since your last meal, not a bad way to start.

"So, an A2 with a mid-80s serial, who was in Desert Storm. I have a few ideas, if you have the time."

That's it for now, need a title...
>"I have a few ideas" he says!
>As long as he got you some proper furniture, you didn't care what he did, living with Scott didn't seem like a bad gig, if Kaylee and Hana were any indication.

"I'm listening."

>You tried to sound confident, but you couldn't hide the excitement in your voice.
>Scott takes a sip of coffee before continuing.

"I have a couple extra parts laying around, and a good number of them are surplus M16A2 parts that I took from a connex. Now, if you're up for it, I'd like to take a crack at making you a proper service-rifle again."

>That... didn't sound so bad.
>Maybe a new barrel, new stock, and a proper handguard and gas block...

"As long as you don't mind cleaning me up a bit, I'm not exactly rusty, but I'm sure you've noticed the shoddy gunsmithing that got me to where I am now."

>You take another piece of pancake and pop it in your mouth. The chocolate chips melting across your tongue.
>If he cooked like this every morning, it might've been worth the last couple years.
>Kaylee stops eating for a moment to serve herself another pancake. She smiles at you as she leans into the table to reach the skillet.

"Scott's a bit of a softy when it comes to Wafengeists, long as you take care of him, he'll take care of you."

>You meant to ask earlier, but you have answered your own question.
>Kaylee and Hana seem to have been with him for some time, and he has the bearing of a soldier, of course he's not batting an eye over you showing up!
>Any apprehension you had about living here before is gone, he either knows what he's doing, or will pay for someone who does.
>Either way, things were looking up for you.


>The end of breakfast brought a sense of satisfaction you hadn't felt for some time.
>You didn't get hungry in rifle form over the last 20 years, but something about sharing a meal with others...
>It reminded you of your time in the service.
>Being able to sit with others and share something in common with one another.
>With other Service Rifles, it was where you were and what you were doing, mentioning that you all looked the same seemed redundant.
>But here...

"I'll get the dishes today."
>The taciturn Korean collects your plate and flatware, along with Kaylee and Scott's
>The AR180 stands up and rounds the table, brushing a hand over the man's shoulder as she passes on her way to the living room.

"Well, want a look at those parts?"

>Yes you did.
>If he had even half the parts you think he did, you could easily see yourself living here for quite some time.
>You nod your head and stand up, waiting for Scott to follow suit.

"You look excited."

>No shit you looked excited!
>You haven't had facial muscles for a while, but even then you couldn't recall the last time you smiled until it hurt!
>Okay, dial it back a bit...

"Come on, I'll show you."

>He stands up and pushes his chair back into the table, turning toward a door in the hallway.
>Following a few steps behind him, you notice that this room is just across from the room you'd slept in last night.
>Scott pushes the door open, revealing a workbench, a vise, and a large assortment of tools, with several boxes simply labelled "Parts".

>You're smiling again...
>He notices and gives you a smile of his own, stepping into the room, he pulls out a Rubbermaid container labelled "A2".
>You look at him and give him a nod, not like seeing a box of parts was anything lewd on it's own.

>Okay, maybe it is a bit lewd...
>As he opened the box, you could see it
>Barrels, gas blocks, stocks, buffers and springs...
>He had everything save for a receiver.

"Whenever you're ready, we can get to work."
"I want to get started now."

>He looks at you in surprise, not quite registering for a moment.
>As soon as he figures out what you said, he lays an assortment of parts on the table, directing you to have a seat.

"I'll need you in rifle form for this all to work, you won't like some of this, but bear with me."

>You nod your head and shift to rifle form on the table, once again taking the wretched form of the bastardized AR you've become.

>It hurt.
>It hurt a lot.
>He carefully tapped away at every rollpin in your gasblock, removing each one with care before moving to your handguard.
>It nearly broke off in the vise as he unscrewed it, the cheap metal of the NC Star rail creaking under his grip before unbinding with a pop.
>Then came the barrel...
>It's been with you since Panama, now it had to go...
>With all the care of a Priest baptizing a small child, he takes a barrel wrench to your mutilated appendage, breaking it free, unscrewing it from it's place in your upper.

