Picatinny Rail Goes on Sale
Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds of Redwood City, casting dappled shadows on Nakayama Takuya's desk.
The ringing of the phone interrupted his contemplation on the final level design of "Clear and Present Danger".
Takuya pressed the answer button, and a steady and familiar voice came through the receiver—it was James White.
"Mr. Nakayama."
White's voice was devoid of much emotion, as always concise and to the point.
"It's done."
Takuya leaned back in his chair, a silent smile curving his lips, but his eyes remained calm and serene.
"Oh? Tell me more."
"The Pentagon and the Rifle Association have reached a final agreement."
A barely suppressed emotion finally surfaced in White's voice.
"The production license was granted to Picatinny Arsenal."
"As expected," Takuya replied casually.
"But the process was more interesting than I expected." White seemed to pause for a moment on the other end, as if organizing his thoughts.
"The engineers at the arsenal, who thought too highly of themselves, initially dismissed our data."
"They rummaged through the warehouse and found dozens of different types of connectors and rails, even those from the Warsaw Pact. They spent three weeks organizing hundreds of assembly and live-fire tests, trying to prove that your design was flawed, or at least to find a 'more United States optimization.'"
Takuya listened quietly, and could even imagine the group of arrogant white engineers looking overwhelmed by a pile of parts.
"And the result?" he asked, knowing the answer already.
There was a full three seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, then White let out a low laugh, as if squeezed from his chest.
"The result was that they had to admit that your design from Japan was, in fact, the most perfect and standard answer."
"Now, they have officially named the project and are preparing to submit it to Congress as a common standard for the next generation of small arms for the U. S. U.S. military and even NATO."
"Oh, right," Matt added, as if remembering something, "They also gave this thing an official military designation and name, ' Picatinny Rail.' Named after their arsenal, you don't have any objections, do you?"
When White said the name, his tone was extremely complicated.
This name represents the engineers at the arsenal's full understanding of American economics.
They accepted this standard, yet they wanted to crown it with their own name, erasing the traces of the Japan.
However, this didn't matter to Takuya at all.
"It's a nice name."
He spoke casually, as if he were commenting on a dish.
"Mr. Nakayama -sen-"
For the first time, White's voice carried a hint of genuine confusion and inquiry.
"You seem—not surprised at all?"
"I'm just offering a solution, Mr. White. Besides, the people at Picatinny are counting on this project for promotions and raises; we can't let them down, can we?"
After hanging up the phone, Takuya stood up and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the bustling Redwood City below.
The wheels of history continue to roll forward along their inherent trajectory.
After all the twists and turns, this thing is still called a "Picatinny Rail".
Arizona, Phoenix.
Inside a gun shop, the air conditioning was blasting, but the atmosphere was even hotter than the desert outside.
"Hey Jimmy, look at this!" A young man in a work vest, his arms covered in tattoos, excitedly held up a brand-new AR-15. "New Colt stuff, see that? The tracks on it!"
The old man called Jimmy, who was wearing reading glasses and wiping a classic M1911, merely lifted his eyelids and snorted dismissively when he heard this.
"What kind of flashy new toy is this? Young man, guns are for target practice and self-defense, not for hanging Christmas lights on a Christmas tree."
"No, Dad, this is different!" The young man carefully placed the gun on the counter, took a red dot sight from the accessory box next to him, aimed it at the metal strip on the gun, and gently pushed it.
Click.
With a crisp click, the scope was firmly fixed in place.
He picked up a tactical flashlight and slid it along the side of the rail.
Click.
The entire process was fluid and dazzlingly fast. In less than ten seconds, a simple rifle was transformed into a heavily armed tactical platform.
"See that? No tools needed, no need to align with those damn screw holes!" The young man's face flushed with excitement. "I can assemble whatever I want, wherever I want! This is fucking the Lego of rifles!"
Old man Jimmy put down his M1911, adjusted his glasses, and leaned closer.
He stretched out his rough fingers and touched the rail that was named "Picatinny," then tried to shake the fixed fittings on it, but they didn't budge.
"Fancy and overly elaborate."
The old man pouted, but his eyes were fixed on the section of guide rail, as if he wanted to see a hole through it.
After a long silence, he finally asked in a low voice, "How much does this thing cost?"
At Colt Company's headquarters, on Matt Wallace's desk, lay a newly released initial market feedback report.
The sales figures were indeed not impressive, just as he had predicted; most consumers were taking a wait-and-see approach.
But he didn't care at all.
His finger skipped over the sales volume column and landed directly on the summary of customer feedback.
"A revolutionary change! I can finally put my flashlight, laser, and scope together without worrying about them fighting each other!"
"Installation and disassembly take only a few seconds, and there's almost no offset when zeroing! God, the person who designed this is a genius!"
"That's so cool! My girlfriend said the way I handle this gun is sexier than when I play the guitar!"
"I strongly suggest Colt release more compatible accessories! My wallet is ready!"
Matt leaned back in his chair, let out a long sigh, and felt much of the fatigue from arguing with his colleagues over the past few weeks dissipate.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number from Redwood City.
"Nakayama, your damn thing, its sales are as pitiful as the rainfall during California's dry season!" Matt started complaining as soon as the call connected.
Takuya's calm voice came from the other end of the phone. "Is that so?"
"But!" Matt's tone shifted abruptly, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement, "Those who bought it are fucking obsessed! Some Texas wrote a three-page review, calling it the greatest rifle innovation since the invention of rifling! Three pages! He didn't even write his graduation thesis that seriously!"
"Some people even said this thing makes his gun look like a movie prop, both cool and practical." Cool! They actually used that word!
Matt could almost picture Nakayama Takuya the other end of the phone.
This Japan saw through everything from the very beginning.
He wanted to change not only guns, but also people's perceptions of guns.
To make firearms a new element of life for middle-class United States.
Takuya listened quietly, without interrupting Matt's outpouring.
He waited until the other party had finished speaking before speaking calmly.
"It seems we need to speed up the production of our film."
The seeds have been sown; now, all that's left is to wait for that grand commercial spectacle in Hollywood.