-The Warehouse-
--DISCLAIMER: all names are randomly generated (except the rifles) if it's close to yours, wasn't my fault--
>The bell on the door rings as a young college aged man walks into a barber shop
>The owner of the shop looks in one of the mirrors that gives him a view of the door
>He sees the new arrival, and knows what will happen with this customer
>The young man that entered was a scrawny white kid, poorly shaven with acne littering his face, and long shaggy hair around his shoulders
>The way the kid looked at the memorabilia that the owner collected, the owner could tell that this kid was not a fan
>Probably some sort of liberal arts major from the nearby college
>He was looking around with a sense of disdain or disgust, the owner couldn't tell very well with today's youth
>The owner's wife walks by and kisses him on the cheek
>He takes a minute to admire her in the mirror
>The woman who stayed with him through it all, the best woman he could ever ask for
>Mid-thirties, pale skin, blonde hair tied in a loose braid draping over her shoulder in front of her, blue eyes with large circular glasses, and a bright smile, dressed in her best maintained uniform
>As a part of the decor of the barber shop, she chose to wear a Luftwaffe dress uniform as her daily work attire
>She grabbed the owner around the waist
>He patted her cheek
>"It looks like we've got another customer, dear.  Can you check him in?"
*Ja! Of course!*
>Her German accent as thick as the day that he met her
>She looks in the mirror at the new arrival
*Oh, he looks like he's not interested in this place.  Is he one of those people?*
>The owner chuckles briefly
>"Probably, good thing I've got a knack for his type, just get him to stay and I'll take care of the rest."
*Alright, my love, I'll take care of it!*
>She swiftly walks to the counter and greets the young man
>The owner gets his tools ready for the haircut that is coming next
>He looks at them for a few more seconds and sighs
>He grabs the pendant of a necklace around his neck, takes a few deep breaths, and is ready for whatever this kid can throw at him
*Guten Tag!  Welcome to High-Caliber Barber Shop, do you have an appointment?*
"Um, no, I just wanted to see what it's like, I was recommended by a friend."
*Oh, well that is alright, we don't have any scheduled appointments for a few hours, so why don't you come take a seat and let my husband take care of you?*
>The young man nods and walks past the counter into the barber shop proper
>He looks around, taking in all the pictures of different units, the patches, rank pins, medals, and other random oddities
>The barber speaks to the kid after a minute or so
>"Hey kid, while I get that everything looks different in here to you, you're here for a haircut, and I'm guessing a shave as well."
>"The chair spins, so sit down, and I'll let you look at stuff while I work."
>The young man stumbles over to the chair and sits down.
>Instead of spinning the chair around and going to work, the barber extends a hand to the man in his chair
>"I'm Jacob Anthony Weaver, you?"
>The young man in the chair takes Jacob's hand in a weak handshake
"M-Mark Kallen."
>"Your handshake is very weak, son.  Work on that, be more firm with it.  Hell, your future job could depend on it."
"Y-yes, sir."
>"And speak clearly.  I'm not old enough to not hear you, but you'll run into people who are."
"Okay."
>"Better.  Now what are you looking to have done today?"
"I have a career fair at the local college coming up in a week and want to look presentable."
>"Say no more, I'll give you a haircut that will land you a job.  What's your major?"
"Political science with a minor in history."
>"Not a bad one, but you'll need to work on your people skills if you want anything out of that.  Now let's get to work."
>Jacob begins working on Mark's mess of a head of hair, spinning the chair around while he stands in one place as to let Mark see more of the memorabilia around the store, but to hide what's directly behind him
>"So, as a history minor, you'll probably recognize at least some of the things hanging around here, yes?"
Mark points to a few things he recognizes
"Yeah, like those are photos from World War One, that's an officer's sword from the Civil War, your receptionist was wearing a World War Two Luftwaffe dress uniform."
>"You know your stuff pretty well, I'm impressed.  Now tell me, going into political science, you had to have picked a side."
>Mark knows what Jacob is getting at
"I'm liberal."
>"Ah, well that's fine, gotta have people like you around to make things interesting, I guess.  See anything in particular that interests you?"
>Mark shakes his head while Jacob is at a pause
>"Alright then, let me give you a specific tour.  Most of the memorabilia in this store is from old veterans that have come in and donated things or stuff I find at surplus stores.  But there's a certain set of things in here that are very special to me."
"What are they?"
>"I'm getting to that young man.  My grandfather was named Jacob as well, but his middle name was Fredrick.  He's my namesake obviously, but the last name is different since he was my grandfather on my mother's side.  Over my right shoulder is a few pictures of him as a child and of his childhood.  He grew up here in this town."
>Jacob spins the chair clockwise
