I told you to go right

"Well Six, I guess this is where our new lives start." I sighed.
"Yep." she sighed back. "Plus, we're gettin' to play around with weapons. EVERY DAY!" Neither of us could sleep, we were too excited. Whisked away by an assassin, sent to an underground facility to learn the art of stealth and murder? You think you'd be able to sleep when you knew that was gonna happen?
"I know! Machetes, knives, throwing stars, guns, poisons, it's all there! Saw it on the way down in the lift!"
"Free meals, accomodation, comfy beds, and most importantly, new allies!" Six added excitedly. "Then we're gonna get paid for killin'! Every time!"

"I can't wait 'til training begins. Who do you think's teaching us?"

The next morning, we, along with about 4-5 other trainees, were lined up at a range. On a table in front of us, there was a variety of weapons; rifles, blades, shotguns, pistols, revolvers, and of course, the Afterburner. Well not the real Afterburner, that was in my quarters, hanging on a rack. It had been duplicated, by disassembly, memorization, evaluation, and reassembly, before a functions test. According to the armourer, a buff fellow named Hot Steel, it had 'some shoddy craftmanship, but an incredible job for within the time I had'.
To the right of the table stood Fleur, all neat in her combat gear, with a slight frown and sunglasses.
"If you are to join this group, you need to be able to use a weapon." she barked, pacing down in front of us. "In front of you are a variety of weapons, many of which you will become acquainted with as you use them. Step forward, and take whichever you please, before returning back into a line. Go."
The other trainees, Six included, wasted no time in arguing over who took the biggest, shiniest gun. I facehoofed at their improper methods of retrieving a weapon, trotted over to the table, and picked a shiny gold Dhoenix (Desert Phoenix, the fucking punsters) up. After a small spin through idleness, I stepped back into line with the weapon in hoof. After another 30 seconds of standing idly by, the others gradually fell in. Six, I could see, won the argument, and hefted a large shotgun, with around 4 barrels. The others had settled with whatever else they had taken, one mare opting to hold an AWP in a magical grip.
"That was in more shambles than I first imagined, but you're now armed." Fleur groaned. "Next, all of you will need to acquaint yourselves with your weapon. That is why your first task is to name your weapon." Some confused murmuring was coming from the others, but Six seemed to nod approvingly. "All assassins that leave their weapons in museums have named their weapon. Be it a spear they named Skyneedle, a sword with an obscure Austallion name, or a trebuchet named 'Phil', most famous weapons are named." Fleur pointed to Six. "You! What have you named your weapon?"
"Terror, ma'am." Six replied sharply. Fleur pointed to the mare with the AWP.
"Name of your weapon?"
"I named mine Cherrypicker, ma'am!" shouted the mare. Fleur pointed to me.
"You!"
"Flip, ma'am." I casually replied. The others stared at me in confusion.
"Why name it 'Flip'?" asked a yellow stallion. I smirked. Birgirpall time.
"Because when you pull it out, it goes like this: WHHOOWHEW HOOO FLIPPETYFLOOP, WHHEEECCH." I cheerfully replied, spinning the golden pistol around my hoof repeatedly, through my legs, and even over my head. After, I received a small round of applause. Fleur seemed the most impressed.
"Which brings me to my second command: signatures." she coughed, silencing us. "An assassin is known for how they kill. Slide-Back is quite well know for leaving a single bit on the corpse of his target, thus earning him the nickname 'The Charity'. Your homework, children, is to think of how YOU'LL leave YOUR victims once they're dealt with." The yellow stallion from before raised a hoof. "Yes?"
"What's your signature, ma'am?" he asked.
"I put lipstick on, then kiss the body on the cheek." she replied smartly, "Earned me my nickname of 'The Gloss'. Now then, onto the part I know you're looking forward to: shooting." A small whoop came from us, and I span Flip again.
"Finally, some TRUE sharpshootin'." Six sighed.
"You sure?" I asked, as we were all given mirrors. Fleur smirked evilly.
"Hit these targets over your shoulders, without turning around." she laughed. "You're all such hot stuff, perform the easiest trick-shot in the book." Everypony else swallowed hard, and looked at their lengthy, high-recoil weapons. I grinned, looking at my small, medium-high recoil pistol.

"Ohohohoho." I laughed, placing it on my shoulder and holding my mirror with the other hoof. I aimed down the sights at the target, which was a Royal Guard helmet on a pike. I aimed down the sights, squeezed the trigger, and-

"...it was his own stupid fault for being where the ricochet was bound to go." I snorted, spinning Flip around in my hoof as I swallowed more of my lunch with the other guys from the lesson. "And how did a Royal Spy get down here, anyway?"
"Still," laughed Bush Whacker, our friendly neighbourhood Austallion Assassin. "It was a damn good shot. Nailed the bastard inbetween the bloody eyes."
"Yep," Six replied, "For all we know, he might have been on his way out with info, and y'all hit him like a deadshot."
"It was funny," I replied, "Until Fleur gave me a knife and told me to go gut him. That's when it became utterly awesome."
"Too right." snorted Swift Stike, or AWP mare.
"You crush tiny guard coward." boomed Rock Roller, our friendly...neighbourhood...fucking gigantic and ripped Tigerian. "Rock like Thunder. Rock like Dmitri, Rock's rocket launcher."
"Dmitri is a glorious name, my friend," I replied with a smile, "A glorious weapon deserves only the finest."
"Da. Is good."
"Y'know, we'll make a bloody good team, mates." Bush Whacker cut in. "A damn fine team."