I nearly spit out my drink, furrowing my brows at the well-tailored, well-fed man who held a gun to my head. Welp, the jig was up. ”...Precognition.” he finished saying. My hand trembled and my body shook slightly at the incoming joke. Hot tea spilt onto his shoes and the couch, missing my legs in the fall. Clearing my throat, I said, ”I’m sorry?” ”Oh, these are waterproof, sir. You don't have to worry, I—” ”I meant, uh,” I struggled to find the word, clearing my throat, ”what?” The man in the Dorian suit reclenched his grip on the soviet-era pistol complete with silencer, and he did not miss the opportunity to growl at me: ”You want to get shot?” The sun had set now. I shook my head and set the coffee down on the end table next to my chair, glancing at the microwave clock as I did so. ”May I ask you something?” Booking, the man chuckled. ”You mean, ’why Is there a man pointing a gun to my head?’” ”Why in my basement, why not upstairs, with your friends?” As we both heard a sudden bang from my detonated trip wire flash and upstairs, he glanced up and I jabbed his hand to disarm him. Without giving him time to react, I reached around his neck and flipped over him. He passed out quickly, and I held on for a few seconds before letting him slump onto the couch. Shit. My dark, windowless, perfect Man Cave would have to be abandoned. I looked around, but I already knew there was no weapon to be found down here except for the man's gun. I searched his suit jacket, finding what I knew was already there: a nearly blank piece of paper and a second magazine. If I held the paper up to the light, I could see the faint outline of a map. Alas, there was no time. I grabbed the fallen pistol and oriented it at the silent, empty stairway. As if on cue, three men came down the stairs, dressed the same as our mutual friend on the sofa. Without moving my upper torso, I distracted them from the movement of my legs by askinf, ”Are you here to kill me?” Slowly, I slid the map under the couch. Two of them didn't say anything. The man in the middle motioned for me to lower my gun. I did not, so he spoke. ”We are here to recruit you. You could be a useful asset to any government.” ”Then why the caution and fuss? It seems you already know my secrets,” I replied, taking a few steps closer, ”yet you still chose to come in person.” ”Someone who leaves a trail of bodies behind deserves no less.” They kept their guns trained on me. I stepped forward again. ”I’m not just any simple someone. You won't get a chance to pull that trigger because you'll be dead, three seconds before.” The man in the middle hesitated. ”Three seconds?” I shrugged. ”I could be lying. Doesn't matter. Precognition, or whatever you want to call it, gives me more than enough time to pull this trigger.” He knew I was right, nodding a few seconds later. ”But I have my two men here, and if you kill one of us the other two will shoot you.” ”Can you be so sure? The only way you're walking out of here is if you let me go.” I smiled, knowing it had worked. The man in the middle thought this over. Still tense, he lowered his rifle. The others followed suit. ”You could've killed us already. You haven't because you want something. What is it, money again? The CIA has given you more than enough funds to retire.” I held my stance. ”No,” continued the Russian, as I nodded in confirmation of his future assessment, ”it's not money you want. You seek information.” ”Where did you find that map? Only one person knew I was here.” ”She was very helpful-” As he began to speak, I finally understood how they’d found me. Their corpses hit the ground in the way balloons don't. If they had truly gotten to my Monica, they were going to pay, three seconds in advance.