early morning.
A two-story house on South Street in Las Vegas.
Looking in through the window, under the dim light, a silver-haired old man with a kind face was listening intently to a story told by a young black-haired man beside the sofa.
The young man spoke very slowly, carefully considering every word. His voice was sometimes excited and sometimes cold, and his bloodshot eyes flashed with excitement and confusion.
The old man held a brand new tome, opened the white pages, and listened while transforming the story into beautiful words and lifelike patterns.
a long time.
The old man put down his pen, propped his elbows on the table, crossed his fingers, and supported his chin.
"The world is endless, and there are unsolved mysteries one after another. I have never heard of the nocturnal species and Midian, so I'm sorry, I can't tell you where Midian is."
She raised her glasses and looked at Dean who was thinking on the other side of the sofa.
"But there must have been many nocturnal species that left Midian in the past, multiplied with humans around the world, left their bloodlines, and gradually formed teams of hunters."
"There will always be some hunters who have information about their ancestors and their homeland."
“Find them and you will find Midian.”
Dean nodded,
"I don't understand a bit... Westen said it violated the iron law and was driven out of Midian. What exactly is its so-called iron law?"
"You can try to think about it." Tribeca said, "There is such a place where a huge number of monsters with deformed appearances live in seclusion. They are made of steel and iron, their speed and strength are far beyond that of ordinary people, and they also master various dangerous abilities."
"But there are very few legends about them, and almost no one knows about them. There is only one situation that could lead to this."
Dean changed his eyes and interjected,
"Midian prohibited them from leaving the neighborhood, from harming humans, and possibly even from communicating with humans,"
Tribeca smiled in agreement, "That's right. Only by being isolated from the world can Midian survive safely. Otherwise, the human army would have wiped out this large group of monsters."
Dean nodded.
Judging from his current experience alone, no matter how powerful the monster is, it can only be wiped out in the face of nuclear weapons controlled by humans.
If they want to survive, they must be low-key and honest.
Dean took out the hollow golden invitation again and handed it over, "Do you recognize this invitation?"
Tribeca looked at it with her reading glasses for a long time and shook her head.
"Maybe this is something new? I can't understand this for an old timer like me."
…
The lights flickered, and the soft morning light outside the window gradually became brighter.
The old man and the young man discussed for a while and perfected the description of the nocturnal species as much as possible.
Tribeca finally closed the tome with satisfaction and handed it to Dean.
"The last Death Eater and this time the Night Clan are only two or three months apart. The frequency of your encounters with supernatural creatures is frightening, so I have prepared a separate collection for you in advance."
"It will faithfully record all the supernatural creatures you have come into contact with before, now, and in the future. You can check it out at any time. And don't worry, your true identity will not appear in the book."
"Then it's all your fault."
Dean rubbed the delicate hard-cover book cover, feeling a faint sense of accomplishment in his heart. After traveling through time for more than half a year, three kinds of supernatural beings had died in his hands.
He should be considered a qualified monster hunter.
"By the way, you were in a bad state from the moment you entered the room... Have you had insomnia recently?" Tribeca put down the book and glanced at his bloodshot eyes with thick dark circles, "If you have any troubles, please tell me."
Dean was silent.
After leaving the Stone family's manor, he seemed to be under some kind of curse. As soon as he fell asleep, he would dream about the Stone family, the snake-haired man, including the former Death Eater, and the cruel and bloody eating scenes.
His own face was mixed in with the bloody faces.
Moreover, the poem that the snake-haired man read last popped out of his mind from time to time, causing him to be often in a trance during the day.
Dean began to wonder if these supernatural monsters all possessed some kind of spiritual curse that was activated before death.
"I'm just a little too tired."
"Get some rest and don't push yourself too hard."
"Well, take care of yourself."
…
Dean left the house and got into the car, pretending to be another face, putting on a black windbreaker and a black wide-brimmed hat, and drove south, preparing to continue the unfinished business of the past few days.
…
A dilapidated two-story mansion in South City of Las Vegas.
"Give me one more month of grace." A blond woman in a thin red sweater begged into the phone. "Next month, the rent will not be less."
"NO! For the sake of your orphans and widowed mother, I have made an exception and granted you an extension of half a year, and also exempted you from three months of rent." A helpless male voice came from the phone, "But I am also poor. You have to support your wife and children, I have always been considerate of you, who will be considerate of me!"
