Your preservation instincts surge, suppressing the flight instinct in time to see the approaching ledge. Your feet skitter across loose bits of gravel, and your equilibrium is satisfied that you’re still upright.

Once the evolutionary conditioning subsides, training assumes control. You turn, sweeping your sidearm from under your belt, and fire one shot.

Although the bullet is tracking satisfactorily, it’s too late. Your brain is still awash with electrochemical stimuli, and is delayed in processing the signal of the shot fired before yours.

For the moment, the sting on the surface of your skin is worse than the dull ache in your chest. The force of impact is enough to carry you beyond the ledge. The bodily shift in your center of gravity tenses every muscle at once when the ground isn’t where it’s supposed to be.

The air is cool as it begins to rush past. In seconds you will reach terminal velocity. Your brain, to lessen the effect, has stopped processing inputs and is beginning to shut down.