Load. Lock. Aim. Fire.

A bullet zipped across the range and punctured a perfectly round hole right between the eyes of the wooden, humanoid target on the opposite side. 25m displacement from barrel to impact. 

30 degrees to the right. Fire. Direct hit in the sweet spot. Flash of white to the left. 55 degree turn. Fire. 

Kyran removed his gun from the window and placed it back on its mount on the wall. He removed his safety glasses, revealing his eerie deep emerald eyes, and ruffled up his black hair with a contented sigh. Something made him feel at ease when he shot a few rounds at the local gun range. The calculated perfection to which he applied to firing the rifle reflected the rest of his life – for as long as he can remember, he saw the world through numbers, logical sequences and flawless precision.

He grabbed his relatively light khaki backpack and pushed his way through the wooden exit door. As he stepped outside, the afternoon sun glared harshly upon him as he tried to shield his eyes from the bright, burning light. Swinging his body onto the seat of his blue mountain bike, he rapidly released the stand and turned onto the road before tearing down the street back home. The street stretched across the outskirts of the suburb, dominated by empty land and modest business firms. His legs pumped up and down, pushing his bike to great speeds with ease. That was another thing that was strange about him; though he rarely trained or participated in sports, he could perform physically a higher levels than trained professionals/those whom have trained continuously throughout their life. It was as if someone had just “endowed” upon him strengths and skills, far greater than any of his peers. When someone asked him why he was so physically capable with no training, he just shrugged and claimed that it was natural. The truth was that Kyran had no idea either. Neither did he care.

A sudden tug of instinct wrenched him from his deep thoughts. Kyran slammed on the brakes of his bike and quickly veered his bike to the left in order to avoid an unforgiving telephone pole. He turned into the road on which his house awaited. His street was much like any other street in the suburb; neighbors kept to themselves, and most the houses were quite modest single story blocks. De-mounting his bike and leaning it against the wall, Kyran slipped out his house key and proceeded to open the door.