Who The Hell Names Their Gun?

Stray caught her crouching over his shotgun, its components disassembled and spread out across a workbench. He looked past her shoulder as he approached. A quick scan of the table assured him that all the weapon’s parts were there, even the additional mods not part of the regular M45 model.

“What the hell are you doing, exactly?”

Zoey scrambled to conceal something in her hand and close down the page on the datapad lying beside the shotgun. Stray folded his arms, mouth stretching into an irritated frown. “You lose one of those parts and I’ll make a replacement out of your hide.” It was a tired, instinctive threat, one made more out of habit than anger. Zoey didn’t even pretend to look afraid, though she was the very picture of guilt.

“Nothing.” She tried to edge away towards another end of the Chancer V’s hold. He blocked her path, catching her hand and snatching a small knife. Scowl deepening, he looked down at the workbench. She’d carved something into the weapon’s stock. Squinting down at the jagged etching, Stray made out: RAMPANT DEFEN

“Rampant Defen?” he asked. Zoey blushed.

“I wasn’t finished,” she said. “It’s supposed to be Rampant Defender.”

“Rampant Defender? What the hell kind of name is that?” He thought of the page she’d closed on the datapad. “You were using a dictionary, weren’t you?”

Her blush deepened but she didn’t look away. This little brat never backs down. “I just thought he could use a name. All this time you’ve carted him around and you’ve never given him a name.”

The hell is she on about this time? “Why the hell would I name my gun?”

“Lots of people name their guns.”

“Lots of pretentious assholes.” It sounded like something a two-bit thug might carve on a knife. “Rampant… what does it even mean?”

“Well… you always use him, and, uh, sometimes you go a bit crazy with him. But lately you’ve, uh, been using him to protect people. People like me.”

He’d never thought of it needing a name. He barely even thought of it as a weapon. It was more a jumble of strange feelings, sentiments that had filled the hole he’d felt ever since that cloudy day when he’d pulled the shotgun out of Ralph’s dead hands. The last day he’d truly thought of himself as a Spartan.

It seemed to be dawning on Zoey that she’d tread on forbidden ground. “I thought you’d like it.” She sounded unusually apologetic. “I… I’ll scratch it out.”

He worked his jaw, then shook his head. “Oh, just finish writing and put the damn thing back together. It’s balance had better not be screwed up.”

Her face brightened instantly and he wondered if she’d just been playing at remorse. She grabbed her knife back and sidestepped past him back to the workbench, getting back to the etching.

Rampant Defender. It wasn’t all that bad of a name.

With his luck, he’d probably catch shit for it anyway.