‘Nice shot,’ sarcasm dripping.

‘Green was in the way.’

‘That matters why?’

‘He’s not part of this.’

‘Everyone is part of this. Everyone.’

They removed the towels and watched Victor struggle to speak, red blood spitting out of his mouth.

‘They’re coming back.’

One stood and ran out to meet the rest, ‘Where is…’ Their voice faded as the group got turned away, looking for some other item.

A survivor stood and opened up Victor’s chest bomb lying on the table, sliding out a piece of the explosive and walking back to Victor, tucking it into his neck wound. They connected the detonator to the explosive and then placing it in Victor’s hand, pressing his fingers and applying the necessary pressure to activate the bomb. They fingered Victor’s comfortably worn trench coat and sighed. What a waste.

‘God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.’

Quietly, they filed out of the room.

‘How did you know how to do that?’

‘I just did.’

‘In your mind.’ It wasn’t a question.

The other shrugged as they rounded the corner. They didn’t have to wait long for the explosion to obliterate the conference room and poor, sad, tortured Mr. Victor Wes.