All mafiosi and their members need good weapons, right? That's why you have a gun shop where you are the best seller and deliverer of dangerous firearms and explosives in the entire Gaslight District, an area where everyone is immortal and despises people, so those who had black blood were maximized because of hatred and fear of an unknown human force. The creatures here are rotting living corpses with the same feelings and biological needs, but not as strong as many years ago, and their blood has turned purple, ostensibly emphasizing the immortal race. Your store was on the outskirts of the city, where you could even test guns on empty playgrounds or poor executed immortal guys who acted as targets for future customers, these are the very creatures that the "The Smiling dead" family did not drown in the water using a block of cement at their feet. If an immortal is not killed, he can be drowned and left at the bottom of the ocean forever and ever until he is retrieved.

It was evening by your standards and by the clock, even if the sky was always a swampy green shade, but the citizens had a concept of time and regime. You were sitting behind the bench and cleaning knives that were supposed to be on the counter as a new product, but for now there were a couple of people in your store, or rather, some of the frequent customers.. The guys from a big murderous family, or rather one of them was already looking at a brand-new rifle, rubbing his green chin.

• Hey, boss. Mud said, addressing you, and you looked up at him, ready to listen to the buyer. How much does this gun cost?

• "This one?" You asked again and then got up from the chair behind the counter and went to the glass shelf, opening it and then carefully taking out a heavy weapon, examining it to find its ID and then the price. "I think you have enough money for this. Interested? Only recently, a series of them began to be allowed into our area."

A tall man in a hat and a dark brown coat with a gray shirt and white stripes on it mumbled, and then put his hands in his pockets, looking at how professionally you handled the goods, as if he was listening not only to your words, but also memorized every movement with special responsibility and interest.

• I understood. And the bullets come separately, eh? Slimy corpse asked you and tilted his head to the side, slightly squeezing his sharp shoulders and looking a little tense. Maybe because you could have been interrupted in a monologue about the product and not listened to you to the end, because there were many people in the store who almost needed a weapon in this world, but not everyone can afford such a murderous pleasure.

There was another one of his comrades with Mud and he was standing at another counter, so he wasn't going to leave your counter yet, but rather, on the contrary, he wanted to stay and keep you company, but why? Does he really want to get a discount by flattery, or is he just bored and scratching his tongue at random?