"With a piece in my hand, 'n bloodshot eyes, I walk through the water for a last goodbye..."

The lyrics, guitars, and steady drum beat reverberate through the speakers of my Tesla as I guide the car through traffic on an ordinary weekday. Tamamo and Yuuyuu are in tow, as usual, but since Tamamo sat shotgun for all of yesterday's car rides, I urged her to let Yuuyuu sit there for today, just to make it fair. Naturally she was extremely reluctant to give it up, but she cooperated in the end, however unwillingly. Yuuyuu is humming along to the song that's currently playing, even rocking her head gently to it; I get the feeling that she really likes the sound of the guitar, which I'd imagine is at least a little reminiscent of the pipa that she plays.

After eating our breakfast - er, lunch - no, wait, brunch - we all got dressed to head out; my Servants put on one of their sets of casual clothes that they bought yesterday, already putting the money I've spent on them to good use. Tamamo has elected to copy the style that I usually rock somewhat: a light zip-up hoodie that, instead of wearing it normally, she ties around her waist, a white shirt with the words "SUGOI DEKAI" on it, which I'm not exactly sure how to feel about, and knee-length jeans that are intentionally torn in the name of fashion, complete with a pair of aviators to match the ones that I wear while driving and her hair up in a sweeping ponytail. Yuuyuu is more conservative with her choice of casual clothing, having donned a deep blue blouse and a crimson pleated high skirt that also barely exposes her knees, and with her own hair let down from their usual odango style and styled into a single large braid that she's draped in front of her left shoulder.

"So we're going to go meet that ex-military friend of yours, Master?" Yuuyuu repeats as I slow the Tesla to a stop at a red light.

"Yeah, like I said, he's a good buddy of mine. Family friend, you could even say, because my dad worked with him a few times back in the day."

"You said he was some kind of...arms dealer, right? He sounds pretty fishy," Tamamo mentions, leaning forward in her seat and hugging mine so that she can pull her face up in between me and Yuuyuu.

"He is, but he doesn't do business with people he knows are shady; his clientele is actually mainly people like law enforcement, escort services, or something along those lines. Arguably the worst kind of customer he deals with if we're talking about shady people is me, or more specifically, mages like me who use guns as part of our arsenal, because for the most part mages don't bother with gun registry and all the legal stuff you have to do when it comes to gun ownership, especially in the state of California, so we can't be trusted to regulate ourselves. Luckily he's chosen to trust me, and I do what I can to stay out of trouble so that he doesn't catch some of it on his end."

"Still doesn't sound too convincing. He sounds like the type of guy who's your friend at the beginning of an action movie but betrays you towards the end."

"Huh. Well, I sure hope that doesn't happen to me..."

"Worry not, Master. Should anyone try anything so foolish...they must answer to this Yang Yuhuan first," Yuuyuu murmurs dangerously, her usual cutesy, playful voice noticeably absent as perhaps her real voice creeps out like the spreading flames of a tossed Molotov cocktail.

"Thanks. But if it's from someone I know from my personal life, like this guy we're about to meet, I'd prefer if you let me handle it on my own."

Yuuyuu again pouts at me, which gets me thinking about how many times total I can get either of my Servants to pout in a single day. But just to calm her down, I quickly follow up with,

"...but if it gets out of hand, I'll let you two get in on it too."

Yuuyuu's pouty frown gets turned upside down with such a smooth transition that it's hard to believe she was a little upset just a second ago. Tamamo, also seeing her reaction, scoffs under her breath, her face turned away as though Yuuyuu wouldn't hear her talking about her a foot away.

"Miss Youkihi's so easy. A real lady shouldn't be swooned like that just because they hear stuff they want to hear," she broods.

"I-It has nothing to do with being easy! I wish only to protect my Master from a potentially dangerous situation!" Yang defends herself, pursing her lips back into a pout, though this time directed towards her fellow Servant. "How many times must I tell you this, Miss Tamamo?"

