Early the next morning, Owen told his mother and Amanda to take the day off.
Last night had shaken him deeply.
His life wasn't like it was when he was a cop. Now, he wasn't dealing with gangsters or small-time criminals—he was dealing with terrorists. People who killed without hesitation, who didn't even value their own lives, let alone others'.
Last night, luck had saved them.
Mahmoud had come when no one was home.
Then, by sheer fate, McCall had silently taken care of the problem.
But luck wouldn't always be on their side.
Owen needed to make sure his family could protect themselves.
And in America, the most direct way to do that was simple—buy a gun.
The United States didn't ban firearms.
With 40% of the world's total civilian-owned guns, most Americans believed having a firearm meant having security.
The U.S. also had the highest rate of gun ownership in the world.
For every 100 Americans, there were 121 guns.
That meant every household, on average, owned at least two guns.
Even in California—one of the strictest states on gun control—buying a gun wasn't difficult.
There were 55,000 licensed gun dealers across the U.S., including brick-and-mortar stores, online retailers, and even 8,000 pawn shops that sold guns.
For comparison, there were only about 14,000 McDonald's locations nationwide.
Buying a gun in America was easier than buying a burger.
10:00 AM
Owen drove his mother and Amanda to a nearby gun store.
Although guns were sold in some supermarkets, Owen didn't just want to buy a gun—he wanted them to get comfortable using one.
So he specifically picked a store with a shooting range.
Upon entering, they were greeted by racks of firearms.
Various handguns and rifles were displayed openly, some even packaged elegantly—ready to be given as gifts.
In America, guns weren't just weapons—they were part of the culture.
The walls were lined with assault rifles—AKs, ARs, HKs. Almost every common rifle on the market was available.
Behind the counter, a bearded man was oiling a Remington shotgun.
It seemed he was the only staff member, which probably meant he was the owner.
Owen approached the counter.
The wall behind it was lined with shotguns—Remington M870, UTS, Winchester M1887, SPAS-15… every famous shotgun in the world was there.
Seeing Owen walk up, the bearded man set down the shotgun and greeted him.
"Hey, buddy. What're you looking for? Tell me what you need, and I'll help you pick something out."
"I need a handgun."
Owen gestured toward his mother and Amanda.
"Something suitable for women."
The bearded man nodded.
"Got it."
In the U.S., many women bought guns for self-defense, so this wasn't unusual.
He rummaged through the glass display case filled with handguns and ammunition.
Amanda watched excitedly.
"How about this one?"
Amanda's eyes lit up as she picked up a silver Beretta 92F.
It looked sleek and stylish.
But it was completely wrong for her.
Owen immediately rejected it.
Typical woman—choosing a gun like she's picking out clothes. Only cares about how it looks, not how practical it is.
The Beretta 92F was too big, designed for men.
Even if Amanda could hold it, she wouldn't be able to control it properly.
Amanda pouted, but Owen ignored her.
If she really wanted something big and flashy, she might as well use his P226 at home. But that gun was too heavy for them, which was why he was buying something new.
The bearded man returned with two compact black pistols.
They had a matte finish, were small, and clearly designed for women.
He set them on the counter, letting Owen and Amanda examine them.
Then he pointed to one of them and said:
"This is the Austrian Glock 43.
"It's very safe—a lot of cops use it as a backup weapon.
"It fires 9mm Parabellum rounds, has a single-stack magazine, holds 6 rounds, and only weighs 500 grams.
"Perfect for self-defense."
Owen nodded and removed the magazine to inspect it.
It was lightweight, meaning Amanda could handle it easily.
But 6 rounds was too few.
Not ideal for prolonged engagements.
Noticing Owen's hesitation, the bearded man pointed to the other pistol.
"This one is the Ruger LC9s.
"It's even lighter than the Glock—only 498 grams.
"Designed specifically for women.
"It also fires 9mm Parabellum rounds but has a softer trigger pull—easier for women to use.
"And unlike the Glock, it has an extended 8-round magazine option.
"Right now, we have a special deal—buy the Ruger, and you get a free laser sight and an extended magazine."
Amanda's eyes sparkled at the mention of a bonus.
Owen didn't care about freebies, but the 8-round mag was a big plus.
Owen tested the trigger pull and sights.
As promised, the trigger was extremely light—barely any effort required.
It was perfect for a woman.
"How much?" Owen asked.
"$450. I'll also throw in a soft holster for free."
"Deal. Give me two boxes of ammo, too."
Owen made the decision immediately.
To be honest, $450 wasn't cheap—most handguns were around $200-$300.
But this was a specialized model for women, which made it a niche product.
Plus, with all the extras, it was worth it.
"Alright, I'll get you a case for it.
"But first, I need to see your ID."
The bearded man was happy to make a sale, but rules were rules.
Owen handed over his driver's license.
The shopkeeper entered the info into the FBI's background check system.
In the U.S., buying a gun was simple:
You pick a gun. The dealer submits your ID to the FBI for a background check. The FBI verifies your criminal record, mental health history, and other details. If everything checks out, you're approved within minutes. You pay for the gun—and it's yours.
Since Owen had no record, approval came almost instantly.
"Alright, it's officially yours.
"You can test it out downstairs at the shooting range.
"On the house—I'll throw in a free box of ammo."
Owen thanked him.
Before he could say anything else, Amanda grabbed the gun and ran straight to the shooting range.
His mother and Owen followed behind.
As for the bearded shopkeeper?
He didn't care why a man was buying a gun for a woman.
This was America.
It was completely normal.
_________________________
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