44: Chapter 44 Steel and Fire

Early Monday morning, Alex stood outside the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department's firearms licensing office, seventh in line.

The line moved slowly, filled with a diverse crowd: a nervous-looking middle-aged woman clutching a file folder; two men who looked like construction workers whispering about which gun model had the "best stopping power"; and a white-haired old man leaning on a cane, a holster faintly visible at his waist.

This was America. The land of the free, the nation of gun owners.

Alex wore a well-fitted casual suit and held a folder containing all the necessary documents: identification, proof of residence, a clean criminal record, and the recently completed "Firearm Safety Certificate"—a course he had spent eight hours finishing at a range over the weekend.

The course was basic: the four rules of gun safety (always assume the gun is loaded, never point the muzzle at anything you don't intend to destroy, confirm your target before pulling the trigger, and know what is behind your target), an overview of California gun laws, and basic operation demonstrations.

But Alex took it very seriously. Deep Focus allowed him to remember every word the instructor said, and Neural Reaction Enhancement made his movements fluid and accurate during the demonstrations. The instructor even remarked privately, "Have you handled guns before? Your movements are very natural."

He replied, "First time. It's probably the hand-eye coordination I developed from filming videos."

Now, he needed that card: the California Concealed Carry Weapon (CCW) license. In Los Angeles County, this wasn't easy—one had to prove a "good cause," such as a specific threat. The stalking report provided by Detective Chen Zhiming fit the criteria perfectly.

It was his turn. The clerk behind the window was an expressionless middle-aged woman who glanced at his file. "Alex Su? Eighteen years old?"

"Yes."

"Reason for applying for a CCW license?"

Alex handed over a copy of the police report prepared by Chen Zhiming. "I am being systematically stalked and threatened. There is a police record."

The clerk read the report carefully, her brow furrowing slightly. She picked up the phone, spoke a few words in a low voice, and then turned back to Alex. "Wait a moment, this needs supervisor approval."

Ten minutes later, a man in uniform with sergeant stripes on his epaulets walked over. He picked up the report, looked it over, and then sized up Alex. "You're that young man who makes videos? My daughter watches your tutorials."

"It's an honor," Alex maintained his politeness.

The sergeant nodded and told the clerk, "Approve it. But add a condition—he must complete an advanced safety course before he can collect the permit."

"I've already signed up." Alex pulled another document from his folder. "The confirmation letter for next weekend's 'Defensive Handgun Application' course."

The sergeant gave him a look of slight appreciation. "Smart. Keep that attitude—a gun is a tool, not a toy. Fill out the forms."

Forty minutes later, Alex walked out of the office with a temporary permit and an appointment slip: he would return in two weeks for fingerprinting and a background check. Once those passed, he would receive his official permit.

The temporary permit allowed him to practice at the range and participate in training, but not to carry in public. It was enough.

---

In the afternoon, Alex went to the shooting range recommended by Tom.

This place was far more professional than where he'd taken his basic course: indoor lanes, moving target systems, and simulated scenario training areas. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and cleaning solvent, and the sound of gunshots echoed with a dull, rhythmic thud within the soundproofed space.

The instructor was named Mike, a former Marine firearms instructor with a shaved head, solid muscles, and eyes that seemed to evaluate everything that moved.

"Tom sent you?" Mike looked Alex up and down. "He said you're a fast learner. Let's see."

First test: basic shooting stance and grip.

Alex chose the most common Glock 19—9mm caliber, well-balanced, with moderate recoil. Mike demonstrated the standard stance: feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, leaning forward, both hands gripping the gun, index finger resting outside the trigger guard.

"Try it."

Alex took the gun. Dynamic Visual Enhancement allowed him to clearly see every detail of the firearm: the texture of the slide, the shape of the sights, even the slight quiver of the spring. Environmental Interaction Intuition let him instinctively find the grip angle and pressure that suited him best.

He raised the gun and aimed at a paper target seven yards away.

"Take it slow, feel the—"

Bang!

The first shot hit the eight-ring.

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Not bad. Keep going, five-shot group."

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Four shots: two nine-rings, two ten-rings. The spread was less than three inches.

Mike was silent for five seconds before asking, "Are you sure this is your first time?"

"First time with a real gun," Alex told the truth. "But I've studied many shooting tutorials in videos, and in games..."

"Games." Mike shook his head. "Games and reality are two different things. But your talent... it's rare. Let's continue."

