Teen Ink

Prologue

I’ve always found ballistics to be a fascinating subject; and the curiosity is not atypically rooted in a love of semi-analogous crime dramas that have somehow invaded all of my usual television channels. No, for me the spot where science meets morals is the intrigue. It’s quite simple, when broken down. When one pulls the trigger of a gun, the firing pin ignites the primer which ignites gas pressure and gun powder and forces a bullet from the barrel. That in itself is clean cut and simple. And if the truth never is than bullets surely are. But what of the gunman? After all of these small precise actions have been carried out, all that is left is the motive, the action, and the effect.

My name used to be James Donlam. My motive lies just beyond a very small, very secure steel door.

My action: I have just fired a Glock 9mm bullet, which entered the man standing in front of me at over eight-hundred miles per hour. The bullet entered his leg and shattered his bone in three places.

I suppose the initial effect is shock, followed by blood on the wall. But the ripples will be more. So much more.