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We make guns.
We don't care who the gun's going to kill, who's going to pull the trigger—we don't care about any of that.
We need good old leather to get a firm grip on the trigger—half the gun's about you holding it in the first place, so we put genuine leather onto the grip. But, well, recently, we've been having a shortage of cows. You know, the nuclear gizmos and all that good stuff. So we take matters into our own hands.
Like I said, we don't care who the gun's going to kill, and who's holding it in the first place. So we go to this town out in the middle of nowhere. Fancy little survivor settlement.
We shoot everyone there. Skin them to kingdom come. We take the skin back, dry it out. It's not the best, but, well, it would have to do.
Then we realize that we're running out of bullets. Real, steel bullets, built so that it could make a pretty darn decent dent in a one-meter thick sheet of metal. No bullet, no shooting. The mines are running dry. You could predict what we did next.
Another fancy little settlement—this time a few more people than before. They're holding our guns. They use them to fire back, but we win in the end. Same deal. No survivors. Skin 'em, bone 'em. It's not the best, but, well, it would have to do.
And then now we're realizing that we're running out of food. Some men try to desert—we shoot them and take the whole deal, bones, skin, meat, all the good stuff inside. It's not enough, though, and we've already massacred most of the settlements in the surrounding area. We send some squads away to kill more, but it's too little, too slow.
So that's when we put the big holographic thingy up in the sky: "FREE FOOD AND SHELTER AND WEAPONS". Attracting guys like you. Oh, I get it—you're thin and weak and all that. You're not the best. But you'll do.
Call us murderers, call us psychopaths, but we only came to do one thing, and one thing only:
We make guns.
Written by FRAAANK!!!