I manufacture weapons in the Middle East and am wanted globally?

Khalid swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he had swallowed a stone.

He looked at the corpses on the ground, then at the APS still smoking in Chen Zheng's hand. His lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something, but it was as if someone had choked him, and he couldn't squeeze out a single word.

"You fucking have a gun, why are you wasting your breath talking to him?"

"I..." Khalid opened his mouth, his voice trembling, "I've never fired a gun to kill anyone before..."

"Then what are you doing with that gun? Using it as a vibrator in your ass?" Chen Zheng pulled out another APS from his waist, slammed the magazine in with a crisp click.

He walked over to the three people who had been thrown into the air and looked down at them. One of them was panting, his chest heaving, blood bubbling from his mouth, and making a hoarse sound in his throat, like a broken water pump.

Chen Zheng squatted down and patted the man's face.

"Hey bro, still awake?"

The man's eyes were half-open, his pupils were beginning to dilate, and blood and foam were gushing from the corner of his mouth. He was unable to speak.

"Damn it! Aren't you even looking at me?"

Chen Zheng stood up and pressed the muzzle of his gun against the man's forehead.

boom! !

Clean and neat.

He walked over to the other two bodies that had been knocked away and fired a shot at each of them. The gunshots echoed through the garbage-strewn street, making the nearby tin sheds hum.

After tucking the gun back into his waistband, Chen Zheng turned to look at Khalid, grinned, and revealed a set of white teeth.

"Let's go, let's move the goods."

Khalid remained standing there, his legs feeling a little weak.

He looked down at the APS in his hand; the safety was still off, and the trigger guard was still cold.

"What are you standing there for? Move it!" Chen Zheng had already walked to the back of the pickup truck bed, untied the ropes, and dragged the sacks out.

Khalid took a deep breath, tucked the gun into his waistband, and jogged over to help.

The sack was heavy, weighing fifty or sixty kilograms. He couldn't move it by himself, so two people carried it, staggering as they walked into the shop.

"Mom! Open the door!" Khalid shouted.

The roller shutter swung up with a whoosh, and Khalid's mother stood in the doorway, her lips moving as if she were muttering something.

She glanced at Khalid, then at Chen Zheng, and then at the sack. Her expression changed from panic to terror.

"O God..." She took a step back, nearly dropping the rosary in her hand. "What...what have you done?"

"It's alright now." Khalid dragged the sack into the shop and took a breath.

"But outside—" Mom's voice rose eight octaves, pointing towards the door, her voice trembling, "I heard gunshots! Lots of gunshots!"

"That's someone setting off firecrackers."

Chen Zheng followed in from behind, carrying a tool bag, a harmless smile on his face, his tone as relaxed as if he were chatting about the weather, "Auntie, what holiday is it today? I think it's Syria's Liberation Day? It's so lively outside."

Khalid's mother looked at Chen Zheng, then at her son, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end she didn't.

As the curtain fell, Chen Zheng heard her praying softly.

"God bless, God bless..."

If it were truly usable, why would we let the Americans bully us?

Chen Zheng placed the toolbox on the counter, turned to look at Khalid, and lowered his voice: "Your mother is quite interesting."

My mom has a heart condition.

Khalid rolled his eyes at him, his voice tinged with the exhaustion of someone who had just escaped a disaster, "Could you at least give me a heads-up next time? You almost scared me to death."

"Say hello?" Chen Zheng pulled out the pack of Liqun cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and put it in his mouth. "Did those five people say hello to you?"

Khalid opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

Chen Zheng lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled the smoke. The smoke drifted through the shop, mingling with the smell of rust and machine oil, creating an indescribable sense of absurdity.

"I know you're scared." Chen Zheng's voice suddenly softened, and he patted his shoulder. "Everyone's scared the first time. Last night, I was driving home, and a speed bump suddenly jumped out from the side of the road. I ran over it, and my hands were shaking."

"Speed ​​bumps?"