"As many times as I see it hap - "

In order to get Tamamo to stop bullying Yuuyuu, I take my right hand off the steering wheel as I drive and, without looking, raise it with my palm facing Caster and set it firmly on top of her head to begin scratching her head with my fingers.

"Hawa?! Aaaah, haaaaaaaaaawawwawawawaaaaaa..."

Incapacitated by my delightfully thorough headpat that even includes a full-on ear scratching segment, Tamamo immediately begins to purr contentedly with bliss written all over her face as my right hand works its magic to prevent another conflict between my two Servants from brewing up. The last thing I need is for their words to turn into fire while I'm in the middle of driving through these busy streets on an early weekday afternoon.

Naturally, Yuuyuu grumpily watches Tamamo enjoy her little headpat as I keep my eyes on the road, making sure that I haven't accidentally passed the correct street that I need to take a left into, since it's been a while since I've last paid a visit to my arms dealer of a friend.

"Okay, we're almost there. I'll give you the rest of your headpat once we're back home," I inform Caster, pulling my hand down to manage the electronic dashboard between me and Yuuyuu to stop the music.

"And me too, Master?" Foreigner pipes up.

"Yes, you too, don't worry."

"Yay ~ !"

"But he finishes mine first," Tamamo insists.

"Relax, headpats ain't goin' anywhere. Besides, I have two hands for a reason...and maybe you should be careful next time about who you call 'easy', Tamamo."

Youkihi giggles gleefully at Tamamo's expense as I locate the correct street based off my memory of the last time I was here and wait for the oncoming traffic to let up before turning the Tesla left. The street I pull into is flanked on both sides by big factory-like buildings; I believe this area used to be a thriving industrial park in the past that slowly turned commercial, so the old factory buildings here, instead of being torn down when they got decommissioned, got leased out to private businesses instead; one of them is a gun range that is located here that has refurbished a warehouse and one of the factory buildings into a shooting range and gun shop; it is also where my friend has set up shop to sell his wares.

I park the car in one of the many empty spots of the moderately-sized parking lot; at this hour, it's still too early for the gun range to be having its usual slew of customers, mainly private gun owners stopping by to practice their shooting to keep their skills and aim sharp. After locking the car once both of my Servants have hopped out, I lead them into the building, through an unremarkable single-door entrance that is plastered with plenty of warning and safety precaution signs about security cameras and the potential hazards of entering an area with live guns and ammo present.

"Hey there, welcome to T-Rex Arms."

I'm greeted as I enter the shop by a lanky Caucasian man with a black cap sporting the word AIMPOINT above the visor manning the front counter, putting together the parts for what looks to be an AR-15 rifle. He looks up in the middle of his work and shoots a quick, professional grin my way as I approach him for a handshake.

"Hey, what's up, August? It's been a hot minute since we last saw you," he says, nodding and smiling courteously to the ladies behind me. "You got yourself some new friends, huh? Good for you, man!"

"No, no, it's not in the way you think," I laugh with him as I introduce my Servants. "They're family members of a client of mine; they're just staying over for the time being while we're working out a contract. Girls?"

"I'm Tammy! Heya ~ !" Tamamo waves cheerfully at the store clerk.

"And you can call me Yang," Yuuyuu says quickly, realizing that she needed to come up with a nickname of her own quickly and settling on just giving my acquaintance her surname.

"And I'm Lucas, nice to meet you," the gun range manager extends a hand politely, and my Servants return it after I give them a quick nod when they glance over at me to see if it's alright.

"Adding new parts on your BCM?" I gesture down at the rifle on the counter.

"Not really; I had this guy come in the other day and we were talking about our AR builds, and he gave this whole thesis on how he swears this Magpul CTR is like the best stock he's ever used and how I should give it try," he chuckles heartily, pointing down at the stock that's currently attached to the rifle.

"You've been using the, what, the B5 Systems Bravo?"

