"Anything I want?" Andy's eyes were wide and hungry as he surveyed the armory.
"Within reason," his smartly dressed tour guide replied. "Anything which you might require during your employment with us."
Located on the second floor, the armory was lit by electrical bulbs—no windows or candlelight. A variety of assault rifles stood to attention in racks like fields of sunflowers; bandoliers full of grenades hung from hooks like fruitful pea-pods, ready to burst. Beehive sacks of miscellaneous ammunition piled in one corner beside the honeycomb boxes of assorted rounds. Andy opened a cabinet and brushed his fingers over machine gun belts, cascading like bronze waterfalls, and shuddered.
"Should do." His voice broke a fraction like an adolescent. Swallowing his delight, Andy cleared his throat. "Yeah, whatever. I can make this work."
The sun was setting by the time Andy had finished making his selection. He exited the armory wearing new boots, armored gloves, and a slim tactical vest underneath his leather jacket. A semi-automatic pistol tucked into a breast holster—some company for Julie—he knew she got lonely during the long hours while there was nothing to shoot. His brand new bandolier was bountiful with frag, stun, and smoke grenades. A short-barreled assault rifle slung over his shoulder, two large magazines taped together in the magwell, and four more stashed in the pouches of the vest. He had ammo for both sidearms, but chose not to take a speedloader for Julie. He considered the devices impersonal—Andy liked to touch the bullets as he fed them into her cylinder, assigning each of them to his targets. This one's for you. And this one's for you.
Something drew his attention at his hip—Julie was vibrating softly, or so it seemed that way.
"What's the matter, babe?"
Julie didn't respond.
"You don't have to feel jealous, girl. This?" Andy brandished the rifle. "This ain't nothing. This is just a tool."
Julie was silent. It was her go-to. She had spent years buried beneath the body of a dead man before Andy had rescued her. Though she was passionate, Andy got the impression that she had abandonment issues, and with Andy's Augmentation pushing them together, binding them with new abilities, he wondered how much longer this casual period between them would last before things got serious.
"The pistol?" Andy said, patting the 9mm in his breast holster. "This skinny bitch? Babe, Julie, she ain't a threat. She doesn't compare, you know that."
"Excuse me?"
The voice came from down the hallway. It was a militiaman, younger than Andy, a different man than the one who had escorted him to the armory over an hour ago. Or so it seemed… he wasn't wearing a waistcoat, unless he'd just taken it off at some point. Andy couldn't be sure; he wasn't great with remembering faces.
"You got anything bigger?" Andy said.
"You'd like to compare something bigger?"
"Yeah."
"Bigger than what?" the militiaman asked.
"Bigger than what I could feasibly hold in my arms."
The kid stared at him, confused.
"I want to fix something to my jeep," Andy said.
The kid blinked. "Like an LMG?"
"Like an LMG."
"Erm," he scratched his head. "I'm not sure about that. I'd have to ask."
"Well, show me first, ask later."
The kid's eyes wandered the ceiling for an answer. He fiddled with a button on his waistcoat, his forehead shone in the dim light of the corridor, suddenly sweaty. "I…"
"Come on," Andy said. "I'm expected to be somewhere."
"Okay. But only to look. I would need to get permission before you take anything else."
Andy didn't respond. The boy took him down a flight of stairs and through the mansion toward a workshop. The air was crisp with the smell of metal shavings and diesel. A series of workbenches were occupied by vehicle parts, machinery, and weaponry. The room was lit softly by electrical desk lamps, fastened to tables and shelves dotted around the room. The floor was smooth where the wood grain had been packed by dust. Mounds of sawdust and fibers piled in every tiny corner. Two heavy-caliber machine guns were mounted on the walls, while one more was in pieces, clamped to a bench, being worked on by engineers.
"That one," Andy pointed to one of the mounted machine guns, painted dark red and black.
"Excuse me," a fat engineer dressed in work overalls interrupted them. "Who's this?"
"Kid, catch this gentleman up on our arrangement." Andy strolled over to the LMG and unlatched the chains affixing it to the wall.
Behind him, the two talked in hushed voices, then the younger one's tone pitched up an octave, and he waved his arms. "I don't know. He's a guest of the master. I don't know."
The engineer sighed. "Excuse me, sir, you shouldn't be here."
Andy hoisted the massive gun down and hefted it on his shoulder. His assault rifle slipped, and he caught it in the crook of his arm, hunching to carry both weapons. His spine ached under the weight. "That's quite alright, I'll just be on my way."
Suddenly, the weight lessened. Two more engineers were lifting the machine gun off his back, while the third, more talkative one, got in his face. "No, I don't think so. Callum, fetch a senior."
Andy watched his dreams disintegrate before his eyes as the engineers repositioned the LMG back on the wall-mount. Defeated, he bowed his head and tried to get past the fat engineer.
"I don't think so. Wait here."
"I'm sorry, I would love to oblige." Andy slid under the engineer's outstretched arm. A trickle of his Augmentation's powers seeped into his veins, enhancing his dexterity as his Evasive Fire ability hummed in the background of his mind. Andy skirted out of reach and towards the stairs. "But time waits for no man, not even I."
The big engineer stepped after him. "This workshop is off-limits to guests."
"As I am now made plainfully aware." Andy had intended to say painfully or plainly, but got caught somewhere between the two. "Adios."
Andy marched up the stairs, and moments later, the young militiaman came running after him. "Excuse me, can you wait here? I need to get a senior."
"Here, in the stairwell?"
"Well, maybe at the top of the stairs."
"Take me to my lodging," Andy said. "If you need to fetch a senior, tell them I'll be waiting there."
The young man hesitated.
"I'll make it worth your while…" Andy said, finishing the sentence in his head: In that I won't shoot you in the balls.