The next two hours were intensive training: rapid draws, magazine changes, malfunction clearing, and shooting at various distances. Alex's rate of improvement surprised even Mike—not just in terms of accuracy (which was already amazing), but in the instinctualization of handling the firearm.

Muscle memory that usually took students hundreds of rounds to develop, Alex found the feel for in just a few dozen. His movements in drawing, aiming, and firing were as fluid as if he had been practicing for years.

"Your eyes," Mike said during a break, staring at him. "Your target acquisition time is half that of anyone else. How do you do it?"

"I need to focus quickly when filming videos," Alex gave his prepared explanation. "I might have developed a capacity for rapid visual localization."

Mike accepted the explanation. "Good, then we'll use that advantage. Starting next week, we'll practice shooting on the move and tactical transitions. But today... I'll teach you the most important thing first."

He pulled a plastic dummy model from a cabinet.

"The truth about gunfights." Mike pointed to a red dot on the dummy's chest. "Most people think shooting is just about hitting here. But in reality, a hit to the torso won't necessarily stop someone immediately. So—"

He drew his gun rapidly and fired three shots at the dummy: chest, abdomen, head.

"The Mozambique Drill: two to the body, one to the head. Ensure stopping power. This is a last resort, understand? Only use it when your life is under immediate threat."

Alex nodded. He knew that a gun wasn't a tool to solve problems; it was a tool to stop problems from getting worse.

At the end of the session, Mike gave him a USB drive. "This contains all the legal cases and precedents I've compiled—about when you can shoot and when you can't. Memorize them. In America, the legal battle after the shooting is sometimes deadlier than the gunfight itself."

"Thanks, Mike."

"Don't mention it." Mike paused. "Tom told me about your situation. Be careful. Some people... once they start playing dirty, they don't stop easily."

---

On Tuesday, Attorney Li Zhiming brought bad news.

"The intermediary sent word back." The lawyer sat on the sofa in Alex's apartment, his expression grim. "Winston's legal team is taking a hard line. They say the evidence is of 'questionable origin' and are threatening to countersue us for defamation and extortion."

Alex wasn't surprised. "The standard response for a politician. And then?"

"Then I showed them some of the evidence we've prepared—not the core stuff, but enough to be persuasive," Li Zhiming said. "They went silent. Said they need time to consider."

"Consider how to destroy the evidence, or consider how to eliminate the witness?"

The lawyer didn't answer directly. "I've already moved Ron to a safer location. What about your security measures?"

"Strengthening them," Alex said. "But Mr. Li, we need to be realistic. If the other side really decides on a 'physical solution,' legal documents won't stop bullets."

Li Zhiming was silent for a long time before finally nodding. "I know. That's why I also suggest you... take the necessary precautions. Legal ones."

Coming from a lawyer, those words carried significant weight.

"I'm working on it," Alex said.

After the lawyer left, Alex opened his computer and began processing emails regarding the concept for the Taylor project.

He decided not to tell Taylor the details of the security threat for now—this wasn't her fight, and revealing it too early would only worry her and perhaps force her into unnecessary intervention.

He wrote a long email detailing his vision for the visual component of the "genesis project":

"If creation is a living process, then the visual language should also have a 'life cycle':

· Inspiration Phase: Abstract, fluid, visual metaphors full of possibility (like the refraction of light on water, or rapidly shifting clouds)

· Conceptualization Phase: Structure begins to emerge, but boundaries remain blurred (scaffolding on a construction site, unfinished sketches)

· Execution Phase: Precise, repetitive, sometimes tedious labor (the editing timeline, the recording studio console, a dancer's repeated drills)

· Completion Phase: The first 'breath' of a finished work (the theater before a premiere, the final moments of setting up a gallery exhibition)

· Dissemination Phase: The work enters the world and intersects with the lives of others (the faces of the audience, fans' covers, dancers' imitations)"

He attached several concept sketches, all visual frameworks he had quickly drawn on his tablet.

Twenty minutes after the email was sent, Taylor called him directly via FaceTime.

On the screen, she looked like she had just finished work, her hair tied up casually, her face tired but glowing with excitement.

"Alex, these concepts... they're so precise," she said. "Especially the 'life cycle' metaphor. It makes me think of my songwriting process—sometimes a melody is like a seed; you don't know what it will grow into, you just have to wait patiently for it to reveal its own shape."

They talked for forty minutes about the creative process, completely immersed in the vision for the project. This was Alex's most relaxed moment of the week—temporarily forgetting the stalking, the threats, and the firearms training, returning to the pure world of creation.

