FicWad

On Brett's seventh birthday, his parents had given him the most realistic toy gun they could find. It was sleek and black and so real looking that he was sure all the other kids would envy him. The thought made him smirk, just like his Schuldig always did. His father had even bought a holster for him, and he would always remember the way his father's glasses flashed when he held it out. Afterwards, he would practice withdrawing it over and over again until he was as good as his parents.

But when he pressed the trigger, it clicked dully.