>"When he was 18, he married his high school sweetheart, my grandmother.  Their wedding photos are right in front of you.  He joined the army that year, and was sent to Fort Benning for training.  A little right of the wedding photos  is the photo of his training group."
>The chair is spun around again to face the mirror
>"He went through the training and eventually he joined an airborne unit, as you can see from the stuff around the mirrors.  He continued to serve for a few more years.  In that time, my grandmother moved down there with them and they had two kids.  My mother was first, and then my uncle three years later.  Their family picture from then is right of the mirror."
>The chair is spun around once more
>"We were very lucky.  His period of service was four weeks from ending when Vietnam started.  His unit was going to be shipped to Vietnam immediately, but given that he had a wife and a two year old daugther, with a son on the way; he was granted permission to end his term of service early.  Who knows if he would have survived if he had gone to Vietnam.
>"He moved back up here to their hometown and he went to night school while working to support his family.  He got his degree in computer programming and then went to work for a medical research company.  There's a picture of his team in the middle of his time there.  He ended up retiring from that company and then didn't do much afterwords."
>The chair is spun one last time to face Jacob again
>"Naturally though, age took it's toll on him and he accumulated more health issues.  I had become an engineer for a manufacturing plant nearby and had been working there for a few years when I got a call saying that he had suffered a heart attack and was in the hospital.  I knew this point was coming, but I was still shocked by it.  The photo over my right shoulder is the last family photo that was ever taken with him in it, about four weeks before his heart attack."
"I'm sorry about your loss, sir."
>"Thank you, Mark.  He meant a lot to me.  My father was a decent person, but my grandfather was more of a father figure to me than my own father ever was.  Either way, I left work immediately to go to the hospital to be with him.  He looked like death, but the moment I showed up, his eyes brightened up.  He often admitted that I was his 'best buddy', even out of the total of four grandkids.  I stayed with him every moment I could for the next few weeks."
"What about your job?"
>"I lost it after the first week.  My boss called and told me to get back to work or get fired.  I told him that my grandfather was more important than my job, and to fuck off.  My grandfather told me I was dumb for doing that, but I didn't mind.  He was what was important.  A few days later, he knew he was on his last day, so he handed me a box that he had kept with him.  He told me to wait a few days and then open the box.  He died a few hours later.  The funeral was taken care of and then we fast forward to a few weeks later."
>"I got a phone call from a number that I'd never seen before.  The only thing said was 'open the box' and then the line died.  So I went and opened the box that my grandfather gave me, and inside was a note, a sealed letter, and a key.  I opened the envelope and read what was inside."
>Jacob stopped cutting Mark's hair, surveying what work still needed to be done
>"Now let me ask you, how do you stand on guns and gun rights?"
"I can understand the right to bear arms to protect onesself and to hunt, I just think there needs to be more measures to prevent them getting into the wrong hands, and more control on where they can be carried."
>"You know, you're still salvagable.  So in that letter, my grandfather told me about the existence of beings called Waffengeist."
>Mark ponders for a few seconds on that phrase
"Weapon spirits?"
>"Mhm, exactly.  At some point, firearms started getting spirits attached to them.  When this was, I don't know.  He said that his unit when he was still serving had quite a few weapons with the spirits in them.  However, these weapon spirits could manifest themselves as women.  They eventually found out that Waffengeist weren't very well received by the government, so they did the best they could to keep it a secret.  My grandfather didn't have a weapon with a 'geist, but the men that did would marry them to make it seem like they were real women."
>"Their plan worked spectacularly well, no one was the wiser.  Then they came up with another plan.  They made a warehouse out in the middle of nowhere in the midwest, where Waffengeist could be safe and stored securely, living a life of relative happiness until such a time that they could come out into the rest of the world."
>Jacob started snipping at Mark's hair, cleaning up his work a bit
>"Now you're wondering, 'why did my grandfather tell me all this?'.  Well, throughout college and the years leading up to his death, I was dreadful with the ladies.  He knew this, because he asked at every family gathering and I told him the truth."
>"So anyways, I went to the warehouse that was listed.  It was the largest warehouse I'd ever seen, and even then, there were things on the outside that looked like it was more of a residential property.  I pushed the button at the gate, gave them my name, and the reply I got was the gate opening and a scratchy voice saying "Go in, follow the signs, take a look around, and make a choice.  You get one weapon and one weapon only." So I followed instructions and went inside, and was instantly surprised."
