She fumbled with her keys, cursing as they jammed in the lock. It wasn't until a hushed snicker sounded from behind her that she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the top of the car, sighing deeply. "Not again," she groaned. "When are you gonna stop locking me out of my own car?" she asked as she turned around to face him, frustration written all over her angry gaze, brows raised as she studied him.
You have a secret. You have always seen a translucent number floating above everyone's head. Most have a 0, few 1, but your girlfriend has a 37. You witness a murder on the way to propose to your girlfriend. As the assailant pulls the trigger, you watch the number above his head go from 1 to 0.