Before hanging up, Taylor said, "By the way, I had Kelly book your flight for next Thursday. Everything is ready here in Nashville with the studio and accommodations. Do you need to bring any special equipment?"

[part:gemini-3.1-flash-lite]

"My camera bag and laptop are enough," Alex said, "Everything else… I should be able to find in Nashville."

"See you next week, then. Stay safe."

She said that last sentence very naturally, but Alex detected an unusual hint of concern.

Wednesday, Alex began his CQC (Close Quarters Combat) training.

It wasn't at a formal gym, but in the warehouse behind Tom's modification shop. Tom had hired a friend—a former special forces member who now did private security training. He went by "Instructor," and there was no further introduction.

The Instructor was around fifty, lean as a wire, with eyes like a hawk.

"Tom said you've been targeted by a professional team," the Instructor said, getting straight to the point. "Then let's not waste time. The core principles of CQC: speed, ruthlessness, simplicity. There are no rules, only survival."

Lesson one: Environmental weapons.

The Instructor pointed to common items in the warehouse: "A broom—gouge the eyes or stab the throat. A chair—smash or block. A wrench—harder than a fist. Keys—held between fingers, they can slice skin. In this country, most conflicts happen within five feet; you won't have time to draw a gun."

He demonstrated several moves: how to create attack opportunities with everyday items, how to use the environment to create escape space, and how to quickly break free when grabbed.

Alex learned quickly. Comprehensive Physical Enhancement gave his body enough strength and speed to execute these moves, and Neural Reaction Enhancement allowed him to predict the Instructor's next move during simulated combat.

"Have you trained before?" the Instructor asked after Alex successfully blocked him for the third time.

"Krav Maga, six weeks."

"More than that." The Instructor stared at him. "Your reaction speed… is unusual. But that's good; it increases your chances of survival."

Lesson two: Combining firearms and combat.

The Instructor taught a technique known as "contact shooting": when at extremely close range (within three feet) and unable to raise the gun to aim, you press the pistol against the opponent's body and fire.

"This will get blood and debris on you, but it's better than being dead," the Instructor said expressionlessly. "Remember, if the opponent has already touched you, your primary task is to create distance—push, slam, kick the groin, gouge the eyes, whatever works. Only then can you consider using your gun."

The training was exhausting, dirty, and very real. By the end, Alex was covered in sweat and had a few abrasions on his hands (the Instructor was measured, but training is training).

"Same time next week," the Instructor said. "Bring your gun; we'll practice drawing quickly from a concealed carry state."

Thursday, there was a minor issue over at Horizon Outdoors.

Kevin called, his voice anxious: "Alex, we received an anonymous email. It claims your 'Student Producer Survival Guide' series plagiarized a German blogger, and it even included a time-stamped comparison—their video was released two months before yours."

Alex asked calmly, "Forward it to me."

The email was forwarded quickly. Indeed, a German blogger had made a video on a similar topic, and it was released earlier. But upon closer inspection, the content structure, delivery method, and even the filming techniques were completely different—the themes were just similar.

This was a typical harassment tactic: using specious "evidence" to create a stain and consume your time and energy in defense.

"How should we handle it?" Kevin asked. "The legal department suggests sending a lawyer's letter, and the PR department suggests you make a public response…"

"Neither," Alex said. "Issue a brief statement in the name of Horizon Outdoors: After verification, the allegations are found to be false, and the two series are fundamentally different in content and execution. Then attach a link with a detailed comparison and let the audience judge for themselves. Don't mention my name, and don't over-respond."

"It's that simple?"

"It's that simple," Alex said. "This kind of accusation is like a mosquito—the more you swat at it, the more persistent it gets. Ignore it, and it will fly away on its own."

After hanging up, Alex checked the German blogger's channel. A flood of comments had suddenly appeared under recent videos, all accusing him of "plagiarizing Alex Su." Clearly, someone was trying to sow discord between both parties.

He sent the German blogger a private message, attached his own analysis, and suggested that neither of them let themselves be used by a third party. The other person replied quickly, expressing gratitude and agreeing to issue a joint statement to clarify.

It was a small matter, but Alex knew this was just the beginning. The Winston side was using various methods to test his reactions and look for weaknesses.

In the afternoon, he went to the shooting range for his second training session. This time, the focus was on shooting while moving and shooting postures behind obstacles.

Mike set up a few simple scenarios: quickly popping out from behind cover to shoot, maintaining aim while moving, and staying on the move while changing magazines.

