I'd spent my whole life imagining what death might feel like, but at that moment, I thought it was taking way too long.

I waited and waited and waited, and waited. Nothing. I was sure the first time I was shot that it hit me much faster. This was just cruel, knowing death was coming but being forced to wait on it. I didn't even get the 'life flashing' experience everyone claimed would happen upon death. Frankly, my death was to be as lackluster and pathetic as the rest of my life.

My impatience bested me, so I opened my eyes and saw four men in front of me. Three were positioned beneath the sewer grate, dimly lit from above, the fourth over my body, hand outstretched with his weapon aimed at me.

Wait.

My body? I could see my body across the room on the floor. I examined myself, and everything seemed normal. I could move my body naturally, even jump and squat. There was no pain, no suffering. My body I saw on the ground, however, was severely beaten.

Wait.

I looked at the men beneath the sewer grate again. The particles I was just watching moments before stood still in the light. I walked toward the men and find them completely motionless, frozen in space. The particles around them weren't specs of dust; they were foreign to me, like someone seeing snow for the first time. Next, I checked the man with the gun, and I saw him in an identical state to the others.

Wait—the bullet.

I saw it between his gun and my injured body. It was hanging in the air, still as a photograph. Even the flash from the barrel was frozen. I knelt next to myself; I didn’t look alive. I looked between my two bodies and found no scratch on myself now—no dirt, no blood, no sign that anything had happened. My shirt was cleaner than it was this morning even, and my shoes showed no scuffs or wear.

“Hey murderers, can you hear me?”

No response.

“Interesting. Is this the afterlife? Being forced to witness your own death repeatedly? If so, fuck you, God!”

I stood back up to examine the bullet closer.

Wait.

"It's…still moving?”

The bullet's movement was so slight, it was almost unnoticeable. But I stared at it for long enough to confirm that it was still moving toward my injured body, so slow it was almost imperceptible. I reached out to try and touch it.

“SHIT! THAT’S HOT!”

I recoiled from the pain. I should’ve thought a bit more; the first thing I felt when getting hit with one of those was the heat, after all. My confirmation of the bullet's movement meant that everything else must have been moving as well, just slower.

“Well, I can’t let this thing hit me. I need something to help me move it.”

I looked around, and nothing immediately caught my eye. No debris or rubble big enough for me to poke it out of the path of my injured body. Then, I noticed all the men wearing gloves with padding and hard knuckles. I walked to the man who shot me and grabbed him by the wrist. He wasn't wearing any identification like the blues did. The only marker on his coat was the same symbol I had found on the radio. It was embroidered on the left breast pocket, with 'CDA' below it.

"Who are these guys? I've never seen uniforms like these.”

I slid his left-handed glove off and put it on. I tried again to touch the bullet, and this time it didn’t burn me.

“I need to move this away from me before I get any more fucked up.”

I gripped it between my fingers and held it for a moment. I could feel it vibrating, pulling toward where it was shot. That's when it really set in, this man was going to kill me. He didn’t hesitate to take my life with as little effort as snapping fingers. His face was calm, composed, unwavering. I had tried to forget this type of look on a person, but I knew it well.

I was a kid to these men, a teenager scrounging around in some abandoned old tunnels. Sure, I was a thief around sector 18, but I was just some sewer rat to these guys. Yet, despite my insignificance in their lives, they condemned me to die. For what? What crime had I committed that constituted the punishment of death? I knew this city and its dictators were cruel, but this type of treatment was diabolical.

I moved the bullet behind his head and removed the gun from his hand. He would be the one to die now, not me. For some reason, I'd been given a choice here; the option to trade his life for mine, to survive while he didn't. This man probably had a wife and kids at home. However, all I felt then was if he did have a family, they'd be better off without him coming home.

“I guess I’ll leave the rest and see if I can catch up to the kids.”

I walked away, leaving my body behind. I still wasn't sure what was happening, but I could help the kids with my new, uninjured self before it was too late. However, as I passed by the other men, I felt a powerful tug against my chest. I nearly fell as an immense pressure bombarded me, ushering me back toward the scene, almost as if I had hit a wall, firmly cemented in the empty space in front of me.

“Damn it, what the hell?”

I couldn’t pass; I pushed and thrust but was repeatedly tossed back by nothing. I was stuck there, surrounded by frozen harbingers of my inevitable demise. It was hardly poetic justice, but more of a cruel joke of a way to end my life. The kids were going to die in the same tunnels I had convinced them were safe. What could I do? I couldn’t fight my way out of something I didn’t understand.

