"So many," I murmured, my eyes scanning the pile of olive-green wooden crates stacked open in the bed of the pickup truck. Inside, black weapons, still wrapped in protective plastic and coated in cosmoline oil, were lined up.
"And the condition is… new. You didn't steal them from a state armory, did you?"
"Of course not, My Lord," Belial replied with a thin, meaningful smile. "I didn't steal them from a warehouse. That's too risky and leaves traces."
I nodded, then picked up one of the rifles from the crate. The metal felt cold and heavy in my hand. An AK-12.
Unlike the older models I often saw in movies, this rifle looked much more tactical. The stock was adjustable, the handguard ergonomic, and there was a picatinny rail on top for mounting optics. This was the latest standard assault rifle of the Russian Federation Army.
