The bullet, when it came, was not unexpected. Indeed, Jackson had been expecting it for most of his adult life.

He did not hear the sound of its arrival, nor for that fraction of a second, did he feel anything at all. For moments afterwards, despite where it hit him, he was aware of what happened.

He had always wondered why the conscious brain seems to immediately cease when a bullet struck. He’d seen the TV shows where the victim was immediately poleaxed and fell to the ground and he wondered why that was. Surely blood still pumped for a while, despite the trauma.

Nonetheless, Jackson was beyond that now as the organs began to collapse and die. The tiny amount of thought that was going on inside him was petering out fast as he was dying.

In that final moment before the hiss of unconsciousness kicked in, he heard a sound. Just a very small sound as the medic began his job of retrieval.

Jackson was the scene of contained and yet fervent activity. Michaels knew what he was doing, for he was well trained and experienced in what he had to do. For him, this was routine and he was good at it.

Of course, he had to be, for the Jacksons of this world were an extravagance to lose in the big scheme of things.

They had been experimenting with this project for over 15 years now and, well, in the beginning there had been casualties. But nowadays, it would really have been an unwelcome headline if they lost one of them.

Jackson would remain unconscious for a few hours, as their magic did its trick and then he would be as right as rain, with just the little mark to show for it, like them all.

And tomorrow, he would wake, as always he did, yet in the knowing that he would not fear the arrival of that bullet anymore. He would know that he had survived and his purpose in this vital timeline of activity would be spent. His dues paid.

The research would continue and in the future others would have the same experiences as he did, yet he would come to wonder, in the few hours that he had left to him, whether they would have the same pondering about what that experience might be, before the event, just like he had.

***

Unbelievably, as he arose the next morning, fate was to take a hand in the future life he had been preparing himself for over recent years.

He had literally, put himself in the firing line and escaped with his life, thanks to modern medicine and technology. This was all highly organised for his safety and could pretty much be guaranteed at this stage of the project.

As he made his way to the diner for breakfast, he had a lightness about him that he had rarely experienced before. He could get on with the adventure of the rest of the life he had before him with excitement.

But on that bright Spring morning, in Lake City, Oklahoma, Jackson would find that all the planning in the world would not be enough.

He parked his beloved Lancia and crossed the street to Maisie’s, his favourite breakfast haunt, high on the potential of life and all it had to offer.

***

He did not see the truck at all. Whether he was oblivious to all of his surroundings in the pool of adrenaline that he was churning out in that excitement or whether it was a truck simply running quiet, we will never know.

But when it did hit him, the truth was that no-one – not even Michaels and his box of magic tricks – could save him.

He might have dodged the bullet, but he did not dodge the Dodge.