This is My Rifle, This is My Gun

"This is my rifle, this is my gun!"

"This is my rifle, this is my gun!"

"This is for fighting, this is for fun!"

"This is for fighting, this is for fun!"

Hal just stood and watched the troopers shouting, singing, and clutching both their guns and for some strange reason, their crotches. He knew these people had been separated from Earth for centuries. He knew that cultural differences were to be expected, and given what had become of humanity's homeworld since the collapse, if anything, the people of Hieronymous were likely closer to the culture of the Golden Age than what the people of Earth currently were.

"Mister Halcyon?"

But he couldn't for the life of him work out why the sods were marching up and down, holding their rifles as if they were their rifles, holding their crotches as if that meant fun. Fun as in…

"Mister Halcyon?"

As in…what fun did the crotch provide? And how could one have fun on the battlefield? Granted, it was always satisfying to take down Fallen, but-


But nothing, the Guardian reflected, as he jumped up in surprise. A bit higher than he cared for, given the planet's lower than average gravity. But before long, he was back on solid ground. Facing a woman with a D on one side of her uniform, with chevrons on the other.

"You alright?"

"Hal," he said. "Not Halcyon. Just Hal."

"Fine. Call me Sarah."

Silence lingered between the two of them. Uneasy silence, that prompted Hal to glance back at the troopers, still singing about guns and crotches.

"I don't get it," he murmured eventually. "How's a crotch fun?"


"This is for fighting, this is for fun," the Guardian murmured. "How does-"

"Obviously, Earth is more miserable than I thought if you don't know the answer to that question."

Hal decided to drop it. Partly because he could swear that one of the marching troopers, one with brown hair and a more rugged uniform than the others, had just blinked in his direction. Or, he supposed, the girl in front of him.

"So, business then," Sarah said, gesturing to the Guardian to follow. "I hear Earth sucks right now."

"Oh yes," he said. "Really. Aliens running rampant, humanity on its last legs, the Traveller protects us, but-"

"Like I said, it sucks," Sarah said, approaching a tent and opening the flap. "Didn't need a description."

Hal frowned. But now the troopers were jogging, singing about stuff they didn't know but had been told. Apparently trust was an issue in this group – you could be told stuff, but had a high burden of proof.

"I don't know but I've been told – Handsome Jack, he sleeps on gold."

Hal shook his head. Who sleeps on gold anyway?

Regardless, he stepped into the tent. The armoury. An armoury that consisted of a single vending machine with a big D crushing some poor sod in a display of blood and guts. He glanced at Sarah.

"This is it?"

"You wanted weapons, we're here to sell weapons," she said. "Watch."

Hal did indeed watch. Watched as she walked forward, swiped a card, and pressed a button on the side. And in a flash of light, there appeared a gun. A particularly stubby, highly decorated gun, but a gun nonetheless.

"Here," Sarah said, handing it to him. "Defender assault rifle. Highly effective at long range, with high damage."

Hal took the weapon. It felt small in his gauntleted hands, but given that none of the troopers were using power armour, maybe the burden was on him. Maybe this weapon might be suited for Artemis or Magus.

"And just like that?" the Titan asked. "I pay, the weapon appears?"

"Pretty much. Dahl always provides the best in weapons…no matter what other people tell you."

A shout came from outside. Glancing through the curtains, Hal could see the soldiers were starting on an obstacle course. Green bolts of light were shot by mannequins, and the troopers moved as a group to avoid and take them down. All except the one he'd seen earlier, who had just bolted from his squad to do-

"Hey? You listening?"

"Um, yeah," Hal said. He turned back to Sarah. "How many of these can we take?"

"As many as you can afford. Though it's important to get the proper gun, y'know?"


"Proper gun," she said, folding her arms and looking at the Guardian incredulously. "Y'know, this is your rifle, your gun, your life? Your constant companion?"

"Er, no…" Hal said. "Just…a gun. A tool."

"So guns are just tools then eh?" she snapped. "Just weapons? No customization? No attachment?"

"Lady, I fight aliens for a living, guns are just a means to making that living," Hal said. "And in the interest of killing yet more, I…I mean, we, as in, the Guardians, want guns. Lots of them."

Sarah stared at him for a few moments before letting out a sigh. "Fine. Have it your way. I'll get you to the lieutenant, see if we can work an exchange rate for-"


An explosion rocked the tent. Hal stumbled. So did Sarah. But unlike the Guardian, given the look in her eyes, she seemed to know what was going on.

"Oh no," she whispered. "Oh hell no…"

She walked outside the tent. Hal followed. And saw

"Get some! Come and get some!"

Some maniac with a deployed turret shooting all the mannequins. And throwing grenades. And also hitting his comrades at the same time.

"Axton!" Sarah yelled. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Being a badass darlin'! What's it look like?!"

Hal stared at the maniac. Then at his gun. And reflected on Sarah's words. And the words of the Dahl troopers.

This is my rifle, this is my gun…

And he attached the weapon to his back. These were tools, he reminded himself. Part of a shipment to take back to Earth and distribute to his comrades.

Though as he watched the scene before him, he supposed that perhaps it wouldn't hurt to have some fun either.


The idea for this came from an interview with Destiny developers, how they wanted to emulate the feeling in Borderlands of being attached to one's weapon. That...raised an eyebrow from me, but it quickly went down. Personally, loot in ARPGs for me (or loot in games as a whole really) has always been a means to an end, not an end in itself. I'll take a weapon based on the job it does, not for getting the weapon itself. Still, to each their own. Came up with this as a result.