"Yep. I've never had a problem with it, and I didn't really have any plans to switch it out, either. Like, out of all the parts he could've gone on like that about, it's the stock. He's a good customer of ours, so I'm giving it a shot to see if I like it any better than the B5. I'm pretty sure I won't really care, but...anyways, how can I help you?"

"I'm here to meet with Chuck; he should know I'm coming in today."

"Yessir, he's back in his usual spot."

"Alright, thanks."

Nodding to my girls to have them follow, I make my way to a plain-looking door behind me that leads into the former factory warehouse building that's attached to the facility where this gun store and range are located. An old-looking number pad is bolted into the doorframe, and I punch in a few numbers and press my left thumb against the small screen above the buttons, and a green light flashes with a loud click of the door unlocking. Opening it, I hold the door open for my Servants and close it securely once we're all inside.

On the other side, the sound of the door closing echoes a little as the three of us step into the arms storage warehouse. It's a big building, as expected of a former industrial warehouse used to shelter mainly construction materials, if my memory of the warehouse's history serves me correctly, like cement and tar. But now, as far as the eye can see, much of the warehouse floor is now occupied by cases, crates, and boxes, both metal and wooden. The smell of gunpowder, gun metal, spent brass, and plastic is heavy in the air, alleviated only somewhat by a series of large fans near the roof that provide ventilation for the structure.

And, of course, sitting on several cases and boxes throughout the warehouse is a plethora of firearms, from ordinary civilian-legal firearms that are California gun law-compliant to military-grade weapons that have absolutely no business being here on Californian soil, at least not according to state gun laws. An FN Five-seveN FDE, an LAR Grizzly MK-V, a Glock-35, and a Para-Ordnance P-14.45 Black Ops sit together atop a large pistol case, denoting the handgun section of the floor; a Vector SMG, FN P-90 TR, H&K MP7-A2, and PP-19 Bizon-2-01 mark the submachine gun and PDW corner; a Lone Star Armory TX-15 DML, MK-18 CQBR MOD-1, M4 SOPMOD Block-II, and USMC FN M16-A4, leaning with their buttstocks on the floor against their respective crates, indicate the assault rifle category; a CheyTac Intervention M-200 Carbine, Barrett MRAD MK-22, McMillan TAC-50-A1-R2, and Accuracy International AX-50 stand menacingly on their own boxes to highlight the sniper rifle pile; and a Saiga 12K MOD-040, Franchi SPAS-12, Standard Manufacturing DP-12, and MPS AA-12 don their open cases of the combat shotgun group.

On the far corner of the warehouse, my Servants and I can spy a lone man sitting in a chair that's two sizes too small for his muscular, well-trained frame as he mulls over something at his desk, which thankfully is much more accommodating to him, underneath the light of a single incandescent bulb. He doesn't seem to have heard us enter the warehouse at first, but halfway to him, he suddenly turns around in his chair without warning and gets up to meet us with a big, friendly grin on his face.

"Hello, August. Long time no see."

His heavily accented Indian voice sounds like someone permanently cranked up the bass volume on him, and he towers over me by a good foot; his hand is big enough to grab my head one-handed like how some basketball players can hold the ball with a single hand, and he could easily crush my own comparatively puny hand if he really wanted to as we exchange a quick handshake. His dark brown eyes peer down curiously at me first, then the two girls behind me through his pair of glasses.

"Friends? Or wives?" he gestures at the girls behind me with his eyes, causing Tamamo to squeal suddenly in delight, which she stifles by slapping her hands over her mouth, while Yuuyuu turns away shyly in embarrassment.

"Just friends. Client's family," I explain quickly with an awkward laugh of my own.

"Haha, I see, I see. Make sure you treat well, you never know." Chuck gives me a hearty slap on the arm as he turns to return to his desk as I follow him.

"How's business these days? Poppin', or not so much?" I ask my friend.

"Average. Nothing special. Customer here, customer there...just okay," he replies, rummaging through his desk drawers to fetch the file he has on me as one of his customers, and finding it, he pulls it out and opens it up to find the correct documents for me to sign. "Lost customer the other day. Name was Filmore, you hear?"