"Yeah, a speed bump that's 1.65 meters high, and I was wearing a skirt." Chen Zheng flicked his cigarette ash. "I've never seen such a high speed bump in my life."

Khalid stared at him for three seconds.

"You," he shook his head, "you're really a madman."

"Alright, enough of this nonsense. The customers are coming soon, let's get the goods arranged first."

The two men opened the sack, and the gun barrels were stacked one by one on the counter. The silver-gray metal gleamed coldly under the fluorescent light. One hundred gun barrels were neatly arranged in ten rows, with ten barrels in each row, like a military parade formation.

Six APS pistols were placed to the side, with the magazines in a separate metal box. The lid was open, and the bright yellow bullets were neatly stacked.

Khalid looked at the gun barrels and couldn't resist reaching out to touch them. The surface was as smooth as a mirror, and the grooves of the cutting tools were fine and even; his fingertips could barely feel any undulations as they slid over them.

"This thing..." he said in a low voice, "can sell for two hundred dollars apiece on the black market in Damascus."

"Why didn't you say so sooner?" Chen Zheng's eyes lit up.

"Because the road is difficult to travel."

Khalid gave a wry smile. "There are over a dozen checkpoints between Damascus and Dera. You could hide one or two, but carrying this many? Do you think the security forces are blind?"

Chen Zheng thought for a moment, nodded, and said nothing more.

But clearly, he had thought about it a lot.

Security forces... can be corrupted.

What else is the US dollar for? Who says you can't put banknotes in a gun barrel?

Pulling prostitutes into reformation, persuading young women to enter the sex industry, dragging honest officials into the river... it's all for money!

About ten minutes later, the sound of a car engine came from the doorway.

A black Toyota Land Cruiser was parked in front of the store, its windows tinted dark, obscuring the interior.

The car door opened, and Abu Ali jumped out of the passenger seat.

He was followed by three people.

Two young men in plain clothes, with bulging waistbands, clearly carrying weapons.

There was also a middle-aged man, in his early forties, wearing a white robe, a checkered headscarf, a neatly trimmed short beard, and gold-rimmed glasses; he looked like an intellectual.

He was startled when he saw the corpse at the door, but then he nodded when he saw Chen Zheng come out. Without exchanging pleasantries or wasting words, he went straight to the point: "Where's the goods?"

Chen Zheng pointed to the counter: "One hundred APS barrels, six complete APS rifles."

Abu walked to the counter, picked up a gun barrel, looked at it under the light, and then put it down.

He picked up an APS, pulled back the slide, checked the firing pin and recoil spring, then put the magazine back in, pulled back the slide to chamber a round, pointed the muzzle at the ground, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

The firing is crisp, and the resetting is crisp.

He then unlocked the safety mechanism and pressed it three times.

Click click click.

Three shots in quick succession, with a steady rhythm and no stuttering.

Hmm... my requirements are very low; if there's no lag, I'm already better than many people.

Abu put down his gun and turned to look at the middle-aged man behind him.

The middle-aged man walked over, picked up another APS, and moved with even more skill than Abu.

He removed the magazine, pulled back the slide, held the gun up to his eyes, carefully inspected the inside of the barrel, the firing pin hole, and the extractor, then took a bullet from his pocket, chambered it, locked the magazine, and pulled the trigger.

"Good stuff," the middle-aged man said in Arabic, his voice calm, but his eyes lit up. "Better than the Iranian products, almost as good as the original Russian ones."

Chen Zheng's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained expressionless.

Abu nodded, took an envelope out of his pocket, placed it on the counter, and pushed it in front of Chen Zheng.

"One hundred barrels, $14000. Six complete guns, $4620. Total $18620."

Chen Zheng picked up the envelope, opened it, and inside was a stack of brand-new Franklin notes, each a hundred dollars, tied with a rubber band. He didn't count them, and simply stuffed them into his pocket.

"Count them?" Abu asked.

