I spent the rest of the time checking each firearm in the armory. The sounds of metal clicking into place, along with the smell of gun oil, were just the best. It was like ASMR that cleansed my very being.
"Dear, you have been making that weird face for each gun you check; I am starting to feel jealous!" complained the beautiful woman with me.
Lilly, who got bored 10 minutes in, sat on the pallet rack with a pout. As much as I found her pretty. There was just something about guns that made me feel like a man.
My dad's armory had everything I remembered. Along with the AR-15 and M24, there was also a shotgun and a machine gun for primary weapons. For secondaries, there were three submachine guns, four pistols, and one revolver.