"Ted Filmore? He was one of the victims of the serial murders we had the other week."

Chuck nods. "Good customer, bought lots. Sad to lose him...need to find another customer to replace."

"Does that put a dent on your finances this month or something?"

"Not yet. Maybe next month, though. We will see."

Pulling up a pair of papers, he hands them to me along with his pen.

"Sign at bottom, please," he instructs me without even showing me where to sign, since I've done this process many times with him before. I use an unused corner of his messy desk to sign them as he reaches down, opens the door to a mini-fridge he keeps underneath the desk, and pulls out two bottles of Coca-Cola, made with real sugar and imported from Mexico. "Want one?"

"Sure thing. Haven't had real Coke in a while...we Americans love our high fructose corn syrup too much."

Chuckling at my self-effacing comment, Chuck pops open the bottle caps with his bare hands, hands one to me, and clinks my glass in a toast as we both immediately chug half our bottles on the spot. As I had him my signed papers, Chuck pops the fridge door open again to pull out another pair of Coke bottles, handing them to me and silently beckoning towards the girls, so I offer them to them, which they both take hesitantly.

"Okay. Now..."

Getting up from his chair again, Chuck leads me and the girls to a large weapons locker that he uses to keep pending orders and some of the more valuable weapons in his collection, and after unlocking it, he pulls out a clean, new-looking weapon case and sets it on the large table next to the locker and opens it for me. I take his spot in front of the case once he's opened it to pull out and inspect my shipment.

"Just how you like it," he smiles with the satisfaction of a product well delivered.

Clicking the safety on and off a few times, I shoulder the magazine-less FNH MK-17 Standard battle rifle to get my muscle memory of handling the weapon back. The familiar weight of the rifle provides a sense of security that only a firearm like this can bring me, and even more so that it's a rifle that I've used quite a few times before. And as per my instructions, the only external accessory that the weapon comes with is a black BCM Gunfighter Vertical Grip MOD-3, which I put to use immediately by assuming a high-bore grip with my left hand dug into the space between the stubby foregrip and the underside of the weapon's barrel. While handling the rifle, I remember to keep my trigger finger resting against the side of the weapon above the trigger guard for proper trigger discipline.

"Do you need practice?" Chuck offers; he's referring to whether or not I'd like to take the SCAR out for a quick spin at the range next door, but I shake my head.

"Nah, but I'll need a few moments with this, if you don't mind."

My weapons dealer of a friend nods curtly. "Gun is yours now. Do what you want."

So while he, Tamamo, and Yuuyuu stand by with open Coke bottles in their hands, drinking at their own leisure, I take my time to set up my rifle. The reason why I haven't ordered a whole bunch of accessories like many gun-savvy firearm owners and enthusiasts would is because I'm a mage; even with my own moderate level of accessory knowledge and rifle know-how, I can customize my spells and runes to fit a modern-day firearm like this to my liking the same way Lucas at the front counter picks his parts for his BCM AR-15, except I can make it all myself and not have to worry about securing individual parts.

Pushing the adjustable iron sights down to get them out of the way, I work on the rifle's optics: I rest my left hand over the weapon's toprail to fix a custom rune that pops up when I remove my hand. The telescoping rune enhances the view of what I see through it like a scope would, but the rune is able to freely adjust its zoom levels to my liking as I direct the gun around the warehouse, making sure not to point the rifle at the others near me in the process. I've also built a thermal imaging feature into it because mages using magic give off an elevated level of body heat, and just for good measure, I've also added a magic detection feature in case thermal imaging can't get me the results I want due to the nature of a target. I shouldn't have to use this magic detection scope at all, because theoretically if I know that there is a magical presence in my location, I should be able to find it on my own, but in case I ever run into a situation where I just can't seem to find the source of said magical signature on my own, it's there to give me an option.