"No need," Chen Zheng smiled. "Mr. Abu is a man of principle in business, and I trust him."

Abu's lips twitched, and his expression softened considerably; customers love to hear that.

Then he stopped smiling, looked at Chen Zheng, and his tone became serious.

"Mr. Chen, I have a new order."

"you say."

"I need 200 Stechkin APS rifles over the next week, and if possible, some rifles as well."

Chen Zheng's heart skipped a beat.

rifle.

We need rifles.

What does this mean?

This means they're about to fight a real war. Pistols are for self-defense; rifles are for fighting.

Two hundred pistols, along with rifles, is not enough for just one or two people to defend themselves; it's enough for a small military unit.

He knew... that war was really coming.

But he didn't show it on his face; he just frowned slightly, making a troubled expression.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Abu."

He shook his head. "I don't have many raw materials left. As you know, the military controls all the steel in Daraa now. I only have enough stock to make a few dozen more at most."

Abu paused for a moment, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses fixed on Chen Zheng, as if trying to determine whether he was telling the truth or lying.

"If you have enough supplies," he asked, "how many Stechkin APS units can you prepare in a week?"

Chen Zheng didn't rush to answer; he lowered his head and calculated in his mind.

光头和凯申，两个人操作五台机器——CAK5085、SK40P、哈斯VF-2、德玛吉DMU 60，再加上那台T2108深孔钻床。

From material preparation to assembly, it now takes one hour and sixteen minutes for an APS (Automatic Parts System).

But what if you summon four more monster workers?

Six laborers, working on an assembly line.

One is dedicated to material preparation, one to roughing, one to finishing, one to milling, one to deep hole drilling and rifling, and one to assembly and debugging.

Once the assembly line is in place, the speed can at least double.

No, more than double.

Specialized division of labor leads to an exponential increase in efficiency, and the added bonus of hard work—10% increase in processing accuracy, 10% increase in processing speed…

Chen Zheng's eyes grew brighter and brighter.

He held the cigarette in his mouth, but didn't light it; his mind was racing.

If the process can be optimized and the time allocated reasonably, it can even be reduced to within 30 minutes.

If you play 24 hours a day, and each game takes 30 minutes, that's 48 games.

336 in one week.

He took a deep breath, looked up, and looked at Abu.

"As long as there's enough material," he said, his voice not loud, but every word clear, "three hundred Stechkin APS a week."

The shop became quiet.

Abu didn't speak, but his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses narrowed slightly.

Khalid opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking at Chen Zheng as if he were a patient who had just escaped from a mental hospital.

The middle-aged man with the gold-rimmed glasses also glanced at Chen Zheng, his lips twitching slightly, it was unclear whether he was smiling or calculating.

Abu remained silent for a long time.

Then he nodded.

"Three hundred," he said. "Not a single one less."

"Not a single penny less," Chen Zheng said, patting his chest. "As long as the money is in place, there won't be any problem, but I need 40% of the payment."

Abu thought for a moment and nodded, frowning. "I didn't bring that much with me. I only have $5 left on me."

Chen Zheng thought for a moment, nodded, and said with a smile, "Of course, no problem. This is just a formality. We're doing long-term business, aren't we?"

Upon hearing this, Abu's eyes became even more benevolent. He gave his companion a wink, and the other person straightened out all the black bags he was carrying.

Chen Zheng looked at the stacks of paper that were neatly arranged and asked, "Shall I write a receipt?"

Then Khalid took the banknotes, wrote a receipt, and handed it to the other party.

Abu nodded, then took out his phone from his pocket, scrolled through it a few times, and handed the screen to Chen Zheng.

"I'll give you a phone number. This person is Mahmoud Zaidan, the deputy director of the logistics warehouse in the Dera City military district." He paused, lowering his voice by half an octave. "He's on good terms with me and can help you get steel, but he might need some benefits."

