The scary side of the Experiment Chamber lay open before him, and Ewan engaged in a one-man war against the horrors of military science. He released his first incendiary grenade, which landed at the base of the first metal pillar. It exploded with a furious vomit of fire, which spread across the tiled floor and spilled up the pillar towards its border points. Ewan threw a second grenade at the other pillar, and a third at the collection of metal objects in the corner. They both exploded with equal ferocity, and through squinted eyes Ewan could see the objects in the pile begin to alter their shapes, and then melt. The border points, however, were holding on for longer.

With three nearby fires burning at over 2,000 degrees Celsius, Ewan’s skin prickled with sweat. He turned his rifle the right way round, and fired his bullets into the control panel. The gun clicked before he thought it would, and he threw his assault rifle to one side with a snarl. He would have to approach Floor B with nothing but his handgun.

The Experiment Chamber was all but destroyed, with one incendiary grenade remaining. But Ewan’s head was turning woozy. The fires around him began to moan and shout. The chamber had no flammable objects inside, but it was drenched in roaring flames regardless as the incendiary grenades burned on their own fuel. The thermite reactions would continue until they got bored of destruction, eating away at their surroundings and choking up the atmosphere.

It was time to quit while he was ahead. Ewan staggered towards the door and reached for the handle, just in time to hear the click-clack of the door locking itself. Ewan pulled, but nothing happened. He swiped his stolen keycard, and was met with a red LED.

He was trapped inside the burning chamber, and the smoke was descending around him.

Ewan looked out of the porthole-shaped window. The grinning young assassin on the other side had fiery ginger hair.

Chapter 20

Oliver Roth waved a friendly hand through the porthole window. Then he turned it round and stuck up a middle finger.

Ewan did not respond. His brain was split between two tasks: searching for an idea that would give him the slightest chance of survival, and outstaring his enemy. He pointed his nastiest expression towards the fourteen-year-old assassin who had killed eight of McCormick’s army – soon to become nine – and hoped that just for those couple of seconds, Roth would see in Ewan’s eyes just how much he hated him.

Ewan heard a buzz from the edge of the door. Roth had pressed the security intercom. With no better ideas, Ewan pressed the talk button and let his enemy’s voice into the room.

‘Surprise, retard,’ said Roth happily. ‘Long time, no see.’

‘Yeah,’ Ewan snarled into his side of the intercom, ‘it’s been a few weeks. How’s your broken nose?’