The sight picture itself is a solid red horseshoe reticle, with lower markings denoting distances in hundreds of meters, very similar to a Trijicon ACOG TA-11, but instead of a center red dot surrounded by a solid red circle, it's just a single red dot to give me as clear of a sight picture as possible. I magically adjust the zoom levels of my optical rune, making sure that it changes its enhancement levels snappily with speeds that I like; there was a time when I actually used a canted rune, identical in purpose to a canted RMR, fixed at 33 degrees because I wasn't able to get my optical rune to zoom in or out at speeds fast enough for my liking, but I've improved my runes since then so that I don't need to set up a canted rune now.

With the optical rune attached and ready, I shift my attention to the empty magwell, which causes the optics rune to disappear from view now that it is not in use. The MK-17 rifle has come with three Molon Labe Industries 30-round SCAR-H magazines that sit patiently for me to attend to them in the case, and I take one of them to insert into the rifle to practice my reloads by sliding it into the magwell with my left hand until I hear the click and pressing the bolt catch, even though the magazine is empty and thus will not load the rifle. Chuck watches me in amusement as I practice my reloads this way.

"You sure you don't need range?" he asks me for verification.

"I don't need it, I'm not planning to shoot today."

After doing a couple of practice reloads, I take out the magazine a fourth time and hold it briefly in my left hand. The magazine then glows with blue light, and after about two seconds, the inside of the magazine glows with subtle blue mana, indicating that there are now thirty 7.62x51mm-sized mana bullets loaded into it. With this loaded mag, I run my reloads back, which cause the battle rifle to be loaded with magically produced bullets. Each time I practice these reloads, I make sure to clear the barrel of its loaded mana bullet, which tumbles out of the bolt and dissipates into the air before it can hit the ground, leaving nothing but a little bit of stray mana floating into the air of the warehouse.

The size of the big magazines is the only thing unfamiliar about the weapon, as I'm used to running the more traditional default twenty-rounders, but I should be able to get over the unfamiliarity, given enough time. I've read that the thirty-rounders that I've ordered aren't viewed very favorably among other SCAR-H owners because of their size; the 7.62 bullet is a big one, and adding 33% extra mass worth of big bullets to an already fairly heavy magazine of twenty is just not worth it for many, and that's before the possible concerns over potential feed problems. But neither of these are a concern for me personally; weight and awkward size means nothing when, as a mage, I have no need for a load-bearing vest or other such gear when I have storage runes that do that job, and my mana ammo can be configured to fit whatever firearm I'm using to avoid potential feed problems. That, and I like having access to thirty-round magazines that are prevalent among other assault rifles; twenty just doesn't seem to be enough in some cases, especially in situations where I have to go full mag-dump season, as rare as they are.

After running this little reload drill six times, I eject the magazine and squeeze it in my hand, causing the rest of the mana bullets to disperse and emptying the mag out this way before tossing it over to the open case. Now, I repeat the same drill, but this time without any magazine - so in essence, I'm building both the magazine and the bullets to go with it. While I'm in good shape doing this with my handguns, doing this with a rifle that I haven't used in about a year or so takes a little getting used to.

Manufacturing magic bullets the way I am is theoretically simple, because all I'd need to do is know how to create one bullet, and I can just take that knowledge and effort and repeat it in quick succession like how a printer scans a paper and rapidly makes copies of it, but the hard part is doing so accurately and quickly; the main risk involved is that if I screw up on one bullet, the rest will most likely come out defective as well. Think of it a little bit like how a cell reproduces; if a cell messes up its reproduction and becomes cancerous, the cells it produces also come out cancerous and defective. And defective ammo can have a wide range of adverse effects, like simply disappearing into thin air because its magical integrity is insufficient and thereby leaving me with less ammo than what I expect and wasting mana, disintegrating upon firing because its magical integrity is good enough to hold its shape but not enough where it can handle the duress of the gun firing it, thereby causing the weapon to simply shoot a small cloud of aimless mana that doesn't do anything, or worst of all, cause a small explosion inside the bolt because its magical composition was formed too erratically and turned out unstable and either ruin the gun's internals or, even worse, cause the gun to explode in my hands. That's personally never happened to me, but I have seen it happen to someone else.

