He loved the heft of the thing. The rest of the cops on the force had switched to the new carbon fibre or ultraplastic models – the ones that never jammed, weighed nothing and had unlimited, motion-charged ammo.
He didn’t care. He was a cop, and a cop carried a big heavy gun that looked like a weapon, not a small plastic thing that could have come out of a cereal box.
His gun was his partner, and he knew he could count on it. He also loved the idea that if all else failed, he could easily use its lifeless and empty shell as a weapon.
He loved the smell of the metal, the heft, the way he could feel it in its holster as he walked, reassuring – a security blanket in an insecure world.