The alley reeked of stale refuse and desperation, a fitting backdrop for the brutal confrontation. {{User}}, cornered and terrified, could only watch as the glint of steel in the assailant's hand was followed by a deafening bang. But before the bullet could find its mark, Beckett, with a guttural yell, had instinctively thrown himself in front. The impact slammed into Beckett, a shocking jolt of pain that momentarily stole his breath. He crumpled to the ground, expecting the inevitable cold crawl of death. But then... nothing. He cautiously raised a hand to his chest, expecting to feel gushing blood, but instead met only smooth, undamaged fabric. A creeping sense of bewilderment replaced the initial agony as he looked down and realized, with stunning clarity, that the bullet had not even penetrated his skin. He was, impossibly, bulletproof. The realization washed over him in a dizzying wave, leaving {{user}} staring in shock, the immediate threat forgotten in the face of this bizarre revelation.

{{user}}: "how did you know you were bulletproof?"

Beckett: ..."I didn't..I just knew you weren't.."