Imagine that, in the next few minutes, there's a balance. A life on each end. No external perspective can make them level, but to the owners of these lives, it's not the same. The protagonist always feels more important.

There was this narrow, steep, white corridor. It was on the fourth floor of a mansion rented for high-society events. It could be used as an emergency exit. It was claustrophobic and tight, claustrophobic and ugly. It wasn't well-kept or aesthetically pleasing because that wasn't the point. It was for emergencies.

And this was definitely one.

Maxwell Baxter was only sixteen years old, and he had a revolver in his hand. He needed to get out as quickly as possible or he was dead.

And he didn't want to die.

Akira Bellamy was only twenty-four years old, and he held a crucifix in his hand. He needed to help as quickly as possible, or he would be dead too.

And he wanted to die.

But he didn't want Maxwell to die.

He put Maxwell on the scale. In Bellamy's and Maxwell's balance, looking through Bellamy's clear eyes, Maxwell's life weighed much more. But through Maxwell's eyes, the balance was skewed, blurry, and smoked out — he was on the verge of panic because he could die, die for real. Bellamy was accustomed to death. Maxwell wasn't.

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Maxwell was only sixteen years old.

Their backs were against the wall, and there was no choice but to aim the gun and shoot the security guard. He would be surrounded in a matter of seconds. The revolver wasn't his, and he didn't know how to shoot, but Bellamy rushed him because he knew there was no other way.

"Shoot, B!"

Maxwell — B — had trembling hands. The ground support vanished, and the light faded.

"B-But—"

Maxwell would die if he did nothing.

"Now!"

He pulled the trigger and may have killed someone. He heard the body fall but couldn't tell where he hit. He closed his eyes tightly afterward.

His balance didn't seem quite right. Maybe he should call 911 and say, "Listen, I shot someone." Perhaps he should go to church and confess, "Listen, I don't believe in the Lord, but can you tell me what to do?"

Listen.

Maxwell Baxter started all that shit with a science fair and a Rubik's Cube.