The genesis

Prologue:
The first time it happened, I thought it was a nightmare.
I woke in a cold sweat, heart racing, my breath shallow. The images were too vivid to be anything but real—a flash of a city street, the sound of distant sirens, a woman’s scream. Then came the sharp crack of a gunshot, followed by a body crumpling to the ground. I felt it, as though I was right there, living it.
When I pulled myself from the edge of sleep, I was back in my apartment, safe, in the present. The woman in my vision—the victim—she was still alive. I had no idea who she was, no idea where the scene had come from. It was just a dream. A random nightmare.
But then, three days later, it happened.
Walking down a downtown street, I spotted a news report on a nearby screen: a woman had been shot in the exact place I had seen in my vision. Same street, same position, same fall. I couldn’t breathe. My heart skipped a beat as I scrolled through the article. The details were the same—almost too exact to be coincidence. The only difference was that I had been powerless to prevent it.
That was the first vision. And the first time I realized the impossible truth: I wasn’t dreaming. I had seen it before it happened. The visions would keep coming. And so would the deaths.
But nothing, not even the creeping dread of what was to come, could prepare me for the day I would see my own face—alive in the final moments of my vision. Bound. Helpless. Staring back at me from the other side of the glass.
This time, the clock was ticking—and I was running out of time.