They say that out there exists a unique gun store.
A gun store that can get you what your heart desires the most.
If you're willing to wait for it.

>setting: the present day

>a small bell rings over the door as you enter the gun store
>it has a pretty cozy layout inside
>left side is all firearms and ammo
>right side has chairs, couches, and a coffeemaker
>a group of gentlemen are having a discussion
>sounds like they're arguing about 10mm versus .45ACP
>straight back is a counter and what looks like the gunsmithing area
>there's a door out the right side, past the chairs, to the outdoor range
>you were surprised to see an outdoor range so close to a “doggy daycare”, but they seem to coexist well enough
>you browse through their actually fairly-impressive selection before making your way to the counter
>at the workbench to the back you see a  small Italian man is cleaning an ornate double-barrel long gun
>you can just read in gold on the side “HOLLAND AND HOLLAND”
>there is a cute Eastern European girl standing at a cash register at one end of the counter
>at the other end is a sign reading “Special Requests” and a small bell
>it's to this end of the counter that you walk
>before you even get near the bell you hear the girl say, “Hey, boss. Customer.”
>the Italian man puts down his rag and comes over to the counter
>”Good morning! Welcome to Gabriel's Gun Shop and Range. What can I do for you?”
>you briefly explain your situation
>you had a nice collection of firearms, which were lost due to circumstances beyond your control 
>now you're looking to get back into it
>”Well, that's all well and good, and we have a nice selection out on the shelves. But you've come up here because what you're looking for, isn't out there... is it?”
>you shake your head
>”I've run my shop a long time. I can tell the look. There's something special that you've lost, I can see it in your eyes. Tell me.”

>you try to start a couple times, but you can't get the words out
>finally you sign, and meet the man's eyes
“I'd love to, but even if I told you I'm not sure you'd believe me.”
>a small smile appears on his face, and his eyes seem to light up
>”Oh, I'd like to think I know a lot more than most give me credit for. Natalya, if you could please?”
>the girl at the register walks around the counter and walks up in front of you
>she sizes you up and down for a moment
>”Ready? Catch!”
>she jumps into your arms
>except you don't catch a woman, you catch an SKS
>you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding, and gently set the rifle down
>as you let go, the SKS turns back into Natalya
>she looks at you with a small smile, and turns to Gabriel
>”I like him. Nice hands.”
>Gabriel wordlessly shoos her away and then looks at you expectantly
“OK, I believe you.”
>”Good. Now tell me about her.”
“Her name is Mishka.”
>you start telling Gabriel about your rifle, a Russian Mosin-Nagant M1907 Carbine
>slowly at first, you gradually work up to 'sperg-out' as you pour out everything
>she was your oldest rifle, both in age and in time of ownership
>she was also the only one that revealed the spirit that lived inside
>the two of you were inseparable... until you weren't
>Gabriel is taking notes on an order form as you talk
>finally, you run out of things to say, and look at him
>”Well, I can't promise anything... but I will do my best.”
“OK, great! How much do I-”
>he cuts you off as you reach for your wallet
>”Your tab with the shop is to be paid only if I am able to deliver on this order. Until then, my store is yours. Feel free to use the range or any rental firearms you wish.”
>stunned at his generosity, you stammer out a “Thank you!” before leaving the shop

>a couple days later, you come back to the shop
>you're not working right now, so it beats hanging around the house
>a brief talk with Gabriel gets you a rental M14SE and a couple boxes of 7.62 NATO
>you've wanted to try your hand at long-range shooting and figure this would be a great opportunity
>Gabriel's range goes from 30 feet for handguns all the way out to a staggering 1000 yards for rifles
>you pick out an empty 50 yard lane, planning to start small and work your way up
>by the time the ammo is spent, you're feeling okay with yourself
>the first couple targets really sucked, but you focused and did a lot better on the later ones
>you police call your brass, putting it back in the boxes for reloading
>you go back to the counter and turn in the rifle, brass, and targets
>as you start to head out, a lone man in the lounge area waves you over 
>”Hey there, saw you out practicing. You're a new face.”
“Yeah, just got into town, actually.”
>”Are you busy, or do you want a cup of coffee?”
>coffee sounds great, and you tell him so
>as the coffeemaker starts percolating, the two of you talk
>his name is Chris, and he's retired military
>the lounge area is open to anyone, but seems to mostly get used by folks waiting on special orders
>”Yeah, we like to hang out, tell stories, swap lies, the usual thing. There's only one rule, though.”
>Chris points to a small sign hanging over the coffeemaker that you missed
>it simply reads: “Rule #1: No fuddlore.”
>after an hour or so of light conversation, you take your leave and head on home for the night