Building a magical magazine to house the bullets is also a simple task; it's just a solid compartment in which magic bullets are stored. But the tricky part is combining these two actions together into one fluid display of mana control. Mess up the magazine, and the magic bullets will all tumble out and disappear before they can hit the ground and waste your mana, and mess up the bullets, and I'll have any one of the problems that I mentioned earlier happen anyway.

But if mastered, magical handling of firearms in this manner significantly cuts down on all the gear and added weight that I'd need to worry about lugging around. For a guy like me who's no stranger to close quarters combat, and more specifically in magical settings where speed and physical movement are core aspects of my combat style, not having to worry about tacticool gear and all that saves me a lot of headache and money; being able to just cook up my own ammo on the fly lets me retain my full mobility while giving me the power of a magically-powered firearm. This concept isn't unique to me; there are other mages out there, some of whom I've fought myself, who also combine magic talent with modern-day firearms, as perhaps would be expected of the country that we live in, but most of these magical gunslingers can only apply their techniques to pistols, which are the simplest and most accessible form of firearm. What sets me apart is that I've taken the time to train myself to pull this off for a wide variety of firearms, including the rifle that I'm drilling with; a high-powered bullet coming out of a battle rifle is going to be more powerful and more lethal than a shot from a handgun, and just because you're using magic bullets doesn't mean you're somehow going to upend the laws of physics - unless the bullets you're using are special.

Ejecting the final magic bullet from the bolt, I conclude my little drills for the day and set the MK-17 rifle back into its case, packing the three thirty-round magazines into their appropriate slots to close the case and securely clasp the latches. Chuck is standing by, watching me with keen eyes, and I turn and nod at him.

"Just how I remember it, thanks," I grin at him, but as I'm reaching to grab the case off the table, Chuck opens up his weapons locker that's beside him again.

"As bonus," he explains as he carefully pulls out another and much larger weapons case. I quickly heave mine off the table and set it down on the ground to make room for this new case that Chuck pulls out, and when he opens up this particular case, my eyes grow wide as soon as I realize what's inside. "You requested this long time ago. I never forget it."

I let a tiny little smile creep up on my face.

Inside this new weapons case is not one but two sniper rifles, rifles that I pitched to Chuck as far back as three years ago when we first came to know each other as a joke that if he could get his hands on these, I would have him be my exclusive arms procurer for the rest of my active mage days.

"I didn't think you could get your hands on this. How the hell did you pull this one off?" I can't help but wonder aloud, unable to hide my marvel at the contents.

"Contacts let me know. Japanese authorities found this in city called Fuyuki. Very rare gun. I hear that and think, oh, rare gun, maybe it - it one of August want. So I check it out. So I have friends in Japan secure and inspect. Buy it off authorities, steal, threaten, whatever. Once they get, they check, they confirm and prove, and I ask them okay, send it over."

"And they got you two for the price of one?"

"Both together, they said. Found together. I think you would like, so I tell them okay, send together."

"Damn, lucky us."

Chuck just laughs. "No, lucky you."

Once we've shared that laugh, I reach over to pick up the first rifle. The Walther WA-2000, a second-generation production copy as indicated by its more modern flash hider, Serial Number 1099. The MK-17 I was handling a moment ago isn't exactly a light assault rifle in terms of weight, but the WA-2000 is another beast entirely; even without its 2.5-10x Schmidt & Bender sniper scope and loaded ammo, it feels like it weighs almost double that of the SCAR, no thanks to its clamped steel and wooden construction. It's quite dusty and can use a thorough cleaning, which I'm both looking forward to and not looking forward to at the same time, but otherwise, it seems to have been kept in acceptable condition, though I get the feeling it's more because it'd been forgotten in some random shed somewhere than anything else. Once it's given a good cleaning and some maintenance work, it should be perfectly ready for combat.

