Confessions of a Dangerous Gun

I'm a menace. And I like it. You think you can pwn me? You think you can end me? My minions keep trying to tell you - I am all powerful!

Let me tell you about the first time I killed someone. His name was Tim. Tim was typing away at his computer with his back to where I was sitting, on a shelf in a cabinet. I could see his snide, cocky head moving as he typed. Bastard. He never holds me anymore, I can remember thinking.

I could visualize the bottom cabinet shelf - stacks and towers of ammo I couldn't even see over. O, how I wanted to be loaded at that moment! I concentrated hard, thinking of what a round would feel like in my chamber and suddenly one was there! I loaded myself. I am The One, I thought. Calmly, I ended Tim's life and broke from the cabinet so everyone would think that he himself had done it. He never did anything to me, but I just didn't like him.

But they'll never know. It was the gun.

I was Tim's smirking revenge.

You think you can scare me, with your chop saws and ritualistic slaughters?

You don't know anything about pain. First person that tries to melt me gets a lead salad! I'm not fuc...messing around, as they say - I will own your ass! I have my ways.

To quote the men who birthed me, the Project Mayhem founders, "all the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I f*ck like you wanna f*ck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not." They say guns don't kill people, people do, but it's me. I don't need people. I transcend people.

Its not until you lose everything that you are free to do anything. I lost people. I lost my dependance on humans. And I haven't looked for it once. I haven't looked back.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go handle this gas station attendant.