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“Standard military pattern. The new model, too. You see the sights here? They updated those a few years back, to simplify them and make them stronger. But… hm, it’s not actually military issue. See here?” Ariel explains, turning the rifle over in her hands before pointing to the base of the barrel, “If this was an army rifle, you’d see some acceptance marks here, and here too. So I guess this was a private purchase, which means… what?”
“Nothing,” you reply evenly, “It’s just amusing, watching you read that rifle as if it was a book.”
“Can’t a girl have hobbies?” she complains, “Anyway, it’s not as if you’re any better – I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve caught you staring at some weird rock or whatever and mumbling to yourself.”
“I don’t mumble to myself!” you snap, only to hesitate and add, “Do I?”
With a smirk and a shrug, Ariel leaves that question unanswered. “My point was, these people – whoever they were – weren’t drawing their weapons from official stores,” she continues, gesturing back down to the rifle, “On one hand, that’s great. It means you’re not an enemy of the state just yet. On the other hand, it’s a bit crap.”
“Crap?”
“Makes it much harder to figure out what’s really going on,” Ariel says, turning the rifle over and pointing to a small number stamped onto the steel, “Companies should keep records of where all their guns go, who buys them. It would involve some gruelling research, but we could – potentially – go through those records and find out who bought this exact gun. That might be a smaller company, who then sold it on to someone else, which means even more records to search through. That’s annoying enough, but there’s one fundamental problem.”
“These companies,” she concludes, holding up a slender finger, “Are under no obligation to allow nosy people like us to go reading through their records. Quite the opposite, in fact – discretion is a virtue in the business world.”
You consider this for a long moment. “Crap,” you say at last.
“Exactly,” Ariel shrugs, “I mean sure, we could go into the city and start asking questions. But, I’d say there are pretty good odds that we’d just be wasting our time.”
“Even so, it might give me an excuse to get out and about,” you sigh. To get away from the estate, and the dense forests beyond, you think silently to yourself.
As if reading your thoughts, or at least sensing some unease in your voice, Ariel gives you a curious look. “And… do you want to get away from this place?” she wonders, “I certainly hope you’re not looking to get away from ME.”
“No no, not that,” you assure her, pausing for a moment before continuing, “It’s the forest here. I think my father was right. I think there’s something… wrong with it.”
[1/2]