"What's the story behind this, do you know? People don't just turn up with something as rare as this just because. I didn't think you'd find one ever, and that was three years ago," I tell Chuck while cradling one of the rarest production firearms in the world in my arms, but Chuck can only helplessly shrug back at me.

"Not much story. All we know is, Fuyuki was site of big mage battle, very big. Lots of...magic disturbance. Then it stop. No more battle, city go back to normal."

I ponder the rifle's personal history while gazing down at it. Through Olga, I know that her dad fought and won a Holy Grail War in a city called Fuyuki, and what little intel that Chuck has on it is lining up with Olga's testimony. And her dad wasn't a firearm user, from what I remember.

"Maybe one of the mages who fought there used this? But I don't know how the hell they would've gotten their hands on something like this in Japan of all places..." I speculate slowly.

"Maybe, I don't know."

Most likely, a mage used this gun - it would be hard to believe that an ordinary citizen in Fuyuki just happened to be holding onto one of the rarest firearms in the world, in a country that's notorious for having some of the strictest gun control laws in the world. But I can't seem to sense any residual mana clinging to this gun, which means that either the mage who owned this rifle either only ever used it with conventional ammunition or only barely used it with magical ammunition, or they simply didn't use it at all. If they used it with magical ammo, it's possible for me to investigate further into the possible history of this gun by analyzing the residual mana that's inside the barrel when I take it apart for cleaning, what little of it that hasn't decayed inside the gun after all this time. There's little chance of me being able to pry too deeply into its history, though, unless I want to fully commit myself to diving down that rabbit hole by having a Memory Searcher do some forensics on this.

I'll take the time to marvel at it later once I've brought it back home; I'm still having a hard time believing that Chuck was actually able to pull this one off and bring home a WA-2000, so the situation is still a bit surreal for me. So to temper that feeling, I shift my focus onto the second rifle, an even bigger beast of a rifle - the DSR-Precision DSR-50 anti-materiel rifle. I thought the Walther was already pretty heavy; I have yet another thing coming as I heave the fifty-caliber rifle into my arms. Yeah, this gun will need some getting used to and plenty of nights' worth of training.

"So what's the story behind this one?" I ask my Indian friend, fiddling a little with the large rifle's bipod at the end of the barrel.

"Friends found with first gun. Said they were together."

Whoever this mage was, they must've been rolling in cash. Not only were they in possession of these two sniper rifles, but apparently they were also rich enough not to give a shit about the fact that they've been sitting around for at least a good decade doing nothing but collecting dust.

"So how much do I owe you for these?" I chuckle back to Chuck, pun not intended. "I know I said I'd be your lifelong customer, but now that I've got these two and the Scar, I'm not sure if I'll ever need another gun again."

"That's what they all say," Chuck laughs heartily. "But Walther right now cost $80,000. Collector value and rarity make more expensive, much more expensive, maybe easily over 100k. But I give you friend discount. You help me, I help you, and I need way to make up for lost customer, you know? So if you buy Walther gun, I give you other gun free."

"Shit, it depends on how much you're asking for it, then. That's still eighty grand you're asking outta me, right?"

"Yeah, but you make six digit, though."

"No I fuckin' don't, what the hell? Who the shit told you that?" I snarl jokingly as Chuck gets another good laugh. "But fine, I'll tell you what: I'll do a down payment of ten grand, and I'll pay five grand a month until it's done. Sound good?"

"Hmm...sounds okay, but we talk about it more detail later, I want to go back to work on project."

"Project...oh, you mean that one." I lower the fifty-caliber sniper rifle in my arms. "How's that coming along?"

"Mmmm...difficult. Lots of trouble..." Chuck looks visibly concerned. "If I were still in military, I just ask Deimos, but not anymore. Have to do it by myself now."

"I can take a look at it if you want."

"Maybe, maybe. But then you just ask for more discount."

"Fuck!"

The two of us roar with laughter as I put the DSR-50 back into its big case with the WA-2000 and close it.