August 31, 1985

Jason Treborn adjusts the timer on the Kodak camera resting on the steel tripod and makes a last-second check to see if the film reel had been loaded properly. He looks towards his wife and son, both sitting on a bench in a public park.

"Get ready," he says. "Camera's gonna flash in ten seconds."

He sits, with his arm around his wife and his son sitting on his lap. This Saturday is a special treat for him, a temporary getaway from the hectic pressures of his job. A job in which he is very good at, where his boss and co-workers say that he is without peer. He pushes those thoughts aside. Today, they do not exist.

The Kodak flashes precisely on schedule.

Jason suddenly looks around.

"I made it!" he says. "I'm back. I won't let those bastards ruin everything."

"What's going on?" asks his wife.

"I'm gonna make sure no one takes away my company. I just need a pen and pa-aww!"

He suddenly clutches his head, which pounds like jackhammers. Blood trickles down his nose.

He then falls forward.

"Jason!" yells his wife. "Someone call 911!"