‘SHOOT HIM,’ the woman screams as the dark-haired man cracks the shotgun open again. Ben feels her bucking underneath him. Fighting to get his weight off her. The danger is immediate. The threat is obvious. The man is reloading the shotgun. The ginger man is trying to detonate his bomb. They have to be stopped or everyone will die. The woman twists to aim one of the pistols up towards Ben. He grabs the back of her head with two fistfuls of hair and slams her down into the concrete ground with barely a flicker showing on his face. He lunges at the black pistol in her right hand as another huge explosion comes from the tiled entranceway and more people scream, shout and yell out in pain from the pellets striking them.

He wrenches the pistol from her grip, stands up and fires down once into her head. The recoil sends him staggering backwards, tripping and sliding over body parts. Ben looks over at the dark-haired man snapping the shotgun closed and holds the pistol with both hands, points and squeezes the trigger. The first bullet hits the dark-haired man in the stomach so Ben fires again and again. The man smashes backwards into the wall behind him, pulling the triggers to fire both barrels of the shotgun into the ceiling before slumping down, leaving a thick smear of blood on the shiny tiles behind him.

A scream to Ben’s left and he turns to see a woman in an I Love London top running at him with a huge bloody knife in her hand. He turns and fires, ice cold and perfectly calm. The bullet hits her chest, spinning through her heart.