But he smiled broadly, took the phone, saved the number, and said, "No problem, no problem. In business, everyone making money is the real deal. Mr. Mahmoud, right? I'll call him today."

Abu nodded and glanced at Khalid again.

"Khalid, come out with me for a moment."

Khalid paused, glanced at Chen Zheng, and then followed Abu out of the store.

The two men stood next to the pickup truck by the door and talked for about two or three minutes.

The voice was very low, and Chen Zheng couldn't hear it clearly in the store. He could only see Khalid's expression change several times—first surprise, then hesitation, and finally nodding through gritted teeth.

Abu patted Khalid on the shoulder, then turned and got into the car.

The Land Cruiser's engine roared, a plume of white smoke billowing from its exhaust pipe, as it slowly drove out of the garbage street.

Khalid stood at the door, watching the car disappear around the corner for about ten seconds, then turned and walked back into the store.

"What did he say to you?" Chen Zheng asked.

Khalid sat down, poured himself a cup of tea, gulped it down, and wiped his mouth.

"He said..." He paused for a moment, "He said that if there are no problems with this batch of goods, we will handle all the handgun business in Delaware from now on, and he will 'put in a good word' with those workshops in Garbage Street."

Chen Zheng narrowed his eyes.

"That's great news." Chen Zheng laughed and patted Khalid on the shoulder. "From now on, you'll be the King of Handguns in Delaware, Mr. Khalid Assad."

"Stop fucking joking." Khalid pushed his hand away, but couldn't help but smirk slightly before his face darkened again. "Chen, were you serious about those three hundred?"

"Seriously."

"You're crazy." Khalid's voice was low, almost inaudible. "Three hundred a week, and there are only a few bastards in your factory."

Chen Zheng interrupted him, "He's a proper CNC technician, not some idiot."

Khalid stared at him for a long while, as if trying to determine whether he was telling the truth. Finally, he sighed and shook his head: "I really can't understand you anymore."

"That's right, you don't understand it."

Chen Zheng stood up, took the wad of US dollars from his pocket, and placed it on the counter. "This is yours, here's $2000!"

Khalid looked at the wad of money, hesitated for a moment, then reached out, picked it up, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Chen," he suddenly said, "Abu just told me something."

"What?"

"He said there might be big moves in Daraa in the next few days. Security forces have been transferred from Damascus, at least a brigade, with tanks and armored vehicles."

He paused, his voice so low it sounded like he was telling a secret, "If you want to get information, do it today. You might not be able to get it out tomorrow."

Chen Zheng's expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened around the cigarette pack.

"I understand." He stood up, stuffed the cigarette pack into his pocket, picked up the empty sack and tool bag, and said, "I'm leaving now. I'll handle the materials."

"Be careful." Khalid saw him to the door, glanced at the street outside, and said, "Be careful on the road, don't walk on the main road."

"understood."

Chen Zheng opened the pickup truck door and was about to get in when he suddenly remembered something and turned to look at Khalid.

"By the way, those people from earlier—do you know which handicraft workshop they were from at the entrance of Garbage Street Village?"

Khalid was taken aback: "What are you going to do?"

"I told you, a family should be together." Chen Zheng smiled, his smile looking especially gentle in the morning light, as if he were talking about something very ordinary. "If you don't cut the weeds at the root, they'll grow back in the spring breeze. You should understand this principle better than I do."

Khalid remained silent for a long time.

"I know which one it is," he finally said, his voice very soft. "I'll take care of the crane."

Chen Zheng stared at him for three seconds, then suddenly laughed, opened the car door, and got into the driver's seat.

"Okay, whatever you say." He rolled down the car window, leaned out, and said, "Make sure it's clean!"

"understood."

"I'm gone."

The pickup truck sputtered, belching out a plume of black smoke from its exhaust pipe, and slowly drove out of the garbage street.

Khalid stood at the door, watching the car disappear at the end of the street, for a long time.

Then he turned around, pulled down the roller shutter, and locked it.

"God bless..."