Alex's performance surprised Mike again—his accuracy while shooting on the move was almost as high as when shooting statically. Dynamic Visual Enhancement allowed him to maintain visual stability while moving rapidly, and Environmental Interaction Intuition allowed him to instinctively find the best movement routes and shooting positions.

"You're a fucking monster," Mike said half-jokingly after the training ended. "But I like it. Next weekend, we'll start simulated scenario training—I'll set up a simple 'home defense' scenario, and you can try applying these skills under pressure."

"Does it cost extra?"

"The first time is free," Mike patted him on the shoulder. "Consider it an investment—I have a feeling you'll live a long time, and you might need training in the future."

Friday, Alex finalized the shooting plan for the Nashville chapter of "city portraits."

He listed ten locations he wanted to shoot, not just tourist attractions, but more slices of daily life: a record store in the early morning, a country music museum in the afternoon, the backstage of a blues bar in the evening, and a 24-hour diner in the dead of night.

He emailed Taylor, asking if these locations were suitable and if any special permissions were needed.

Taylor's reply was brief: "You can shoot all of them. For the places that need permits, Kelly will handle it for you. There's only one requirement—bring me along. I want to see how you see my city."

Alex smiled and replied: "Deal."

Then he packed his luggage. It wasn't just photography equipment; there was also that black emergency alarm, a printed list of emergency contacts (with the numbers for Detective Chen Zhiming, Tom, Mike, and the Instructor on it), and a legally purchased pepper spray—until his concealed carry permit came through, this was the only defensive tool he could legally carry.

In the evening, Sarah came over to bring him a farewell meal—homemade pasta and garlic bread.

"How long are you going for?" Sarah asked.

"At least two weeks. Depends on how the project goes."

"Be careful." Sarah looked at him. "I heard… Senator Winston has activities in Nashville recently too. His hometown is in Tennessee, did you know that?"

Alex paused. "I didn't. But thanks for the heads-up."

"I'm just saying…" Sarah sighed. "Political figures are like octopuses; their tentacles are everywhere. You might be safe in Los Angeles, but once you go to his turf…"

"I understand," Alex said. "I'll be careful."

After dinner, Sarah helped him check the apartment's security measures: locks on doors and windows, surveillance cameras, and even taught him to place a glass on the doorknob—"Old school, but it works. If someone opens the door, the glass falls, and you'll hear it."

Alex followed her instructions one by one.

After Sarah left, he sat alone in the dark living room, letting his Environmental Perception Enhancement and Crisis Prediction fully expand.

The apartment was very quiet. Cars occasionally passed by on the street below. Lights in the opposite apartment building were gradually turning off.

Everything was normal.

But he also knew that normalcy was just a facade. Beneath the surface, the undercurrents had never ceased.

He opened the system interface. His popularity had grown again due to the private circulation of the Los Angeles chapter of "city portraits" (Taylor had shown it to some industry friends). He now had enough reserves to redeem the next important ability.

He chose [Threat Level Assessment (Primary)].

Description: Enhances the ability to quickly judge potential threats, allowing for the assessment of an opponent's intent, capability, and danger level based on limited information. Redemption requires 32,000 popularity points.

He clicked redeem.

The moment the redemption was complete, he looked at a strange vehicle parked on the street outside the window. His brain automatically began to analyze: common car model, parked in the shadows, engine not turned off (he could hear a very faint vibration), there seemed to be two people inside…

Threat Level Assessment gave a vague but useful feedback: "Low to medium. Surveillance possible, no immediate intent to attack."

This was enough. Knowing what level of vigilance to maintain was better than blind panic or relaxation.

He closed the system interface and checked his luggage one last time.

Photography equipment, laptop, change of clothes, defensive tools, and that old-fashioned light meter—he always carried it, like an amulet.

His phone vibrated; it was a message from Detective Chen Zhiming: "Ron is safe. The Winston team met with a crisis PR firm today, but they haven't made a move. Stay vigilant, keep in touch."

Alex replied: "Understood. Flying to Nashville tomorrow."

"Do you need assistance from the local police?"

"Not for now. I'll let you know if I do."

"Good. Safe flight."

Alex put down his phone and turned off the living room light.

In the bedroom, his backpack leaned against the wall, casting a long shadow in the moonlight.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he would fly to another city, another battlefield.

But this time, he was no longer empty-handed.

Steel, gunpowder, training, abilities, allies—these were his armor.

And creation was his eternal spear.

The night was deep.

And the warrior was already prepared.