After arranging for the wanted posters with the portrait, Dean took his family to a shooting club in the suburbs. This had become a regular family activity for them. While adapting to his current state, Dean provided hands-on shooting instruction to his younger brother, Thompson, and his sister, Sinclair. As someone whose moral compass wasn't particularly high, Dean would rather see his siblings in prison in the future than see them lying dead in the morgue.

...

In the United States, most official shooting ranges aren't profitable unless they collaborate with certain government departments. This is because ammunition here isn't cheap. By comparison, some unofficial ranges, despite the risks, are more popular with the general public due to their lower prices. Their patrons even include some police officers and their families. This is because at unofficial ranges, members can often try out weapons that are hard to find on the market. So, as long as no trouble arose, the police generally wouldn't go out of their way to bother them.

The shooting range Dean and his family were currently at was one of these unofficial ranges. Because it was a weekday, the range wasn't very crowded. Dean's family was lucky enough to secure a private area.

You reap what you sow. Dean had earned his current abilities through sheer hard work. He considered the various shooting skills an art, so teaching his mom, brother, and sister was effortless, and he could easily spot their shortcomings. In just under two hours, the three of them felt as if they'd had an epiphany regarding their shooting skills.

Of course, shooting is a skill that, barring exceptional talent, heavily depends on the amount of training. So, while they felt good about themselves, their actual shooting hadn't improved significantly. This required practice with live ammunition and simulated combat training.

..

After instructing his family, Dean wheeled a cart to a deserted part of the range. On the cart was a massive oak case. Its lid was open, revealing a heavy, six-barreled gun gleaming with black paint and a long ammunition belt. Indeed, this was a Gatling gun, rarely seen in regular combat. Normally, this weapon isn't considered a personal firearm; it's typically mounted on armored vehicles, attack helicopters, frigates, and other transport platforms.

Dean's version was a compact Gatling gun. Including the ammunition box and other parts, it weighed 82 kilograms. Driven by a hydraulic motor, it had a maximum firing rate of several thousand rounds per minute and was typically used for vehicle-mounted fire support or in fixed emplacements. The range provided the Gatling gun mounted on a small cart. Guests with enough strength could also sling the Gatling gun over their shoulder using a strap and fire it while wheeling the cart, allowing them to experience the thrill and false euphoria of battlefield invincibility.

The price for this experience was steep: an ammunition belt, providing just over twenty seconds of continuous fire, cost users a hefty fee.

Dean approached the range's water pond. Seeing no one around, he cracked his neck, then effortlessly lifted the Gatling gun from its case and shouldered the heavy ammunition box. After a moment to adjust, he excitedly pulled the trigger, aiming at the targets on the water's surface.

BRRRRRRT! The roar of the rounds feeding into the barrels completely drowned out the sound of individual bullets firing. The muzzle flash from the spinning barrels formed a continuous, thin line of fire in the daylight. Countless water plumes erupted from the pond. Under Dean's precise control, the torrent of bullets tore each target apart, delivering an irresistible yet illusory rush of power.

The gun's recoil wasn't actually that strong. The primary factors limiting the Gatling gun's use as an individual weapon were its weight and ammunition consumption. In small-scale skirmishes, it wasn't very practical and was less effective than some automatic rifles.

But these were non-issues for Dean. He thoroughly enjoyed using it. He planned to buy one as soon as Subspace became accessible, provided the Subspace itself wasn't too small. He would stock up on enough ammunition belts to use it as a trump card, ready to obliterate anything in critical situations!

...

Joyful times are fleeting. Once the twenty-odd seconds passed, the barrels slowly stopped spinning. Dean, feeling somewhat unsatisfied, picked up his phone, ready to ask the range staff to bring over more boxes of ammunition. But a call happened to come through at that exact moment.

Harry's call? Dean raised an eyebrow. Could it be that the wanted poster had yielded results?

He hit the answer button. "Harry, what is it?"

"Dean, I've got good news and bad news," Harry said teasingly from the other end.

"Harry, I must remind you, I'm currently holding a Gatling gun that has just fired over two thousand rounds and is still smoking hot. If you don't want me to shove it up your intestines, stop playing games!"

Harry drew a sharp breath. "I definitely don't want to test the resilience of my intestines."

"Then spill it!"

"Alright. One of the streetwalkers who works for my brother recognized the man in the portrait.

"His real name is Li Yisheng, a Chinese national who smuggled himself into Los Angeles three years ago. He's an undocumented immigrant, living off various social benefits and by conning and swindling other Chinese immigrants and international students.

"Six months ago, Li Yisheng somehow struck it rich and started spending lavishly. He also became quite elusive.

"Fortunately, he still frequently hired streetwalkers to come to his temporary residence.

"Based on the information from one of my brother's streetwalkers, Carlo and I, along with a group of officers, located his place. We found him, alright. Unfortunately, he was already a corpse."

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