The hooded figure moved the gun around, meticulously searching for his mark. Is he going to shoot my stomach, my head, or my legs?! Look, Oren! His eyes, shadowed beneath the hood, locked onto me with a predatory intensity. My pupils widened like a cat's, straining to catch any small movements in the dim light that filtered through the grimy environment. Every bit of training, every skill I’ve honed over the years, it all matters now! To evade this single bullet, I have to anticipate his shot, moving before he even fires. The man in front of me wasn’t just any adversary; he was one of Thana's top lieutenants, known for his ruthless precision and not prone to unloading recklessly. His reputation for cold, calculated efficiency made my heart pound faster. I forced myself to relax my body, imitating Thana's fluid defensive stance. I have to dodge it! I have to, I have to!

The hooded man’s index finger twitched, a subtle yet unmistakable movement signaling the switch from safety to danger mode. I watched his every move, my mind racing to stay one step ahead. Just before he acted, I swerved to my left with a sudden burst of speed, bursting with every ounce of my muscle fibers. He had a trick up his sleeve, anticipating my dodge, and raised his wrist in a swift, practiced motion. Time slowed as his finger curled around the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed through the room, a deafening roar that seemed to drown out all other noise.

The bullet grazed my skin, then pierced through me, a fiery pain searing my side. Blood trickled down in a warm, steady stream, and I instinctively clutched the entrance wound, feeling the sticky warmth beneath my fingers. Everything I've worked for, all the training and preparation, was not enough to dodge a bullet. The realization hit me hard as I immediately lost power in my lower body. My legs gave way, and I crumpled to the ground, falling onto my stomach, utterly powerless. A sickening sensation spread through my back, and I felt a wetness that wasn't just blood. Panic surged through me as I realized my spinal fluid was leaking. He hit my spine—I'm paralyzed! The hooded man, with a lazy, almost bored gait, walked towards me. Each step he took seemed to echo my despair. I forced myself to look up, my vision blurred with pain and fear, to face him.

He pointed the gun at my forehead, his eyes devoid of any compassion or remorse. He mocked me, a cruel smirk playing on his lips, "This is the least you deserve." His words cut deeper than the bullet, filling me with a mix of rage and helplessness. Is this the end? Right after accomplishing my mission, I die to this scumbag? My mind raced, grasping for any last shred of hope. God wouldn't abandon me!

Another bullet crashed through the concrete wall behind him, piercing through his skull with great gore. Brain matter splattered out, painting a gruesome picture as he fell backward. His eyes, once filled with cruel mockery, glazed over, lazily fixating on the bullet hole in front of him as life slipped away. He landed on the ground with a hard thud, staring blankly upwards at a place he would never reach. The sudden roar of helicopter blades filled the air, their sound growing louder as they zoned in on the building. I heard muffled footsteps in the distance, the approach of reinforcements. Relief washed over me as the realization dawned—I had been saved by a sniper's precise shot. My eyes flickered, and my vision began to blur, the edges darkening as I fought to stay conscious. I've lost too much blood. Despite the pain and the overwhelming exhaustion, a sense of gratitude filled me. I'm so... blessed. The thought echoed in my mind as my strength gave out. My face fell onto the cold, unforgiving ground, and everything went black.

"Hello, everyone." I said to the camera, a determined smile on my face. This was the number one news story, and I had to get a piece of it. I took a deliberate sip of my coffee, savoring the moment. I swiveled my chair to the left, turning to my first guest, "As everyone has seen, superhuman abilities have disappeared. The altars no longer show stats, and the notorious terrorist organization, 'The Criminal Alliance,' is being dissolved. With me, I have two distinguished guests. The first is a former MMA fighter, Otho Jaap, who is 'Pro-Gift.'" Otho nodded, a confident smile on his face. "Thank you for having me." he said, his voice steady and strong. I twisted to the right, pointing to the next guest. "The second is Karl Ologun. He is a farmer whose land was forcibly taken over by the Alliance. As such, he is 'Anti-Gift.'" Karl stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes reflecting years of hardship. "Yeah, that's me alright." he replied, his voice gruff but sincere.

I finalized the introduction, "So let's get started. What are your immediate reactions to the disappearance of the gift?" Karl slammed the desk softly, his eyes blazing with passion. "Good, good riddance. We aren't supposed to be able to destroy buildings. I'd much rather have the ability to create buildings." Otho spun in his chair, laughing. He responded with a sarcastic tone, "A tragedy has befallen mankind... Of course I'm not saying that. But if we actually could've controlled the gift instead of allowing the terrorists to have a monopoly, it could've been beneficial. That's all I'm saying." Karl's face filled with anger, his voice rising. "Are you kidding me? Are you so naïve to spew that right to my face?" I sensed the tension escalating rapidly and knew I had to intervene to keep the discussion from boiling over. "Gentlemen, let's keep this civil. Karl, Otho, we're here to discuss differing viewpoints, not to attack each other. Otho, can you elaborate on how you believe the gift could have been controlled? And Karl, I'd like to hear more about your perspective in a moment."

