Chapter Forty-Two: The Boutique Factory

The new reporter truly lived up to his reputation as someone who thrived on news—the speed of his actions was astonishing. Driving a Mitsubishi SUV, he navigated the city’s winding roads and soon stopped in front of a boutique factory on the outskirts.

Such factories were commonplace in Star Wars. Many potion factories, weapon factories, crystal source factories, chip factories, and chemical plants were located on the city’s edge, each with their specialized functions. The products they manufactured were supplied exclusively to the most luxurious Star Dream Shopping Center in the city. Players could also place custom orders to suit their needs, although the prices were even higher than those at the shopping center.

Of course, high-level, highly intelligent mechanics, engineers, and scientists could apply to the Federation Government to set up their own boutique factories, though none had yet appeared in Star Dream City.

“Monica’s Firearms Boutique Factory” occupied a small area but exuded a strong technological aura, reminiscent of a real-world auto repair 4S shop—sleek floor-to-ceiling glass, a refined exhibition hall, a spacious reception hall. Small in size, but every essential was present.

The NPC staff here wore uniforms and displayed professional demeanor; their AI was highly advanced, capable of interacting with players as naturally as real people.

As the new reporter pushed open the glass doors to the hall, a sweetly voiced NPC service hostess greeted him, “Hello, Mr. Xin!”

Wu Hua was surprised, “I didn’t expect everyone here to know you.”

The reporter smiled, “Hello, my friend and I are here specifically to visit Master Monica.”

The hostess apologized, “I’m sorry, Miss Monica has gone to Sky Blue City to restock supplies. She’s not here.”

“Oh!” Both Wu Hua and the reporter were instantly disappointed.

“Is there something I can help you with?” the hostess asked gently, noticing their anxious expressions. “Are you here to order custom firearms?”

Wu Hua praised, “Yes, I need to custom order a batch of bullets. I was hoping the master could help.”

The hostess replied politely, “Though Miss Monica isn’t here, her apprentice is. I believe she can assist you.”

Wu Hua’s spirits dropped at the mention of an apprentice—he suspected anything made would be of lesser quality, and his expression turned uneasy.

“You seem to have reservations about apprentices,” said an elegant female voice from nearby. The ion door to a functional side room slid open, and a tall, graceful girl walked over, clad in a pink tailored suit over a yellow shirt with a wide collar. She looked energetic and radiant, her features quite striking.

Wu Hua looked up and realized she was taller than him, which made him feel a bit self-conscious.

The tall girl approached, “I am Monica’s apprentice, Ice Coffee, Level 21 Scientist, specializing in firearm maintenance and appraisal.”

“Level 21?” Wu Hua was astounded, jaw dropping. “You’re not an NPC?”

Ice Coffee replied, “Why can’t a player apprentice under an NPC?”

Wu Hua stammered, “Of course, you can, Miss Coffee.”

Ice Coffee said coldly, “I’d prefer you call me by my full name, Ice Coffee.”

Wu Hua answered, “Alright, Miss Coffee.”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Miss Coffee,” Wu Hua replied.

“Where’s your order?” Ice Coffee asked.

At the refinery, players had to submit formal orders—essentially reservations.

“Well…” Wu Hua hesitated.

The new reporter quickly interjected, “Crazy Bro is my friend. Could you do us a small favor?”

Wu Hua saw the reporter’s mischievous expression and realized Ice Coffee was probably involved with him. Being a journalist sure had its perks—using news connections to charm women everywhere.

Ice Coffee turned, “What are you ordering? Let’s discuss it in my lab.”

On the tea table in the lab, Wu Hua produced his AUG gun case. Ice Coffee slowly opened it, and in just five seconds, assembled the gun’s barrel, receiver, magazine, firing mechanism, and scope into a complete weapon with dazzling speed.

Even Wu Hua couldn’t match her skill—Ice Coffee was clearly a firearms expert. If the apprentice was this skilled, what level must the master be?