>You couldn't scream, couldn't cry out...
>This had to happen, you knew it did.

"I know how this must feel, forgive me."
>His tone suggests he's done this before...

>Before the pain can truly set in, something takes it's place.
>Brand new, chrome lined,1:7 twist, 20"
>It felt like Heaven on Earth..
>You were almost shaking as he fully set the barrel and headspaced it, using all hand tools.
>You'd been so distracted by how good you felt that you didn't notice the new gasblock, tube, and sight post.
>Each part installed with the same care he had during removal.
>Then, the handguards. Black, plastic, and long.
>You'd been a Grenadier in the past, but this would do for now.
>After he clips in both handguards, he moves to the stock.
>5-position, adjustable, a fine system, but not your own, he pulls the stock off your buffer tube and sets it in the box, then, taking his wrench, he removes the locking nut from the buffer tube, pulling off the whole assembly.

"You might feel a pinch, get ready Olivia."

>He screws on a new Rifle length buffer tube, sliding the stock on over it and locking it in place.
>Satisfied with his work so far, he flips you on your carrying handle and removes that shitty pistol grip you were given, replacing it with a somewhat worn A2 grip.

"Okay, how do you feel?"

>That feeling you get when you wake from a midday nap...
>Slightly hazy, not all there, as if you'd dreamt the past couple years.
>You feel complete, but not, like you were wearing clothes that someone else had slept in.
>It didn't matter, thinking about what must've happened to the owner of this furniture would likely send you into depression.
>Not that you didn't understand, in a twisted way.

>You shift your senses toward your Owner...
>He'd do just fine.

"Now, if you're satisfied, you can shift back, but I have some other ideas..."

>Good Idea Fairy right here...
>What could he-
>Oh
>Right...
>He had mentioned a few other things...
>You're left on the desk as he retrieves a green box off one of his shelves.
>You can't tell where he got it, but you'd recognize that box anywhere.
>The transit case for an AN/PVS-2 Night optic...
>He pops each latch carefully, allowing the seal to break evenly, revealing the tube inside.
>It was grey, still new looking, but had definitely seen the battlefield.

"You've seen these before, I'm sure, but I'm not sure you've used one, they mostly went to Scout platoons and LRS companies. Think you can handle it?"

>Oh yeah, you could handle this~
>He carefully screws the device into your carry handle, switching it on to ensure that it worked properly.
>You could feel it, the device powering on, amplifying your sense of sight.

"There's one more thing, if you like."

>What else could he have?!"
>Scott pulls a tube sock with something inside it out from under the table, upending it and letting it's contents fall into his hand.
>A matte black, early, M16 suppressor.
>A reproduction, for sure, but it was still remarkably similar to the ones that you'd seen on the ones that the Scudbusters used.

"Now, I know this may not be your style, but I'm kinda in the market for something I used back in the day, you fit the bill?"

>Oh yeah you did, hurry the fuck up and finish! You just got back to what you used to be and more, you'll show him who can fit the bill!
>Calm down, still in rifle form.
>He carefully slides the suppressor over the end of your barrel, matching the threads where your flash hider would go.
>7 full rotations later, you're a suppressed rifle, for the first time in your existence.

"You're free to shift back now."

>You were almost afraid to, but you couldn't look worse than you did at breakfast!
>Your body changes back to your human form, gone was all the soreness, your hair was back to full length, and your ass actually felt like it belonged on you.
>And it looks like Scott noticed~

"You look nice."
>What.
>What the fuck kind of lame compliment was that!
>No, wait, prior service, probably seen hundreds of girls just like you, and it was his own work, of course he wasn't fazed by it!

"Thanks, so, where to from here?"

>His expression doesn't change from that small grin he's been wearing all this time.

"I'm thinking you can live here for awhile, unless you got somewhere else to be?"

>Nah, you were good here.

"Thanks, but you're not getting rid of me that easily, what's for lunch?"