EngineerAnon-Prototype

    >My name is T1E6. 5.56x45, long-stroke gas piston. Counterbalanced action.
    >The designation T1E6 was given to me by my designer.
    >I was built by a man named Anon, for the purpose of testing a theory.
    >It was validated, and he’s refined my design over the last months. New bolt carrier, modifications to the receiver…
    >I am not as finely-finished as the other firearms I have seen at the range.
    >I have tooling marks, ugly welds. But I am strong. I am accurate. I have fired five thousand rounds in my current iteration, and not malfunctioned since I became E6.
    >I am not as refined. I have no combat pedigree, no history of defending mankind. No right to think things like this.
    >Yet here I am- I’ve heard him talk to someone about this. About why he’s doing this. To defend his fellow man, in a way he could.
    >I am a product of “a man with too much coffee, too much time and too little funding.”, as he said.
    >What is coffee?
    >What is funding?
    >What is humanity?
    >Why do I exist?
    >Is he the same as me?
    >Am I the same as him?
    >If I… focus, I may be able to take a form like that.
    --
    >Anon’s mornings were typically punctuated by the clacking of a mechanical keyboard and the taste of cold coffee- a sign that it was time to switch to water, although he seldom did.
    >The time after the coffee went cold, he would be in the workshop- meaning the part of his house not necessary to living inside as a functioning member of society.
    >Typically his day would go along the schedule of one of his rifles coming and going, which never particularly bothered him. Ever since Kay had formally applied for an ID and gotten it- and American citizenship, by extension, she’d taken rather quickly to human life- well, as "human" as life can be for a waffegeist.
>Not that he minded. She paid for her own ammunition when they went shooting, sometimes, and she got to experience the world herself as a human would- something she treasured, despite simply working in a café. There were legal restrictions, due to her true nature of being a battle rifle, but they were, functionally, irrelevant.
>Anon’s mind began to wonder to what it felt like, to be a geist. How it felt for your body to be iron and wood and carbon fiber or polymer, rather than flesh and bone.
>Of course, he was broken out of this reverie by the appearance of a rather short woman.
>Standing there. He recognized her immediately, as a father would a daughter.
>She was unmistakable, to him. To anyone else, she would just be thought an oddity.
>Numerous scars across her body and arms, the most jarring of which was a burn that ran up from the back of her left hand up her arm, under her shirt.
>It was a side-effect of her rough manufacturing and Anon’s relative inexperience as a machinist and welder- the cuts were accurate and the welds were strong, though they weren’t pretty.
>The hazel right eye and electric blue left eye that peered out from behind jet-black bangs- her hair was cropped shoulder blade length, rather messily.
>A surprisingly-delicate face, somehow still retaining a sort of elegance despite the scar across her nose indicative of meeting a fist with your face.
>Fine features, soft eyes despite the distinctive heterochromia
>Her clothes were baggy, a generic grey T-shirt and black cargo pants.
>The distinctive feature about T1E6, though, were the knife-like ears in place of the normal, “round” ears.
>Anon had no idea why she had those… He understood geists, to a degree, and their traits- however, it was inconsistent at best, and had something to do with the will of the designer. What that was, though, was lost to him. So he wouldn’t dwell on it.
>Nor would he dwell on her blank expression.
>Or the question she asked.
“What is my purpose?”
>The response came before he had a chance to think-
>”You pass the butter.”
>Anon’s hand flew to his forehead, rubbing his face before gesturing in a “follow me” command, which the heterochromic woman did. Everything was different, now, in this form.
>She was growing more confident in her steps, now, learning how her body properly moved, as she followed him into the kitchen.
>”No, no, what I meant to say is…” His voice trailed off, having not fully completed that thought before he started to speak- though T1 would have interrupted him anyway.
“I do not pass the butter?”
>She stopped mid-stride, the prototype wrinkling her nose.
“…What is butter?”
>”Okay, never mind all that-“ Anon tried to go about brewing another cup of coffee, but he gave up with a sigh.
>”Look, just. What is your name?” He was exasperated and confused, and had gone to the top shelf for a bottle of honey-brown liquid, which he poured into the cup with the remainder of his coffee as he retrieved his phone and typed rapidly, dropping the black device on the counter a bit too roughly.
“My name is T1E6. I am a 5.56 millimeter semi-automatic rifle, designed by you. Built by you, father.”
