The next moment...
A ringing filled his ears.
It was as if time had stopped. Everything distorted. Dizziness and nausea swept over him, causing the physically feeble Dean to lose consciousness...
...
In the coma, fragmented information, like scenes from a movie, flashed through Dean's consciousness:
My name is Dean, 35 years old, an insignificant private detective.
I lived in squalor.
My professional skills were poor, and this country was very unsafe. Consequently, I only took on cases helping employers seduce their wives and guide them toward divorce, aiming to minimize the financial losses for my clients.
I'd contemplated becoming a gigolo, or maybe even a bounty hunter.
But to be a gigolo, you need a good gun.
My gun used to be good, but it was no longer young; it couldn't withstand the long-term ravaging and wear from those female sharpshooters.
To be a bounty hunter, you need agile skills.
