November, 1988

Test results came out today.

Hannah and I had talked. She had the same bull shit, rigged test as me. She told me she hit all the hitable targets in time, but predictably didn't make it to the last one.

I told her everything. Told her that I split the bullet, told her I didn't really know how, but that I hit all the targets. I could tell she didn't really believe me.

I didn't mind.

I wouldnta believed me neither.

She said they'll probably fail us both anyway. And they did. Neither of us passed. We walked in outrage toward the sarge's office to complain. But then we were stopped by a fancy looking gentleman who was in the viewing area during my test. He spoke fancy, too fancy. I'm thinking 'not from around here' kinda fancy.

He said he was glad to run into us. He had an interesting opportunity for us both. With a wink he said that Hannah shot better than any of the other cadets despite the extra target and that I miraculously hit all of the targets even though that shoulda been impossible. He was putting together an international secret kill squad funded by the UN to keep the world… balanced. He was looking for two snipers and wanted us to join him.

I felt it again.

The pull and relief of shifting scales. Something wrong being made right.

Justice.

Felt power rush to my mind, my hands. What all could I do with this?

This… balance. It was of course mixed with the butterflies that Hannah was coming along. I'm growing pretty fond of her.

Dear God, thanks for the fancy man and his team. Thanks for Hannah. And please forgive my sarge for failing us even though we should've passed. And if his feelings stay broke, I guess that's fine with me. Oh and forgive me for cursing.

Piper.