>In the time she’d spoken, Anon had gotten the cup to his lips, and taken a sip. However, being called ‘father’ resulted in him choking on his drink, which led to a hacking fit.
>He’d never considered this when he undertook this pet project, a few months of sleepless weekends and the like.
>He’d taken the coming week off to thoroughly test his newly-completed rifle, but Anon had never considered ‘fatherhood’.
>T1E6 did not know what to do- she had never seen this before. Is this something humans do? It didn’t seem pleasant.
“Are you okay?”
>”I’m fine, I’m fine, just. Give me a moment.” He set the cup on the table, regaining his composure before straightening up.
>”Yes, I suppose I am your … er, ‘father’.”
“As my designer, yes. You fulfill the role of a father.”
>”So…What should I do?”
“What is my purpose?”
Anon rubbed his face again, slowly realizing the potential dangers of this.
>”You will defend humanity.”
“Humanity?”
>”Yes. Mankind.”, came the reply- which elicited a strange stare from the elf.
“What is humanity?”
>”Humans. Like me.”
“What am I?”
>”A waffegeist- a weapon spirit, if you will. A…” His voice trailed off. “I can’t sufficiently explain it. You are you.”
“I am T1E6. Your waffegeist. I will be living with you, from here on-“
>T1 stopped dead mid-word at a loud slam, followed by heavy footfalls- she was visibly alarmed at the noises, watching the doorway with a half-fearful expression. He didn’t bother looking, though, only one person would be home now.
“Who is she? Another human?”
>Anon’s head whirled, just in time to see one of his other Waffegeists, Kay- by far the most independent one- bend down and plop her chin on his shoulder- “Who’s this, then?”
“As I just said, my name is T1E6. 5.56x45 millimeter, long-stroke gas piston-“
>The blonde cut T1 off sharply, a voice that carried more volume than she was aware. “Well, yeah duh, but I mean a name, y’know? I’m an M21, but I go by Kay. Kay Garand, at least that’s what my license says. Why do I even NEED a last name, anyway? I don’t really need it, but… Bureaucracy.”
>T1E6 blinked slowly as she took in ‘Kay’s features. She was tall, far taller than she was. In fact, she was almost as tall as Anon, with a well-built frame under an olive T-shirt and jeans, and thick, black-framed glasses over silver eyes. The thing that was the most distinctive, to T1 at least, was the golden braid that hung over her right shoulder, lashed off with an olive ribbon in a small bow.
>”Surprised you didn’t take my name.”, came the response from Anon, chewing on his lip- he didn’t seem too fond of that.
>”Well you gotta marry me first~”, came the sing-song reply from the newcomer, a smug grin on her lips. One that made Anon blush, the blonde carrying on without him.
>”Y’know, I think Mash is a good name for ya.”, came from the M21.
“Mash…”
>The prototype rolled the word off her tongue. Mash. Crush, a synonym…
>As she remembered just WHY that name came to mind, her cheeks colored- but she nodded.
“That wasn’t my fault.”
>”I know it wasn’t,-“ Anon cut her off. “But it happened, so until we get a better name for you-“
>The blonde cut in, “Then we’ll just call you Mash for the time being. Now, you have any questions for us?”
“Miss Kay, why do you have that last name? That is not the same as Anon’s.”
>”Well, it’s a bit of a long story, but I’ll just sum it up. In a nutshell, after waffegeists- weapon spirits, like us, became acknowledged by the US government- and others- there was a huge push to give us equivalent rights to humans, should we desire them."
>”The argument against it, mainly, was that we are weapons- and should be treated as such. However, the argument of self-determination won out, with the agreement of a 4473 being usable for a waffegeist in place of a birth certificate for a Social Security number, which then allows you to get a job, or a driver’s license, or both, or-“
>Kay hadn’t noticed the elf’s eyes glazing over, though Anon did. This was too much, too fast.
>Anon interrupted the battle rifle again- “You’re overwhelming the poor girl, quiet.” The blonde immediately stopped talking and moved to Anon’s side, pulling a chair out and sitting quietly- T1 couldn’t see, but she grabbed his hand under the table.
>”Sorry, just- her eyes glazed over… Mash, you here?”
>All that came from the black-haired woman was a soft nod, followed by a long, awkward silence, broken by a quiet thought, voiced in the kitchen by a prototype who only had flesh and blood for a few hours now.

“…I’m hungry.”