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Otho smiled, "Thanks for the save." He twiddled his thumbs, a slight nervousness betraying his confident exterior. "MMA was changed by the gift, and it drew in numbers like never before. We could have had superhuman-led task forces, saving more people than ever before." I glanced back to Karl and noticed his fist tightening, the anger simmering just below the surface. I quickly switched to him, "Karl, what are the cons of the gift?" Karl sprang to life, his voice filled with conviction. "Superhuman terrorists, destruction on an unprecedented scale, torture, suffering of the every man. What happened to me with my farm happened to many others worldwide." He turned to Otho, pointing at him with all five fingers, his eyes blazing with intensity. "I'm glad the gift is gone. Many places will need humanitarian aid, and Hawaii will need to be repopulated. In some perfect world, maybe the gift could work out. Reality is, we don't live in one." Sensing this was a perfect conclusion, I clapped my hands together, smiling. "Seems like we've got our story. Thank you both for coming on. Up next, the weather." As we went to commercial, Karl crossed his arms, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

I eased myself onto the weathered park bench, careful to take the weight off my injured leg. With a deep breath, I set down my crutches beside me, their metal frames glinting under the moonlight. Aroha settled beside me, her gaze drawn upward to the stars scattered across the dark sky. She pointed towards a cluster of stars. "That's the Little Dipper, see the square?" Aroha's voice held a soft note of wonder. I followed her outstretched finger and squinted. After a moment, I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, I see it." Aroha looked down, her expression turning serious. "Why did you do it?" I frowned slightly, unsure of what she meant. "Do what?" She glanced back at me, her eyes searching mine. "You know what I mean. Your 'crusade'."

I leaned back against the bench's backrest, staring up at the stars. "God told me to." I replied simply, feeling the weight of those words. Aroha turned to face me, her eyes narrowing slightly. She brushed something off her jacket absentmindedly. "Well, now that it's over and we're in witness protection, how about we take our rest?" She didn't respond to that. I wonder is she believes me. I nodded in agreement. "Yeah." The rest of the night passed in somber silence, punctuated by the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of city life. Aroha and I sat together under the stars, finding solace in each other's presence. We were together and safe. That was what mattered most.

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Many years later...

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I ran excitedly around our newly renovated house, peeking into each room. The room I looked into had beautiful blue paint, its walls gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the windows. It was quite spacious, with enough room for a desk and shelves for all my books and trinkets. I yelled downstairs, "The one with the blue room is mine, right?" My dad's voice echoed back up, "Yeah, it is! We'll decorate it soon!" Walking further down the hallway, I paused in front of the trapdoor. It led to the attic, a mysterious place I had never explored. "Eh, might as well check it out." I muttered to myself. I jumped up and grasped the pull-down ladder. With a quick tug, the stairs descended with a creak. I climbed up into the attic.

The attic was a time capsule, filled with old, weathered Italian wood. Sunlight streamed in through a small, dusty window, casting long shadows across the floorboards. It looked like it hadn't been checked in many years, the air thick with the smell of dust and age. As I walked a few feet into the space, I noticed a lone box apart from the others. Layers of dust covered its surface. I tore open the yellowed tape and found a dusty old book inside. The book was bound in brown leather, its cover worn and faded with no visible title. I ran my fingers over the worn leather cover of the book, wondering what secrets it might hold. Curiosity piqued, I decided to ask Dad about it.

I walked back down the attic stairs, the wooden steps creaking softly under my weight, and closed the attic door behind me. Dust motes danced in the air as I descended the second-floor stairs, the house settling around me with a comforting familiarity. I found Dad sitting on the couch, rocking gently in that old chair he'd had for as long as I could remember. I held out the book, its worn leather cover showing the signs of age. "Hey, Dad, what's this?" I asked, my voice filled with energy. His eyes shot up in surprise as he took the book from my outstretched hand. "I haven't seen that in a while. Why'd you take it from the attic?" His brow furrowed with a mix of concern and intrigue. Before I could respond, he seemed to reconsider. "Actually, it's fine." he said softly. I hesitated, wanting to ask more questions. "Well, what is it?" Dad looked up, meeting my gaze. His expression softened with a nostalgic smile. "It's the book that changed me."