Saheel had never been shot before, so getting riddled with bullets made for quite the induction.

He'd expected it to hurt. What he hadn't expected was for it to hurt so badly that he swam adrift in the pain, his brain shutting him off from the outside world. Blood pooled into his lungs, choking him, and he couldn't cough it up because moving even a little piped agony through the holes in his smashed ribcage.

Something nearby crunched down with a wet splash. And somebody let out a high pitched, desperate whine, their rapid breathing sounding like they were wheezing through bagpipes.

"Stop it!" cried Connie, and she ran behind his head towards the sound.

“Don’t come a single step closer,” said Eirlys.

Drenched in delirium, his ears ringing uselessly after the pounding barrage of gunshots, Saheel felt himself sinking through the floor.

It was a stifling summer's afternoon in his tutor Mary's office, which was little more than a converted cupboard under the university's main staircase. A fan heaved air through the room, flapping around the blind when it turned towards it. Saheel lingered in front of it, enjoying how the wind wicked away the sweat under his shirt.

He looked down at himself. How thin were his arms! His beer belly had shrunk, and he'd forced himself into his old pair of skinny jeans, the ones that always got so itchy on the upper thigh. His hand felt oddly light without a ring. Oh, how full of potential he’d felt during those undergraduate days.

"Do come in, Saheel," said Mary, a woman with a hooked nose that made her genuinely warm smile look like the grimace of a witch.

"Right, thank you." Saheel didn't know if he should leave the door open to preserve what little breeze there was or close it to stop the corridor noise from crowding out their conversation.

"Oh, that's alright, just leave it open," she said.

He sat at her desk, bathed in light, the blinds failing to hold back the onslaught of the sun’s rays. She got out a folder from an overflowing shelf labelled PLACEMENTS.

Mary grimaced. "Have you thought about what sort of placement you'd like since last month's tutorial?"

"Well, there's so much to consider. Size of congregation, location, denomination... I still haven't figured out what's most important to my career."

She took him in with her eyes, then gently glanced at her Chinese calendar, which was labelled JULY.

"I believe our first tutorial was in September?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know I need to make up my mind."

Saheel's stomach sank when he realised what memory this was going to be. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to think about this. He'd rather feel the bullets.

"Well, let me make it easier for you." She took the two remaining sheets of paper from the folder and laid them on the desk. "The other students have snapped up most of them: here's what's left."

"You know what," he said. "That actually does make it easier."

"You can't let god decide everything for you, Saheel," she chided.

Saheel picked up the first.

BARDEN CITY CATHEDRAL

The hall in the picture was massive, pews stacked on top of pews, full of expectant, greying faces. He imagined his voice echoing off those high walls, booming out from every speaker in the PA. He imagined making house calls to thousands of people who knew him but he didn't — how would he separate his Deirdres from his Esmeraldas? He imagined the success of it, the career progression. Getting the word out to thousands.

Then he glanced at the second.

SANDBANK CHAPEL

It looked like a cosy wooden beach hut, with just a few community centre chairs in rows before the lectern. He imagined the laid back locals nodding at his sermons, really taking them in because they knew him personally. He imagined the slow pace of life, with ample time for meditating in the sunshine and holding community events that livened up unpolluted streets. He imagined his career making a nosedive, crashing and burning into obscurity.

"So?" Mary smiled. "Which one would you like to take?"

"I... I..."

"You?"

"...I'm not sure." Saheel rested his sweaty head on the desk.

"Saheel," said Mary, leaping out of her chair. "I can't make this decision for you. Look, I've had back-to-back tutorials today, so I’m going to pop to the loo. If you still aren't sure when I come back... well, I don't know what we’re going to do with you."

She sped out the room, apparently more desperate than she'd been letting on. He sat restlessly in thought, unable to stop fidgeting.

"Hey, Mary, I know it's late but I still need to choose a—" Sean, an ex-friend of Saheel's, strolled into the office. His voice was distinctly tinged with an Irish aggression. "Oh, hi, Saheel. Have you seen Mary?"

Saheel scowled. "No."

His classmate shrugged. He always complained of feeling cold, even in summer, which was probably why he was currently wearing a sweater and scarf.

"Can I wait here with you?" Sean asked. "How have you been, anyway, man?"

"I'd really rather you didn't," said Saheel, turning up his nose. "As for how I've been? Yes, Sean, how have I been? I've been *single*. That's how I've been."

Sean guiltily fingered his engagement ring. "This is getting ridiculous with you. Can't we leave all that back in first year?"

"I called dibs. Some mate you were."

"She approached me. And that was months after you'd said anything about her—"

"I was working up the courage!" Saheel spat. He really thought he had been, anyway.

"A priest needs to be able to forgive," said Sean. "I'm asking you here to forgive me. Dove and I are really happy together, man."

"Good for you," said Saheel, flushing hot with rage.

He turned his attention back to the two sheets of paper, and imagined himself standing before each congregation. What he wanted more than anything else right now was to feel powerful, to have people listening to him and making him feel like he was worth something. So he decided on Barden City Cathedral.

"Sorry about that, Saheel," said Mary, walking in through the door. "Oh, Sean! Looks like I don't have to chase you down, then. You still need to choose your placement."

"I'd like this one," said Sean, holding up the Barden City Cathedral. "Sorry, is that alright with you, Saheel? You were here first and all."

"Don't worry." She grimaced. "Saheel was letting God decide. I'm sure you'll be happy with Sandbank all the same, won't you?"

"Of course!" snapped Saheel. "Of course!"

And he stormed out of the office, shoving the fan to the floor, holding his thumb up.

8? — MAJORITY REACHED

Just like that, he was back in his stocky body, clothed in the Sandbank robe, stuck in a cruel democratic chamber high above the clouds of some hell.

His wounds were gone, but he wasn’t quite sure the pain would ever go away.