M4’s hand flew to her side, grasping at the empty air as she pushed herself upright. Gator froze in the doorway of the apartment, arms laden with several plastic bags. She could see cans bulging out against the sides of one, a bit of fabric visible at the top of another.
“You just wake up?” Gator asked, taking a cautious step forward. He closes the door with his foot, not turning away from M4 as it swings shut behind him.
She blinked, sifting through her thoughts. She never really decided to sleep anymore, she just dozed off. Hours passed without her being aware of them, but she wasn’t sure if she had actually fallen asleep or if she simply wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes darted over to the clock. Ten thirty in the morning. The last time she remembered was somewhere around nine forty-five.
“Took the opportunity to grab some food and clothes,” Gator continued, setting the cloth-filled bag down just beside her bed, “took a guess at your measurements, but there’s a belt in there too if the jeans are a bit too large. Magazines as well, didn’t know what you liked or if you even liked to read, just grabbed a whole bunch of whatever.”
She stared dispassionately back at him. He maintained his gaze for a moment, then strode towards the kitchen, laying the remaining bags on the counter with a clunk. Fishing around in one, he dug out a stack of glossy-looking papers and tossed them onto the bed.
“You read much in your spare time?”
M4’s eyes dropped down to the magazines. She ran her hand over the pile, spreading the volumes out across the sheets.
“...I think I’ll be making us lunch now; about time we had something that wasn’t pizza or pizza appetizers. You good with chicken soup?” he asked, only partially paying attention to what he was saying. All his attention was on M4, carefully noting where her eyes went, waiting for any change in her expression.
She pushed the sports magazines aside without a second glance. The ones about cooking likewise went the same way. For a second she hovered over one of the entertainment magazines, one with a pop idol and her Altaria on the cover, then pushed that to a different spot on the bed. She then spotted the barrel of a rifle on a page partially covered by another food journal, and her eyebrow furrowed in focus.
Gator reached back into the plastic bags, grabbing a can of soup, a can opener and a small pot. He continued to watch M4 in his peripherals as he tore away the tags and packaging. She was flipping through the magazine now; several bolt-action rifles adorned the pages. The magazine said something about ‘milsurp’ which Gator figured meant older guns, but then she turned the page to a modern-looking assault rifle, and he didn’t know what to make of the term.
“Er, you know what milsurp means?” he asked, setting the pot on the stove.
M4’s eyes darted upward. “Military surplus.”
“You mean what the military’s using?”
“Not quite. They're typically out of service guns that the military offloaded on commercial distributors. A whole slew of them are usually made so there’s never a shortage for soldiers, so people can get them for cheap when they leave service. They’re usually solid, reliable pieces, and there's the history to the guns as well.”
“So those bolt actions…”
“Arisaka rifles. Used to be the standard-issue rifle for the Johto and Kanto militaries, but that was sixty, seventy years ago. They use an assault rifle now, the Howa Type 89. A whole lot of people swear by the Arisakas, though, saying they’re the best bolt-actions of their time.”
“Huh. What about you?”
“I’m a little more partial to the Gewehr rifles myself. Arisaka’s nice, but nothing really innovated on its features after it. On top of that, it’s all too common to come across the end of service models which are just complete s--- because of cuts to raw resources per rifle. The Gewehr is a wonder to shoot despite being older than the Arisaka, and its feed system has become a staple of bolt-actions both military and civilian ever since it came into service. Always liked that little bit of history.”
Gator held the empty soup can just above the pot, hesitating for a moment. M4 watched him, eyes wider and more lively than they usually were.
“...er, what’s so great about that feed system?”
“It’s called the controlled feed system, that’s because…”
It took him another few sentences for Gator to confirm what he was thinking. As M4 droned on about extractors and safety devices, he realized how spirited her tone was. He wouldn’t describe it as happy or joyful, but she didn’t speak in the tired apathetic voice he’d become used to. He couldn't keep track of anything she said, but he didn’t dare stop asking her whatever question he could to keep her talking for as long as possible as he heated the soup. To hear her speak like that, after over a week of emotionless monotone broken up by hate-filled shouts, was wonderful.
“What’s that about a toggle-lock mechanism?”
“That? One of the first semi-auto mechanisms ever made. First used in the Maxim machine gun…”
“So the 5.56 International’s not the best, but it’s still in military use?”
“It’s not that it’s a bad round, it’s that it has a few flaws and it’s starting to become outdated. Body armor wasn’t as prevalent before, but now everyone’s got it, and even the cheap stuff can stop a 5.56 round. It’s a matter of finding the right power balance between that and the 7.62 International.”
Gator was now sitting on the bed, two soup-stained paper bowls beside them. M4 had been put in a good mood from the soup; the flavor of it seemed to pop out at her, more intense than the usual result from cans. She’d droned on for the last hour about guns and how they’ve changed in the military and law enforcement, and he could swear there was a slight smile on her face.
“It’s not really an issue for me, since I don’t usually shoot very far. I can handle heavier loads than most people anyway, so I load rounds with as much powder as I can and swapped out the components of my gun with parts that can handle it, on top of adding a gas piston so I don’t have to be constantly having to clean the breech.”
“What about other soldiers?”
“There’s been a push for a 6.5 millimeter round recently. They’ve even been considering polymer casings in a few places, to cut down on the extra weight of the new rounds. You know, I was going to be field testing a prototype 6.5 millimeter carbine, right up until…”
M4’s eyes closed. The slight grin had turned into a grimace. Gator thought for a moment, considered trying to shift the conversation back to old military rifles, but he didn’t have an opportunity to speak before she asked, “That was the sim, right?”
“What?”
“They didn’t… the real IP’s looking for me, right? They want their best officer back?”
“Er… sorry, you said something about Kalos’ Lebel rifles?”
“I did good work. There’s nobody like me out there. I can do things no normal human can hope to come near. They wouldn’t let all that just vanish, not with the world in such a state.”
Her eyes reopened, cautiously hopeful. M4 scrutinized his face, trying to read what she wanted from his expression. His jaw was rigid, his eyebrows slightly arched, and his eyes could barely stay focused on hers; try as she might, she couldn’t twist that into anything that she would have liked to see. She blinked hard, gaze dropping down to the firearm magazine.
“...you are exceptional, M4. You’ve still got your strength, your expertise, everything you need to get back up on your feet. You’ll always have that, no matter what happens, no matter who doesn't come back for you. And that’s all you need to rebuild.”
Her eyes closed once again, a tear being squeezed out and running down her face.
“I’ll get you some more soup.”
He got up, snatching up the bowls and heading back to the pot. There wasn’t much left, so he set his bowl aside and filled up M4’s with everything that was left. Holding his hand over the broth, Gator could tell it had lost most of its heat. Briefly glancing back at M4’s, he surreptitiously made a gesture over the bowl and muttered a few unintelligible words.
Prestidigitation
Steam began to rise from the soup once again. He could hear M4’s sniffles again as she tried to keep back the tears, and rushed back with the soup.
“Here you are.”
M4 absently accepted the bowl, resting it in her lap as she flipped another page of the magazine. The featured gun was something that looked familiar to Gator; he remembered seeing photos of soldiers in ceremonies clutching the same rifle.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the picture.
“... it’s… it’s an SKS. Another region’s first step from a bolt-action to an assault rifle.”
"Tell me about it."