"The rent must be paid in full tomorrow, otherwise I will move out!"
"I can't do it, please."
"There is no negotiation this time."
"For the sake of your brother, help me again!" the woman begged,
"His face? Penny, there's something I didn't tell you."
The male voice on the phone was furious, "Amos owed me three thousand dollars before he disappeared. I didn't ask you to pay it back, and I let you live in the house for so long. I've done my best. I beg you to move out."
Beep...beep...
The woman hung up the phone, walked back to the hall in a daze, picked up her giggling son in the stroller, rubbed his smooth little face, and began to sob tiredly.
"I'm so tired. I can't hold on any longer. Where did your cruel father go?"
"Bang, bang..."
"Bang, bang..."
There was a sudden knock on the door.
Penny's expression changed, she wiped her tears with her sleeves, put down the child, and trotted over to open the door.
"Who are you?"
The dazzling sunlight illuminated a stranger carrying a briefcase at the door.
Wearing a black windbreaker, he has a slender figure. He also wears a black wide-brimmed hat, and covers most of his face with sunglasses and a mask.
The man's magnetic and steady voice sounded.
"Ma'am, do you know Amos Milson?"
Penny pursed her lips, and there was a hint of paleness on her prematurely aging face.
"He is my husband. He has been missing for a year. If you come to him to ask for a debt, I'm sorry, I don't have a coin. I owe half a year's rent and I have a child to support. For God's sake, don't embarrass me. "
"You misunderstood." The man opened the black briefcase, took out a packet of brown paper, and handed it over, "Jack lent me a sum of money before, but now that he has disappeared. The money belongs to you."
The woman's mouth opened wide, and an incredible light shone from her red eyes. She knew exactly what kind of virtue her husband had. Every time he went to drink just after his salary was paid, he only left a meager living allowance for poor little Jack.
The probability of asking him to lend money to outsiders is lower than winning the lottery!
But the woman did not clarify. She gritted her teeth and reached out to take the brown paper bag. She glanced into the bag and exclaimed - two beautiful green knives.
"Put the money away. I'll give you another piece of advice from the bottom of my heart. Look forward."
The man pressed the brim of his hat, turned and left,
"After paying off the debt, take the children away from this place and start a new life."
"Wait, sir, what should I call you, and how can I contact you in the future?"
The man waved his hand without looking back and disappeared behind the woods after a few strides.
…
On the side of the road, Dean returned to the car, took off his mask, took out a piece of chocolate from the passenger bag full of high-calorie snacks, ate it to calm down, then took out his notebook and crossed out Amos Milson's name on it. .
Before this name, there were ten names, half of which were crossed out and the other half were marked with question marks.
After leaving the manor, Dean visited the addresses on the photo one by one. As a result, he could only contact a very small number of the victims' family members, and he quickly cut the mess and sent away 100,000 dollars.
The remaining half cannot be found, and these are just the tip of the iceberg of the Stone family's atrocities. 90% of the dead have been completely lost in history.
"I've done what I'm supposed to do."
Dean's bloodshot eyes glanced out the car window at the winding road. It was a bit stupid to give away the money so thanklessly.
"I am a human being and I am not a virgin, but I must not lose my bottom line and principles and become a 'monster'."
Dean murmured, his eyes becoming firm again.
"The remaining photos will be sent anonymously to Lvpd, so that the police can help the victim collect debts from the Stone family."
As for the rest of the money, he planned to keep it for himself.
In this way, his savings can reach an astonishing 110,000 cash plus one hundred gold bars.
However, the money came from a shady source, and Dean did not dare to deposit it in the bank, lest he be attacked by the IRS.
…
After settling this matter, Dean came to the fighting field shooting range.
After swiping the face card, he came to the shooting lane with a bunch of firearms, held the Colt tightly with both hands, aimed at the chest target fixed fifty meters away, and continuously pulled the trigger.
Bang bang bang!
The bullet broke through the air and the shell was thrown away.
The target made holes.
There was almost no vibration in his hands, as stable as a steel frame.
After emptying two magazines, Dean exhaled.
"None of the twelve shots missed the target, and eight of them hit the vital area."
"I finally managed to make a perfect shot."
After practicing with the pistol, Dean switched to a fully automatic AR-15.
The shooting skills are miraculously comprehensive. As soon as he got the rifle, lv2 shooting poured a lot of rifle shooting knowledge into Dean's mind.
Lying position, sitting position without support, side position, supine position, kneeling position...
