Chapter Thirty-ThreeI barge into the same room, again.
I guess it was too much to hope that the room would be different than in my visions.
Raising my gun, I pivot to the left.
The knife is in the admiral’s hand. Again.
Instead of shooting at his head, or even aiming, I point the gun at his torso and instantly squeeze the trigger.
Acting differently from the way I had in my visions is my only hope—albeit a faint one.
To that end, I next perform a maneuver I’ve only seen in movies—the one where a G.I. Joe type throws himself to the side and rolls to avoid enemy fire.
The admiral’s knife slices through my ear, cleaving it nearly in half.
I land on the floor, all air escaping my lungs as my vision blurs with black-and-white blotches.
The only thing that rolls is my gun—away from me.
