No fury came to Brython, only fatigue. He asked the chief, ‘Is this true?’

The chief’s mouth worked. He went to yell at Max but instead he turned to Brython and accused, ‘It’s all over. The Beast, it’s done for. And you’re the one who just finished her off.’

Brython said nothing. And Geraldine, who took the chief’s downfall as a small consolation, jumped in: ‘Well, you treacherous oaf, we won’t miss you. Are you going to go take a seat with our new senior reporter or are you going to let us have the police give you a beating first?’

The chief merely took his phone out of his pocket and flicked it aside to skitter across the concrete. ‘When you come begging for a job on FunOnline, Geraldine, I’ll give you one. Remember that.’ And he walked unescorted to the meeting room.

Brython said to Max, ‘Take over then, if that’s what you want. Get them working.’

And Max, unsure whether his colleagues would obey him, called them by name. ‘Jez, can you take over the Terror pod.’

But Jeremy was still seeing the shadow of the Editor’s pistol loom across the fuzzy screens, a terrible reality intruding. This body, this job, this room… this was the life he was in. And life’s only conclusion lay on the floor under an orange sheet.

‘Jez,’ said Max again. ‘Take over the pod.’

Jeremy shook his head. ‘No. No. Sorry, Max. I’m leaving. I quit. Sorry.’

Max held his gaze, asking with the privileges of their long friendship. Then Max looked away and Jeremy walked out, very simply, on his own feet.

As he went through the newsroom, he heard Max behind him call, ‘Will, you’re running the pod. Take my seat. You can handle it.’ And Will, with shock still audible in his voice, replied, ‘I’m on it, chief. Rosie, you’re with me.’

The great toothed wheels of the Beast’s machinery again began to turn. One by one, the keyboards began to clatter. Phones rang, section editors demanded copy, noise rose from every corner. Geraldine stood at one end of the Newsdesk, almost overcome by devotion as she served under Brython for the last time, and commanded her subordinates above the growing din: ‘Get on the phones. Call all the papers, the TV channels, even call bloody BBC Radio Berkshire, and give them the teaser. In five minutes, this is going to be breaking everywhere in the world.’