And once it is used, it is as familiar as if you have practiced rifle shooting for a year or two without interruption.
Dean took a deep breath and raised the rifle in a standing position.
Stand firmly with your feet parallel to shoulder width apart.
Hold the gun with your whole body relaxed: shoulder, grip, gun support, hip, and cheek.
Aim with the right eye, sight hole, and front sight at three points and one line, breathe steadily, concentrate highly, and understand the shaking pattern of the firearm.
Da da da.
The gunfire was like thunder, and the bullet casings were thrown into a line.
The black hole of the gun was spitting out flames.
The pale smoke brought out a strong smell of gunpowder.
The target a hundred meters away was shaking as if it was receiving continuous electric shocks, and a large bullet hole appeared.
The gunfire stopped after a quarter of an hour.
Dean rubbed his slightly sore wrist and nodded with satisfaction.
With the support of an intermediate iron man, even if the rifle is used for a long time, it is as stable as an old dog. The gun only shakes in a very small range, and the firing rhythm is perfectly controlled.
In addition, when shooting is upgraded to lv2, he gains 1 point of perception. His vision used to be about 1.3, but now it is close to 2.0.
Plus improvements in agility and strength.
His shooting skills have improved dramatically.
But compared to firearms, "Shadows of the Past" are Dean's biggest trump card and his confidence in fighting supernatural beings.
"Wait until lv1 meditation reaches lv2, which improves the will and stabilizes the state. Then add the upgraded attribute points to the spirit to strengthen the shadow of the past."
…
"Shooting the little prince, how many hundred rounds were fired today?"
The owner of the shooting range, Sandrei Novanov, stepped forward, looked at the target in the distance, and extended his hand to him.
"Generally, about 1,500 rounds." Dean shook his hand gently.
"I have been running a shooting range for so many years, and I have never seen anyone as hard-working as you. Not only did you not lose your hands after half a year of crazy training, but your skills have skyrocketed to the level of a five- or six-year veteran." Andre joked with astonishment. , "Tell me, are you working so hard, is there a monster chasing you?"
"Yes, vampires, werewolves, and ghouls have made me very stressed, so I need fire support," Dean asked with a relaxed smile, "Can you provide a Desert Eagle?"
In these two battles, Dean has clearly felt that the M1911a1 and even semi-automatic rifles are not good enough to deal with supernatural monsters. He urgently needs powerful weapons.
"Desert Eagle? I've heard of it... but it's currently under development." Andre shook his head, "It will be at least two or three years before it is sold to the public."
Dean sighed. Besides the Desert Eagle, his favorite super pistol is Smith & Wesson's M500, which is powerful enough to kill a brown bear at close range and powerful enough to make a supernatural being take a drink.
It's a pity that this thing was not born in the 1980s.
"If you like high-power pistols, then I recommend you to buy a Pfeiffer Zeliska revolver for your collection. If necessary, I can recommend a store for you."
Dean's head twitched, "How come I've never heard of this thing? Is it very powerful?"
"Power? It is said to be the most powerful pistol in the world, but it is not very practical." The man touched his big nose, "Its weight is several times that of an ordinary revolver, its size is no smaller than a rifle, and it can only be used in the oldest way, slowly. Load five special bullets. Both it and the special bullets are expensive to make."
Dean quietly eliminated this thing in his mind. If the pistol was too big and had no concealability, he might as well carry a rifle and shotgun.
…
"Andre, do you sell your own guns?"
"You asked the wrong person. I run a shooting range and don't sell guns. If you want to buy a gun, you should go to an outdoor store, a gun store, or Wal-Mart."
"Regular places won't sell me the goods I want." Dean stared into the man's eyes, "I want to buy fully automatic, as well as sniper rifles and explosives. You must have the means to do this. You can't give it to loyal people. Is it convenient for customers to add spokespersons?”
"Why did you buy these things? Don't talk to me about monsters," Andre put his hands on his hips and looked at them carefully.
"I like firearms, can't I buy them for collection?"
Andre rubbed the beard on his chin and thought for half a minute.
"There have been too many major cases in Las Vegas during this time, and gun control has become very strict. My shooting range has been inspected repeatedly, making it inconvenient to get goods. Well, when your uncle Paqui comes back, the limelight will be over. When the time comes, you will have all kinds of guns to choose from, but I don’t do charity, so remember to bring enough money.”
(End of chapter)