"What was inside?"
>"An entire village.  You know, like one of those you see in a video game with small metal shacks stacked on top of each other in a confined space, with roads and other things that you'd find in a working community.  The small cities in the game Metro 2033 came to mind immediately."
"Metro 2033?"
>"Oh by now, it would be an antique game, you've probably never played it.  So either way, I follow the signs mentioned and end up in an area of nothing but rows and rows of guns on racks.  Anything you could think of?  It was there.  Sometimes there were multiples.  I started looking around until I found it. We'll start the shave now."
>Jacob finally moves from his spot blocking Mark's view
>Mark sees what Jacob was hiding the entire time
>A rifle
>Not one of those black death dealers that the news talks about
>But an older one
>And it was no less scary
>Mark tries to get out of the chair, but Jacob puts a firm hand on his shoulder and sits him down
>"Now son, you asked for a cut and shave.  It would be quite rude to leave before I'm finished with my work."
"But that's a gun!  How can you keep a gun in your store?!"
>"Why it's my store.  I can keep whatever I want in here."
"What if someone takes it and goes and shoots up a school?!!"
>Jacob laughs at this statement
>"Son, if someone tried to steal her, they'd find themselves on their ass with their skull about to be caved in."
"But what if they tried to shoot you first?"
>"Then the gun would jam.  And besides, who said I'd be the one to put them on their ass?"
Mark's face contorted into a confused look
>"That gun that you are staring at in fear is a Fallschirmjägergewehr 42, or FG-42.  It was made in World War Two by the Germans for their paratrooper divisions in the later years of the war.  This one is one of the early variants.  Fires 7.92x57mm Mauser rounds at a rate of approximately 900 rounds a minute out of a twenty round magazine.  Could switch between automatic fire and single shot based on what the troops carrying them needed it for.  Versatile and deadly, it was an absolutely fine weapon."
>The weapon disappears and is replaced with the barber's wife, standing a few feet in front of Mark.
*Jacob, dear.  You always know how to flatter me so well.*
>"And her name is Frieda Gretta Rheinmetall."
*Was, dear.  We're married now.*
"Y-you married a rifle?"
>"No, I married a Waffegeist. When I met her, she was sitting on a rack by herself looking lonesome."
"In gun form?"
>"Yes, but I could just tell.  Plus, the FG-42 has always been my favorite weapon, so I had to have it.  While I was poring over the rifle, a man in his early twenties walked into my view.  I didn't look at him at first, but he surprised me by saying my name.  When I looked up, I realized that it was my grandfather.  I didn't ask how, or why, but I immediately went over to him and hugged him.  In my haste, I'd dropped the rifle.  After I came down from the high of seeing the best father figure in my life again, he told me 'Now that you've seen me, you better tend to her.'"
>Jacob began to work on Mark's shave
>"I turned around and saw her, sitting on the ground, crying with a scraped knee.  I knew I was bad with women, but I didn't think I was that bad.  So I tended to her wound and then sat there, comforting her, and then talking, and eventually laughing.  I had sat there and talked with her for about six hours before she asked the question of whether she was going with me or not.  I told her yes immediately, obviously."
"What then?"
>"My grandfather took us to her little room in the village and she collected a few of her things, said her goodbyes and we made to leave.  Before we did, my grandfather handed me a key, and said 'You'll meet someone who will need access to this warehouse.  Do what I did, and tell them about this, and give them this key.'  I agreed, and made to leave.  I asked him how he was alive as we were at the door, and he simply replied, 'Me?  Why I'm one of the Caretakers here.' and then almost phased out of view."
>Jacob finished Mark's shave within a few seconds of finishing the tale
>"We left, then got married, moved back home, and I started this business.  Now let me ask, how are you with women?"
>Mark shuffled in the chair a bit
"Horrible."
>"You been looking for a gun lately?"
"Yeah, kinda."
>"You willing to use your future positions to protect the greater knowledge of Waffengeist?"
"Um, yeah, I think so."
>"No, you need to swear to me and Frieda right now that you will help out the Waffengeist of this country. No. Matter. What."
*And mean it.*
>Mark ponders for a few minutes while Jacob cleans up
"Alright, I swear I will."
>Jacob reaches into his shirt
>And pulls out his necklace with a key on the end and rips it off his neck
>Frieda hands Mark a business card with an address somewhere in the Midwest on it
>"Once you're done with your schooling, go there, and say that Frieda and I sent you.  The caretakers will know what to do."
>"You're done here.  Good luck with your career fair, and remember that key."
"How much do I owe you for today?"
>Jacob chuckles and waves him away
>"You already did, just keep your promise."
>Mark walks out and the door swings closed
*You sure you were right to give him that key?*
>"Frieda Gretta Weaver, there was only one time I was more sure about my actions, and it was when I chose you."