>over the next few weeks and months, you find yourself spending a lot more time at the range
>it's become a home away from home for you
>Chris has taken you under his wing to teach you marksmanship
>while his shooting at 1000 yards leaves you amazed, you've gotten up to getting all in the 8-ring or better at 600 yards
>you're a staple at the bull sessions in the lounge, helping introduce new guys as older members stop showing up as much
>some days you even help Gabriel with reloading, or just cleaning up the place
>it sure beats sitting in that empty house alone
>one late night, long after the shop has closed up for the night, you get a phone call
>”This is Gabriel. Come down to the store quickly. Your order has arrived.”
>in your excitement you almost bolt out of the house without pants on
>you race down to the shop and knock on the door
>Gabriel opens it up for you, and locks it behind you
>inside, the lights are dim, and sitting on the counter is a large cardboard box
>”I'm glad you could make it so soon. I know you've been waiting for a long time, so I didn't want to wait until morning.”
>he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocks a door you've never been inside until now
>the special order receiving room
>the lights are softly lit in here
>the only furniture is a large countertop-height bench, which appears to be covered in padding and velvet
>Gabriel sets the box down on the floor, scoops the contents out gingerly, and sets it down on the velvet
>it's Mishka, you can tell instantly
>she looks identical to the last time you saw her, down to the small carving of her name in her stock that was done long before she entered your life
>”She may be a bit disoriented. I didn't wake her up yet. I'll bring her around for you now.”
>Gabriel gently, reverently runs a hand down Mishka's stock
>after he does so, she changes into her human form
>her eyes are closed, her sleep looks troubled
“Mishka. Mishka, wake up.”
>she starts mumbling in her sleep
>”...no... no... please...no, you can't do this... NO PLEASE STOP!”

>she screams out the last words as she jolts awake, looking around the room in a panic
“Mishka, it's alright. Everything is okay.”
>you've had to calm her down in the past like this, when she'd have dreams of the war
>Mishka looks at you, her face visibly changing from confusion to surprise to stubborn denial
>”Anon? No, is impossible. It can't be. This is just part of another dream.”
>her face softens, and small tears form at the corners
>”Y-you can't be. I saw... I watched you-”
>you gently touch her to stop her
>she startles at your touch, like she wasn't expecting it
“You did. That is in the past, though.”
>a pair of tears escape her eyes, silently
>”Ever since that day I've held myself-
“There's nothing you could have done, though. It's okay.”
>you can almost see the weight and burden being lifted off her shoulders
>she ponders this new information for a moment, then looks up at you again
>”If that's true, how am I here?”
“Well, what were you dreaming about?”
>she closes her eyes as she remembers the dream
>”I was in a box with a lot of other guns – like me. We were all scared. Then man reached in and picked me up. I watched him scratch my serial number off paper in front of him, and he threw me into another box. But this box was made of steel and filled with fire. I screamed and I screamed... and then I woke up here.”
>she looks back and forth between you and Gabriel
>some of the color drains from her face as she realizes
>”Th-that... that wasn't dream, was it?”
>now it's time for tears to sneak down your face as you shake your head
>”Wh-where am I?”
>at this, Gabriel steps forward
>”You would be in my gun store. Gabriel Possenti, at your service.”

>she turns to you as she processes this
>”And he has been waiting here for you, so he can take you home,” Gabriel adds.
>she lies back down on the bench, as if unable to process this
>”You've been waiting for me, ever since...” she trails off
“Yes, I have. When I told you we'd be together forever, I meant it.”
>you turn to Gabriel
“How long was it, anyways?”
>he pulls out the original order form and looks at the date on the top
>”70 years, 3 months, and 24 days. Not that anyone is counting.”
>Mishka looks up at you
>”I... I would like to go home.”
>you gently pick her up off the bench
>she curls around you, her head on your shoulder
>Gabriel opens the front door for you as you walk out
“Thanks Gabriel, you're a saint.”
>”I get that a lot. Have a good night, my friend.”
>you walk down the street, past the Rainbow Bridge dog kennel, and towards home

>when a rifle and its owner forge a deep bond, their souls are connected
>only once can a rifle bond like this, but when they do it's unbreakable
>even after death, the souls of the rifle and its owner echo to each other across the barrier of death
>when a bonded rifle meets its end, it is reunited with its owner to spend eternity together

Fin.