We walked into an empty building. It was after hours and everyone had gone home for the day. There was minimal lighting on, the only area really lit up was where we had checked our gear. I saw Zane and Woof standing by the counter and the same old man on the other side of it. He didn't look happy and I didn't really care. Zane and Woof did. I even got a couple of tail wags. I told Woof "Don't even try." He just grinned at me.
I stepped up to the counter and told the old guy "Hey."
"Yeah. How's it going."
I pulled Zane's box off the counter and handed it to him. Then I just stared at mine. Just for a minute. Everything was there but that was not why I was staring. The contents were beautiful. I have always been different and I suppose this was just another sign of it. The Rugers were works of art to me. Cold, gleaming, and where the metal showed wear I saw my history. The holsters, sweat and grease stained, the leather scarred in one place by a barbed wire fence I thought I had successfully cleared. The Colt Navy the best looking of them all. Just to hold it was a delight. All of them, once in hand, felt like an extension of me, a part of me I should have been born with.
I slipped my K98 bayonet through my pants belt and slid it in and out of its sheath three times. That was like the first drink, it went down clear and good. The warmth hitting my stomach and telling me the world was going to be alright. Strapping on the body armor felt good too. Not anywhere as good as putting my guns on. That was good. That was the third shot. The one were it all comes together and you feel like anything is possible. Then I bucked on Swords harness and it all clicked. I balled my left hand into a fist, slammed into my chest, and screamed my delight to the world.