--20 YEARS LATER--


>The bell on the door rings as a middle aged man in a suit walks into a barber shop
>The owner of the shop looks in one of the mirrors that gives him a view of the door
>He sees the new arrival, and knows this customer
>He smiles, sadly, remebering better times
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
>"I'm back here Mark."
>Jacob walks to the front of the store, now in his sixties, still in decent shape for his age
>"Mark, it's good to see you.  I regret that I never got to congratulate you for making it to the US Senate."
"Thank you, sir, it was thanks to your advice all those years ago.  And I kept my promise, I just helped pass a bill to recognize Waffengeist as official US Citizens."
>"Mark, that's amazing, I knew Frieda and I chose right when we chose to give the key to you!"
>A woman walks in the door
"Jacob, this is my wife; Amelia Ruth Kallen.  They had just started allowing newer parts kits Waffengeist into the Warehouse when I went."
>"It's nice to meet you, dear.  I'm glad he chose you."
*Thank you, sir.  I'm glad he did too."
"Where is Frieda?  I want to thank her too!"
>Jacob's entire body sags as he remembers
>He takes a breath, and with a tear in his eye, he replies
>"She's dead."
"W-what?  How can she be dead?!"
>"One evening, as we were closing up shop, the store was attacked by urban youths.  This town has gone south in the past few years, and it was only a matter of time before we were hit.  A firefight ensued, Frieda working like it was 1943 all over again.  And then, one of the bullets from the attacker's guns struck Frieda's bolt.  She transformed right there, and bled out in my arms.  Her last words were 'I loved you since we met, let's meet again next time.'  The cops showed up and arrested the attackers, but the damage was done.  This was three years ago."
"J-Jacob, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry I wasn't able to get the legislation through quicker."
>"It's not your fault.  That legislation wouldn't have saved her.  But it will save many other Waffengeist lives.  But you're not here to hear a sad old man be a sad old man, shall I cut both of your hair?"
"Of course, Jacob."


--3 WEEKS LATER--


>The doorbell rings as a middle aged man in a black suit and a middle aged woman in a black dress walk up to their son's home on a rainy day
>The twenty year old kid opens the door to see his adoptive parents
>"Mom? Dad?  Why are you here?"
>The young man's father pulls a necklace out of his shirt, and rips it off his neck
>It has a key at the end
>His mother hands him a business card with an address somewhere in the Midwest on it
>"Jacob, we need to explain some things to you"


---3 DAYS LATER---


>A young man is walking through the Warehouse, following the signs that he was told to by the voice at the gate
>He comes around the corner, finding rows and rows of rifles on racks
>"Hey, look, it's a new arrival!"
>'Don't mind my grandson, he's a little energetic at times.  Here for a Waffegeist?'
The young man turns around to find two similarly aged young men that look similar in a familial sense, playing a very contrived game of cards on top of a half-finished puzzle on a table, with a woman in a Luftwaffe uniform sitting with them, reading a book
"Y-yeah."
>"Don't stutter, boy.  It makes you seem unsure of yourself."
"Yes, sir."
>'Look at that, he called you sir, you of all people!'
>"Quiet old man, you're about as much of a sir as I am right now!"
"What?"
*Be nice to him!*
>"Oh, ignore us, kid.  Just go find a rifle you like and we'll see you in about six hours."
>The young man walks off down the rows of racks, wondering what just happened


---APPROXIMATELY 6 HOURS LATER---


>A young man is walking with a young woman, their arms entwined, as happy as they could possibly be to have met each other
>They're walking to leave the Warehouse and start their lives together
>As they reach the door, the two men playing cards and the woman in the uniform from earlier meet them
>"Found yourself a lever-action did ya?"
>'Looks like there's gonna be some riding in your future, and you're not the one who's doing the riding if you know what I mean.'
>The woman blushes, and the man with her laughs
"I guess not.  Thank you, you three."
>'No problem, son.'
>"Say, before you go, why don't you tell us your name?  You seem to remind me of someone I knew."
"Me?  My name is Jacob Mark Kallen."
>"Huh, I knew your father.  In fact, I'm the reason he met your mother."
"Wait, does that mean that you-?"
>"Yep, that's me; Jacob Anthony Weaver, and my wife Frieda Gretta Weaver."
"And you?"
>'Jacob Fredrick Carver, this one's grandfather.  Now get going, before you become a caretaker like us!"
>The couple takes the caretakers' advice and leaves, the door shutting behind them
>The younger one takes his wife's hand in his
>"Grandpa?"
>'Yeah?'
>"Thanks."
>'Anything for you, best buddy.'