Two months. Two months of recovery, physical therapy and therapy sessions — all leading to this moment. He was finally ready to hold a gun again. He felt so useless sitting still in that hospital bed, being waited on by nurses while people were out there with their crimes going unpunished. He loathed it.

Dick adjusted his goggles and headphones, strapping on his combat gloves snugly before picking up his firearm. The usual semiautomatic glock. He liked the way it felt in his hand — a little heavy but comfortable enough to wave around like shit isn’t dangerous. It was quite the opposite.

He stood and positioned himself to aim his gun a the target. He closed his right eye and narrowed his left, zeroing his gaze onto the target. His hand began to shake as his heart rate elevated. Damn hand tremors. Both his doctor and physician had warned him that they would naturally occur if his body experienced an adrenaline rush, but like hell that would stop him. He took a deep breath, sliding his finger over the trigger.