There was something unnerving about the latest customer to walk in. Something about the teary glint in her eyes, or the knapsack that looked to be full of weapons and the way she walked maybe. But it was her query that set off the cyberpsycho alarm in the back of his mind despite the apparent lack of chrome.
"Do you buy HMGs? I'm afraid I just can't afford to house my cutie-wootie bullet-shooties anymore so they need to go up for adoption."
Tears were flowing freely now. Not immediately violent, so perhaps the shop would still be standing tomorrow if he played along?
"This poor girl fell out of a 20th floor window and a big man squished her good." A metal pretzel thumped to the counter like Dali had 3D printed an HMG.
"Then there's this cutie. She's a double-barrel HMG. Also a pastafarian; only eats conchiglie."
"Oh, and my 6-shot baby HMG. Gonna be a chaingun when he grows up; loves spinning."
"Next, a pair of stabby HMGs. Sharp as tacks. Mostly bayonette, still not sure where the bullets go in."
She looked up from the pile of metal on the counter to the shopkeep with puppydog eyes, and he sighed in defeat. "Ok, how about 200 eddies and I'll find a good family to adopt them all?"