Tippy finds one of the empty lots and sets the heavy bag onto the wooden surface of the gun table. The bag settles with an audible and hefty "clunk" as the rifle shifts around on the soft lining of the bag.
Tippy had spent days memorizing the imperial weapons assembly. She now knows its construction by heart and can do it blind folded. She pulled it out of the bag and let the weight of the weapon sink into the elbow of her arm. It was much shinier now that she had cleaned it up. The wooden stock, considerably rare in weapons these days showed its thick grained texture from having been waterproofed in motor oil many years ago. the receiver was a combination of stamped metal and hand machining; a process now gone with the introduction of automation. There was remnants of a scope mount that jutted out of the receiver like a rock half buried in mud, it looked broken. The sites were not useless though as the pieces of the scope mount could be removed with ease. Imperial engineering from way back was almost surreal with its quality. The weapons long black-steel barrel crept out of the wooden grip until it came to a ribbed muzzle break, not used to hide a flash like on newer weapons but probably to keep the barrel cool during use. Iron sites stood tall almost sorely just short of the flash hider like a rhinoceros horn, perhaps more sorely than when you put the magazine into the weapon and it jut out it's side. Tippy felt the weapons grip and trigger and was pleased by its solid and blocky construction. There was no room for flimsy hair triggers here. This weapon was truly retro in its appearance. This was a weapon you made love to.
"I am the surgeon and you are my scalpel." she says to herself with the biggest grin on her face.
Tippy jams a magazine into the weapon and investigates the available targets down-range.
Poll