The thing digging into his ribcage, Zach decides as he lies prone and aching, is a gun.

This knowledge sits there in his mind, unprocessed, a block shaped inappropriately for the available holes. A gun. A GUN gun.

Who on earth, he wonders, would be so irresponsible as to give him one of those?

The half-life of lidocaine in the body is roughly two hours. The pain of his burns is returning, but Zach gets the big black thing unholstered. He ejects the clip (full) and reslots it. He checks the slide.

Somebody taught him how to do that once.