After assembling the green AUG, Ice Coffee stared at it for quite a while, finally saying, “This is the finest gun I’ve ever handled. Using standard-grade 5.56mm NATO rounds would be a desecration of such a masterpiece.”

In truth, NATO rounds were general-purpose ammunition. As long as a rifle was 5.56mm caliber and compatible, these bullets could be used, making them inexpensive for players. Unlike the Desert Eagle’s exclusive AE rounds, which were rare and costly.

Wu Hua gave a thumbs up, “Miss Coffee, you’re absolutely right.”

Ice Coffee continued, “Mr. Crazy, based on my Level 21 experience, I recommend two types of 5.56mm NATO bullets. One is the hard-core round, which features a spiked penetrative effect for armor-piercing. You should know NATO rounds are designed for tumbling wounds, not for penetration.”

Wu Hua’s doubts vanished—Ice Coffee’s firearm knowledge rivaled his own.

“The other is the Storm round.”

“Storm round?” Wu Hua and the reporter exclaimed in unison.

Ice Coffee explained, “This Storm is unlike any other. It’s a bullet infused with wind element, increasing muzzle velocity. The AUG’s bullet speed is 970 meters per second. Though the gun was designed to surpass the AK series, this feature limits its power. With Storm rounds, range extends and damage increases dramatically.”

Wu Hua was impressed, “Professionals are something else.”

Ice Coffee said, “Unfortunately, only Miss Monica knows the manufacturing process for Storm rounds, and our factory currently lacks the necessary materials.”

Wu Hua was disappointed again.

“But I can manufacture hard-core rounds at purple equipment grade,” Ice Coffee added.

Wu Hua was astonished—a Level 21 Scientist was rare, and making purple-grade bullets was exceptional.

“But I must inform you, purple-grade bullet manufacturing has a 31% failure rate,” Ice Coffee said.

“What does that mean?” Wu Hua asked.

Ice Coffee explained, “Out of 100 bullets, 31 will be defective.”

Wu Hua understood immediately—he’d have to pay for those 31 defective rounds.

“No problem, I’ll pay credit points regardless. Money isn’t an issue,” Wu Hua agreed readily, knowing such bullets would elevate his standing.

Ice Coffee handed him a price card, “Purple-grade 5.56mm NATO hard-core rounds—60 per box, 30 credit points per box. Minimum order is 2,000.”

Wu Hua gasped—two bullets per credit point, as expensive as AE rounds. Being a gunner was costly. He was lucky compared to others; imagine Shoot You With Impunity, whose M249 used red-grade hard-core rounds. Hundreds of bullets vanished in seconds—a money-burning machine, not a heavy machine gun.

Wu Hua calculated further: including Desert Eagle bullets, thousands of rounds were not just expensive but filled his backpack to bursting, raising his carry weight. Though he was robust, his mobility would suffer, meaning he’d need to upgrade his pack and gear. Star Wars was a money-burning game, forcing players to constantly hunt monsters for cash—earn fast, spend faster.

It echoed the truth: “Once you pick up a gun, there’s no retreat. The only task is to fight forever.”

“I’ll order 3,000 rounds,” Wu Hua decided. That would fill fifty magazines, theoretically gone in ten minutes—he’d have to ration.

“Alright.” Ice Coffee handed him the price card. Wu Hua saw a long list of figures—service fee 100 points, machine start-up fee 1,350 points, maintenance return fee 830 points, and so on.

Wu Hua’s eyes blurred, “Why is it so expensive?”

The reporter replied, “We’re in the factory—they don’t sell individually. Plus, we’re getting special access.”

Wu Hua sighed, “It’s the only way.” He calculated the final price—4,188 credit points, about 600 yuan. The bullets were indeed costly, but you get what you pay for. Cheap might be good, but good is never cheap.

“You two may wait here for three hours. After that, Mr. Crazy, your bullets will be ready,” Ice Coffee said.

“Perfect, the sooner the better,” Wu Hua replied, “But I’d like you to call me by my full name, Crazy Storm.”

“Certainly, Mr. Crazy.”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Crazy.”