Elise

It has been three months since you and Elise's paths have crossed. She is a license-built Elisco Tool M-16 that you bought from a friend who needs the money for a jeepney. He had no idea that what he considered merely as a weapon would be the greatest companion you would ever have.

She greets you after a long day of work with a clean house and a delectable meal. A perfect girl all in all, but as time goes by, you notice her oddities in behavior.

For example, there was a time where you went through the washer for some keys that you thought were in there along with your pants. After searching halfway through the pile, you find not one but two STANAG pattern mags in there along with a PMag. You call her out on this and she blushes as she apologizes for *misplacing* them.

She also takes a long time to use the bathroom. You had no idea why until you noticed your old Android phone you loaned to her and a pair of headphones sitting on a rack inside.

You thought nothing about those until today.

Boss called in for a half day due to some things in the office, and so you went home early in the afternoon. As you enter the gate, you cannot help but notice that the house was eerily silent.

The solid wooden door is open. Nothing seemed to be off inside as you swing open the screen door.

"Elise, I'm home!", you call out.
No response. Did she turn back to her rifle form, or...

>*CRASH* *clank* *click*
Your mind thought for the worst. You withdraw your Rock Island 1911 from your IWB holster as you begin scouring the house in silence. What could have happened to her? You continue to sweep through all the rooms until you come into her room.

The door was closed. You quickly turned the knob and swung it open, ready to see what is happening inside.

The characteristic two-piece triangular M-16 hand guard lay flat against the tiled floor, and not too far off was the upper receiver. Right on the seat of the office chair were the lower receiver and the fixed stock that somehow has come off. One of your PMags lay on the table, drenched in what appears to be a sticky fluid...Hoppe's No. 9?! Her magwell also appears to be full of the stuff too, filling the room with that banana scent.

A look at the monitor shows an entire playlist of Midway's How to Build an AR-15 with that man Larry Potterfield.

You take a look at the scattered rifle parts and begin to laugh with your overreaction.
What a silly girl, disassembling herself...

Wait...No.

She wasn't disassembling herself.

Your laughter begins to fade as you fall into a sudden realization.

You begin by picking up the handguard from the floor, pulling back on the locking ring so as to slip the back into place on the upper receiver. Her finish is so smooth, a testament of the previous owner's promise that it was last fired two years ago. The bolt glides back and forth as if it was glass.

The fixed stock just slips on the buffer tube, it's fiberglass surface still gleaming with Hoppe's under the lone desk lamp. You smirk at the thought of how someone so pristine could be so deviant as you push in the pivot pin. She wanted to be used, yet she couldn't have it for what seems to be years. All her desires held back from her in what seemed to be ages.

As you swing the upper to meet the lower and locked the take-down pin with a click, she turned back to her human form, sobbing.

>"Anon, I...I'm so sorry...I..."
You just put your right hand up her cheek, wiping off tears that have rolled down on it.
>"Y-you saw me with what I did...I..."

You are somewhat dismayed with what you have come home to today, but you just can't bring yourself to be disgusted at her. There are some of her needs that weren't addressed, you neglected her to a degree. You cleaned her, you kept her warm every night as you sleep, but you didn't bother taking her to the range to satisfy her urges.

>Okay, just let it all out, I understand.
You said to her as you brush the mess that is her hair.

>It's not your fault that you did that, I neglected my duties as your owner to bring you once in a while to the range, okay? It's perfectly normal to satisfy your urges.

Your blue polo is now drenched in her tears as she continued to cry on your shoulder from the shame. You just wrapped your arms around her so as to give her some sort of comfort.

The paused Youtube video on the screen yields you Larry Potterfield smiling over the two of you.

That fucking creep.