Dr Maheris

Dr. Maheris may have been easily amused, but today he was on the top of the world. Strange, considering his source of mirth was Project Heimdall. He watched as the door opened and the clockworks spit out a Henry All Weather. It looked the same as the input, no doubt, but he was looking forward to what this one could do. He leaned over the mike.
"D-914-128, please pick up the output." The tattooed man in the orange jumpsuit hesitantly obeyed. "Bring the output to the secondary testing chamber." He ordered. If they were going to catch up their technological gap, this was definitely the most fun way.

The top of the world feeling was gone. The rifle, it turned out, could only be loaded on Sunday, but fired all week. He sighed and took a sip of apple juice from the vending machine.

The Colt .45 did no physical damage when the bullets struck, but instead memetically imposed pacifism on its targets. The M249 converted bullets into saw blades, that was decent. The M60 ammunition exploded on target, but only when "Fortunate Son" was playing.

He pulled at his hair. Why the hell does this thing have to be such a dick?

The weapons were in some way refined, he supposed. It simply wasn't like the P90 or Python. He wondered if 914 knew and therefore was trying to stifle his attempts.

The Desert Eagle fired high intensity gamma bursts in the shape of an american flag. Effectiveness on target increased. The M1911 now stopped the target in time on hit for fifteen seconds. The Garand now gave the iconic ping on every operation.

Is it the names? He wondered. He groaned to himself. Gears was so much better at this. But he had a job to do. He began to type up the report.