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Ten Seconds: The gun in Jack's hand jerks, sending his final message straight at his wife's head. Fast divorce, Hollywood-style.
Ten minutes: She's behind that door, he can tell. The door to the apartment she shares with Jack, secretly fucking some heshe fetishist with the gender reset genome plugin. She'd try to defend herself. But Jack was having none of it.
One hour: The vidcard sits on the bar, showing her face twisted with ecstasy. It's the latest movie doing the p2p rounds, film star's wife fucks weirdo. It cost ten dollars to see her face, to see proof. It's less than the beer Jack's drinking.
Twelve hours: "Jack, I don't care if you believe me. I know it's fashionable for you stars to pretend you have secrets but the world does still see things. And for the past six hours they've been seeing your wife fucking the brains out of some gender-transient creature from last year's boy-band."
One Second: This is how low he will go. This is the difference twelve hours can make to a man's life. Film star to murderer. The gun tastes strange in Jack's mouth. The vidcard plays on the table.
Bang.
