These small characters are in Dad's handwriting, but Dad will definitely not record such vague information in the list of goods in the store he looked at. Oddly enough, Jenkins read this line more than once before realizing something was wrong with other projects, but never realized that there was anything wrong with it. It wasn't until it was verified that the information on this item was wrong that he could understand what the old man had written.
Of course, he also completely forgot about the gun in the lunch restaurant.
"A gun, I think it's a pistol, because we never buy shotguns or other firearms in our store."
The old man raised his hand and pressed his temple, then frowned:
"Although the target is identified, we still don't know what it is..."
Dad's right index finger tapped regularly on the armrest of Jenkins' sofa, and Jenkins was also troubled.
This unknown influence was evidently affecting him too, albeit slightly, but surely. Judging from his current soul strength, this is almost impossible. In other words, the extraordinary power involved in that gun at least came from the evil things or even gods in the void.
Jenkins had no clue as to where to find that thing, and Pop wasn't willing to seek out pagan demigods for help, he was pretty stubborn on the subject. After thinking for a long time, Dad asked Jenkins to go out to accompany him.
"Yes sir, but where are we going?"
He hurriedly stood up and grabbed the sleeping cat in his hand. When I walked to the hall with my father, I took off the coat on the hook and put it on. I opened the door, and the cold night wind and strange smell in the air came to my face.
It's cloudy tonight, coupled with the influence of the bad air, the whole street looks foggy as far as the eye can see. Letting Dad go ahead, Jenkins turned and locked his door with the key, feeling that he might not be able to return until dawn.
The destination of the two was Mr. Ink Club, where Jenkins trained firearms. It was only after an incident last year that Jenkins knew that it was a stronghold of followers of the false god [God of Guns]. Dad obviously wants to find some clues there. Although they are also pagans, this is not the same as seeking pagan demigods.
Mr. Ink's Club and St. George's Street were not far away, so Jenkins and Dad simply walked there. On the way, Dad talked about the news he heard in the church today, and he thought Jenkins would be interested:
"Do you still remember the woman who ate Mr. Stan? The woman who awakened the ancient blood."
They turned the corner together, and the street ahead was only dimly lit by street lamps.
"of course I remember."
When I said this, I thought of the unlucky Miss Rick and Garcia again.
"It was discovered some time ago that the awakening of her blood was not completely natural, and the secret keeper has now concluded that there are some extremely small amounts of medicinal ingredients in her blood. In other words, someone injected her with magical medicine , which led to the subsequent tragedy... "
"Potions? Yes, the Keeper spoke of it."
Chocolate squirmed restlessly in his arms, and he didn't feel sleepy after being woken up.
"Yes, that's the thing. The specific ingredients haven't been analyzed yet, but the conclusion shouldn't be wrong."
While talking, the two left the main road illuminated by street lights and turned into the alley, which would be closer.
"But it's too scary, right? The awakening of heterogeneous bloodlines can be achieved by using medicine."
Jenkins thought about what kind of army a guy who could mass-produce something like this would have.
"It's not as simple as you think."
Dad snorted, and at the same time, he seemed to be stepping on something like a nutshell, and made a strange sound:
"That kind of medicine is definitely not universal. According to the specific blood strength, type, and human body information, the composition of the medicine needs to be calculated and adjusted in detail. Old Jack mentioned this kind of thing to me. It is very complicated and very complicated. expensive."
"How expensive can it be?"
Jenkins asked casually.
"The problem is not that it is expensive, but that the materials used are rare and the pharmacists are rare. In short, this is a medicine that cannot be mass-produced."
It was already a little faster when we reached the door of Mr. Ink Club, but of course the door was not opened there.
After knocking for a long time, the gatekeeper lazily appeared at the door and asked loudly whether the person outside was a robber. Dad and Jenkins only gained his trust by explaining their membership number in the club, and it was nearly an hour after they met with the club executive.
It was an office inside the club, and on both sides of the wall were many antique guns covered with glass covers. There was even one that was solid gold, that brilliant color that reflected the light from a kerosene lamp, and Jenkins would definitely love it.
"Meow?"
"Not for food."
Jenkins warned.
Although chocolate can sometimes snooze, as long as it sleeps enough during the day, it will be quite willing to wander around at night. From this point of view, it has the same habits as ordinary cats.
"Sit down, both of you. Oh God, I'm so sleepy. Daddy, would you like some tea? And Mr. Williams, what do you need? I think we should all pick ourselves up."
It was a half-bald middle-aged man who greeted the two of them. He was extremely capable. Even now that he was so sleepy that he could hardly keep his eyes open, his display of Rayleigh's popularity was surprising.
This should be a follower of the God of Guns, Jenkins judged this from his status as a level 3 bestower.
Coffee and tea do have a refreshing effect, especially if the people who make these beverages are very skilled. The three of them took a sip from their cups, and then let out a long breath at the same time.
"Then dad, what's the purpose of coming here so late? I guarantee that the club doesn't take in any suspicious elements."
Judging from this sentence, the middle-aged man knew about Dad's church status, but their relationship should be good.
"If you take in suspicious elements, then it's not me who came here."
Dad said sarcastically, and then briefly said something about the gun. He emphasizes the memory-jamming effect, but it looks like the middle-aged man, like everyone else, can't remember anything about Dad's specific description of the gun.
"Okay, listen."
The lack of sleep made Dad a little grumpy, but it might also be because of wasting so much talking. His voice suddenly became louder, which revived Jenkins, who was almost asleep at the side:
"I want to know, is there a firearm with the [unable to be recorded] feature?"
"There are many such things, which one do you mean?"
Sure enough, such a question is valid.