You He bent down, picked up the frighteningly large bullet, and turned it over in his hands.
The bullet had a huge caliber and was extremely heavy. At a glance, it was clearly a powerful, brutally destructive round.
For some reason, You He sensed something old-fashioned and solemn from it—a steadiness forged through the ravages of wind and rain.
In an instant, You He knew what it was. Some things did not require detailed knowledge; one look at their exterior was enough to tell they came from the same lineage. The style was simply too similar.
You He hurried back home, rushed into his bedroom, and took the Bolt Pistol from a small box beneath his bed.
He removed the Bolt Pistol's magazine and pressed the bullet he had picked up at Peace Square into it.
With a crisp click, it fit perfectly. The bullet he had found settled securely into the Bolt Pistol's magazine.
You He inserted the magazine into the magwell and yanked back the bolt.
Another crisp clack rang out as the Bolt Pistol's return mechanism pushed the bullet into the chamber, ready to fire.
He pulled back the bolt again, and the Bolt Round was ejected from the ejection port.
He held the Bolt Round in one hand and the Bolt Pistol in the other, murmuring to himself.
"What the hell is going on?"
He felt as if something had its eyes on him, as though a huge net were closing in around him.
Yet something rooted deep in his bloodline was drawing him toward that net of his own accord...
The next day, You He took a sightseeing car to the outskirts of the primeval forest, where his squad had previously wiped out the terrorists.
He wanted answers, so he returned to where the questions