Wait

If time was frozen here, was it safe to assume it was frozen everywhere? If that was the case, then the children weren't in danger after all, at least not until I found a way to release this stasis. Whatever force was holding me here obviously felt my business was unfinished. I decided to bank on the kids being safely frozen in time, and I walked back to the other three men.

For the first time, the nature of my situation dawned on me.

“Was…I the Cambion they were looking for?”

Cambions were supernatural beings the government warned people about repeatedly. They were nearly identical to humans but often had out of place features like their hair color or even strange markings. Though, more specifically, we were always warned about their eyes. Cambions were said to have striking eyes of unnatural vibrance but devoid of all humanity.

Cambions had strange powers, allowing them to do things people only dreamed about or saw in video games and movies. Though, few people had ever met a cambion in their life. The Concordian government vilified their existence, citing them as a threat to humanity, like a plague or natural disaster. To most people, including myself, Cambions were somewhat of a boogieman story, and we doubted their relevance.

I had heard about Jaegers shortly after I began living on the street. They were a military group that specialized in locating and eliminating Cambion children. They'd often work through the blues, having normal children taken from the street for screening. Like Cambions, most people felt the Jaegers didn't exist and were just a ruse to garner more tax dollars. This group must have been them, though, which would explain why I didn’t recognize their uniforms.

"Well, if Cambions are real, then it can't be me. Cambions are supposed to manifest between the ages of 5 and 7. I'm 15 and have never exhibited any traits.”

The still world around me did not reply to my protests, as my words fell deafly onto the cold stone. No matter how much I denied it, I was alone in this frozen space with only the unwanted truth for company. This would change everything. If I survived to make it out of this tunnel, I'd be hunted forever by the government. Where would I go? Where would I hide?

"Dead Circus..."

They were labeled as a terrorist group, but they were the only official Cambion organization recognized by the government. Would they protect me? If they did, what would the cost be? Would I be forced into a life of terrorism and crime? Well, I guess I was already a small-time criminal. My life in the tunnels wasn’t a glorious one, but it was the life I had made work.

"I guess I can't argue with what is in front of me. I'm a Cambion, and this must be my power. I need to figure out how it works. I can't remain in stasis forever."

What did I know? I knew I was about to die. That must have been the trigger for what happened. I could freely move around this area up to a certain distance. I also knew that I was outside of my old body while still interacting with everything around me. Other than that, everything moved at speeds so slow it looked stationary.

Wait.

I turned to my body, still heaped on the ground in a disheveled state. It was a sad and strange sensation, as it's challenging to explain watching yourself die. I walked to it and reach my hand out, but it began to pass through my head. I try to yank it back quickly, but my hand got caught for a moment before slipping free.

“I don’t like that. That’s not comforting at all.”

The only thing I was incapable of directly interacting with was my original body. It was helpful information, telling me that this new body must be some kind of projection, and my old one was my physical anchor to reality. This helped me develop a theory that things may return to normal if I return to my body. But, I wasn’t prepared for that to happen. I’d turned the bullet toward Mr. Wants to kill me, so if time returned, it would hit him instead of me. But, if that were to happen, I’d have three more killers ready to take aim at me.

I walked to the others, and one by one, I positioned their bodies in a circle. Each had their weapon in hand, finger resting off to the side of the trigger. I arranged their arms next, making each point next in the circle, their guns aimed at each other's heads. I carefully took each firearm and forced their fingers down on the trigger.

Why were my hands shaking? It’s not like they could do anything to me right now. So, what was I so nervous about? If I didn’t do this, they'd kill me for sure. I was just repaying what they sought to give me, same as the man who shot me. Death was a fickle thing to me. It bore the weight of the world, yet, killing was a disturbingly liberating feeling.

I had always valued life to a fault, helping others wherever I could. Ever since being abandoned by my mother, the concept of family was crucial to me. Deep down, I would've traded my life for the lives of the kids 10 times over. Now, I was given the power to trade lives for mine, and it felt good to be on this side of things.

I finished my presentation of the bodies and returned to my own, accepting I'd forever be a killer after this. I laid down within myself and felt a strong force yank me into place. I looked once more at the lives soon to be no more and closed my eyes.

Oddly enough, the serenade of gunshots brought me comfort.