Smooth Running Gun

He sat in a cafe at midnight on some rainy corner in some city; praying to the gods of espresso to give him the edge he would need tonight.

A million moments, a million choices, a million decisions and consequences had taught Turner the lessons that led him to this moment.

He felt mostly-sure he could handle the pressure, if only by the skin if his teeth.

He was like a new race car, bought with all the bells and whistles at the cost of those million moments; conscious of the increased fuel required to sustain him, and the fact that he could now never let his foot off the accelerator, foregoing any semblance of conservation as the fuel gauge raced towards empty.

Some part of his mind was aware of the fact that he had been burning the candle at both ends a bit longer than he should have. And now he would bet it all on having enough candle left to finish the things he had finally decided to do.

There was now nowhere to run, nowhere to hide; and not enough time to get to safety in any case. The only way left to go; forward.