"Who Do You Think You Are?"

It's early evening, and he's returning from a nice run through the lower hills and is only a few blocks from his apartment. As he approaches an intersection, something catches his eye. He looks across the street to his left, and what he sees shocks him beyond belief. An older man draws out a gun, a 9mm pistol, and points it to someone standing near. He gasps as he recognizes his target-one of his closer friends. He sees through his friend's eyes into his soon-to-be-lifeless soul. His friend does not return his gaze, instead piercing his steely gaze into that of his assailant. In that moment time comes to a still.

"Who do you think you are?" the assailant yells at his friend. The assailant's low voice rumbles throughout the intersection; saliva peppering the victim's face.

The assailant fires. The friend falls to the ground, crumpled into a lifeless heap at the feet of the assailant.

Normally at this intersection he doesn't make a turn. In his panic, he doesn't cross the street at the intersection but instead turns right, to avoid the assailant; to try to avoid the same fate as his friend.

As soon as he turns, he once again looks to his left across the street to where he was going to cross to. He sees the same assailant brandishing the same pistol at the same friend. Once again he hears the low rumble "Who do you think you are?" before another shot is fired and the friend crumpling to the ground.

In his panic he breaks out in full sprint, looking to take a the next intersection to circle back to his apartment. He reaches the next intersection looking to turn left back towards his apartment, but what he sees shocks him in his tracks.

On the left across the street, he sees the same image once again; the story of the assailant and the friend; the story with the same ending every time. He panics, crying out "NO!" but the script remains the same. They take no notice of his presence, until the end, when the assailant turns toward him with a wide grin on his face.