Brass rattled across the bare concrete floor as the broom went back and forth, pushing the spent casings into a pile for recycling. It had been less than a week since Dan had started here, giving up a better-paying and more socially acceptable job as a big-box electronics salesman to be a stockboy and range technician at a small gunshop and range, or as his father put it, "play with guns". But Dan didn't care about losing an extra $4/hr or being a glorified janitor, because this particular gunshop and range was where the local trustfund kids came to shoot their exotic Class IIIs.

There had been a group of them in the other bay, banging away with full autos a few minutes ago, but they appeared to have stopped. Dan shoveled the brass into the collection bin until it was full, then dragged it out of the building into the alley where they kept the brass dumpster. As he was fiddling with the keys for the exit door, he heard a muffled voice coming from outside.

"What a fucking useless piece of shit. I should have just left you in that evidence locker. Well you're not going to make me look like an idiot ever again. God, whoever designed you must have really phoned it in."

There was a metallic clunk, followed by footsteps and the whine of a sportscar. Dan got the door open, and hauled the brass bin out. As he stepped outside and lit a cigarette, he noticed that one of the regular dumpsters was open. Once he'd dumped out the brass, he set the bin aside and walked over to close the dumpster. He was about to just slam the lid, when he heard what sounded like whimpering coming from the bin. He paused, cocking his head and listening closely, then peeked over the edge. 

There was a girl in the dumpster. She was short, with scruffy reddish-brown hair, pale skin and blue eyes. Wearing what appeared to be British MTP fatigues, she was huddled in the corner of the steel box, holding her knees against her chest. Dan blinked in surprise, and the girl vanished. In her place was something he expected to see even less; an L85 assault rifle. One of the A2 models, with the quad-rail upgrade kit and bipod foregrip. He shook his head, figuring the girl must have been a hallucination. The rifle looked rather forlorn there, propped against the corner smeared with oil and surrounded by trash. Dan reached in and picked up the rifle. It was heavier than he'd expected, and still warm from extended firing. It was the real deal all right. 5.56 NATO, fully functional. Even the full auto switch was intact. Dan contemplated what to do with the gun. What he *should* do was put out his cig, march right back inside and give it to a manager. But he wanted it so badly... If he brought it to the manager, it would be given to the police, guaranteed. They would throw it in an evidence locker and let it rust until it was auctioned off for scrap, or crushed as part of a PR stunt. It would be a real shame to subject such a unique rifle to that kind of indignity...

He slowly found himself walking over to his car, and tucking the rifle under a pile of camo jackets in his trunk. There were no cameras back here. Nobody would have to know, he thought as he finished the cigarette and tossed the butt into a puddle. Sure he was now in possession of an unregistered machinegun, but as long as nobody found out, his dog was safe. Dan pushed the brass bin back inside and returned to his sweeping. In a couple hours his shift was over, and he quickly left the premises. The entire drive home, he was fretting about the rifle in the trunk. Every black and white shape was a police car, every person walking past him on the sidewalk was an ATF agent. 

>>

He pulled into his driveway and shut off the car. Dan's house was a tiny freestanding one in a poor neighborhood near the edge of town. This was fine by him, most of the neighbors being either abandoned houses or elderly shut-ins meant he could do pretty much whatever he wanted. Even so, he was instinctively secretive about retrieving the rifle from his trunk. He gathered it up inside the wad of camo, and quickly brought it inside. He supposedly had a roommate, but the man was never around. Still, Dan hurriedly climbed the stairs to his room before unwrapping the rifle. Looking back over his shoulder to make sure the door had closed, he almost fell over as the rifle in his arms became suddenly larger and heavier. And warmer. He looked back down, to find the girl he thought he'd seen earlier in his arms, wrapped in the camo jackets just as the rifle had been. He almost dropped her in shock, but managed to catch himself and quickly set her down on the bed instead. She stared silently at him.