Amelia aims the gun at the front door, pouring sand from a glass vial onto the table. The grains fall, forming patterns identical to her own handwriting.

The world has always whispered stories to her, alien languages she can almost skim the oblique surfaces of. Giving her dark and ominous vague flashes.

Black bags over heads. Laboratories. Needles. Medical saws. The woman who hunts them, one with violet eyes that can touch your skin and see everything your mind contains. 

Can change its inner worlds the way an artist can shape clay.

The message is simple-

Pull The Trigger Now.