On the final day of the Federal Bureau of Investigation entrance exam, James Lincoln stood at the shooting range.
This was the last step.
The path to becoming an FBI agent—his long-held dream—was finally within reach.
His father had served his entire career with the New York City Police Department.
But just before retirement, the previous year, he was shot and killed by a young man during a street robbery.
James had once joined the Los Angeles Police Department.
But he couldn't give up his dream.
He didn't want to protect just one city.
He wanted to protect the entire United States.
And so, he made it here.
To this moment.
He was confident in his shooting.
But every time he pulled the trigger—
his father's face appeared in his mind.
Don't become a cop.Find a decent job.
His father had said it over and over again.
And yet, James had chosen this path.
Because of something that happened when he was a child.
One day, walking home from elementary school, he witnessed a robbery.
His father—still in uniform—ran after the suspect, clutching his heavy stomach as he gave chase.
Then he raised his revolver.
A Smith & Wesson Model 10.
With both hands.
And he fired.
It wasn't clean.
It wasn't stylish.
Nothing like the heroics of Dirty Harry.
And yet—
to James, his father looked impossibly large.
And undeniably cool.
As a teenager, he rebelled.
There were times he hated his father.
But after becoming a police officer himself, he began to understand.
The hardship.
The burden.
The weight of the badge.
Whenever he returned home, they never talked about those things.
Not once.
And yet now, he realized—
Even his father's weakest moments…
Even the parts he once despised…
They had all been for him.
When he heard of his father's death,
it came too suddenly.
Even now, he hadn't fully processed it.
Every time he pulled the trigger during the test,
his father's face surfaced again.
And his aim drifted.
When the exam ended, James was certain of one thing.
He had failed.
He returned home in silence.
But days later—
a letter arrived.
He had passed.
When he told his mother, she handed him a small box.
"A gift from your father," she said.
Inside was a brand-new revolver.
The same model his father had used until the day he died.
A Smith & Wesson Model 10.
His father had known.
He had been supporting his dream all along.
And so James chose to carry that gun.
Even when his colleagues mocked him—
"Why are you still using something so outdated?"
It didn't matter.
From the moment he received that letter…
From the moment he held that revolver…
His fate had already been decided.
A fate
to keep fighting.
The Beginning of the Fight — End