Jackson stared at the target. It was late now, and most people had left the shooting range hours earlier. But he remained. He remained until the target was riddled in so many holes it was like one big hole instead.

It was meant to make him feel better. But it only made him feel worse. He knew how to shoot. It was clear by the precision on the target, where every bullet hit within centimeters of each other, showing he knew how to shoot.

So why didn’t he that day? Why did he freeze? How could he be so cowardice?