The Central Research Headquarters fell back into silence as the fifth and final body collapsed to the floor. For the first time since his work had been interrupted, Ewan took a glance around. In what must have been under a minute, the scene had changed from seven uniformed men working at computer desks, to two men standing among a collection of dead bodies on the bloodied floor. Alex rested a hand against the nearest desk and gasped a sentence.

‘Five kills, no bullets, no scratches,’ he said.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Ewan grunted. ‘My leg and back are—’

‘Whatever. You win, mate. Three to two… lucky boy.’

‘It’s never luck.’

Alex’s laugh came with a wheezy cough.

‘Never luck? Good job one of us saw the alert before they could open fire!’

Ewan ignored Alex’s compliment-fishing, and ran back to his workstation. The progress bar had barely travelled across the screen. Perhaps a quarter of the files had been deleted, maybe fewer.

To the left of the entrance, a telephone started to ring.

Ewan’s eyes perked. The sight of a landline phone was rare enough, but the timing couldn’t possibly have been a coincidence.

‘So… are we answering it?’ asked Alex. ‘I mean, Marshall knows we’re here anyway.’

‘Well volunteered, Alex.’

Alex rolled his eyes, stumbled over to the entrance and picked up the headset.

‘McCormick and Sons Family Butchers, good quality meat-carving since Year Zero. How can I help?’

Alex fell silent for a couple of seconds, rolled his eyes again, and held out the phone towards Ewan.

‘He wants you, not me. Story of my life.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Iain Marshall.’

Ewan gritted his teeth, and cast a frown towards the CCTV camera above him. He took the phone from Alex, and began to snarl.

‘I’m listening.’

‘Ewan West, I believe?’ said the voice.

‘I’m listening.’

‘Good. My name’s Iain Marshall, Head of Military Division. I’m guessing you’ve heard of me?’

‘Actually yeah,’ Ewan said with a grin towards the camera. ‘You used to be important before Nicholas Grant took your security company from you. But he decided to keep you instead of killing you. For a failed businessman you’ve done fairly well for yourself.’

Alex sprinted to fetch his assault rifle, and stood guard against the door.

More clones have been called , and all three of us know it. But we can’t leave before the files finish deleting. One push of a button c ould cancel all our work.

‘You’ve done fairly well too,’ answered Marshall. ‘Leading the charge against an innumerable army, in the face of autism, Pathological Demand Avoidance, intense behavioural issues, exclusion from six different schools, and just generally being a twat.’

‘So you’ve read up on me. Oh, I’m so scared.’

‘Yes, I have. You look a lot different from the passport photo I’ve been looking at.’