They made it down the corner of the street, a saloon car raced down the road and screeched outside where the three hobbled. A shadowed face emerged from behind the driver's seat it was Jacques the arms dealer.

"Get in!" he said through the window of the vehicle. Young sighed in relief and Decker was placed carefully in the back. Henri Rota was also in the car; he was in the back with a sawn-off shotgun between his legs scanning outside through the window. Decker groaned on his lap clutching his neck trying to rub away the sharp, teeth grinding tingling. The car's tires span and two doors slammed shut as Decker's body jerked further back on the seats, the car sped off. Jacques never spoke just focused on the road ahead, speeding down the tree-lined street that was obstructed with parked cars. "Is every one alright?" Jacques finally spoke, as they were a significant distance from the hotel. Young nodded, Erin also nodded, Decker groaned out a no. "Good" Jacques whispered, looking in the mirror at Decker. "Take the next left" Henri instructed, Jacques nodded. The trio were being taken back to a Silhouette hideout.

"Merde!" Henri screamed. There was a tremendous loud shattering sound and a tinny sound of automatic fire penetrating the metal doors coming from the right side. The car jerked and the tires screamed as it was pelted hard with gunfire. The car was flooded with fragments of glass and the smell of burning; Decker glanced up from his lying position, the streetlight pierced through the red bloodstain on the front windscreen. The saloon ploughed off the road and crunched into a doorway of a white building. The front airbags erupted cushioning the now dead Jacques and the passenger Young. Decker was hurtled into the backs of the front seats and lay in between the legs of Henri and Erin.

"Merde, MERDE! MERDE!!" Henri cursed fiddling with the sawn-off shotgun. He fired two smoky shots off and opened the door flooding the car with night air. Erin dragged Decker by the feet out the car and then pulled Young out of the left side door. She screamed as she saw Young sitting back in his seat, his eyes blinking furiously on his powdered face. Jacque's body was slumped in the collapsed airbag bloodstained and dripping. The chattering of fire restarted as a sentry robot, a Bravo-3 Peacebringer, bounded down the pavement, firing from the revolving mini-gun attached to its torso, which hung between it's bouncing legs. The tri-toed machine showered the car again with a hail of fire. Young fell out of the door and rolled on the floor, Henri fire aimlessly at the robot, screaming at them to leave. The building the car had hit was a deserted 17^th Century house; the wooden double doors had been removed on impact so the trio ran inside as Henri tried to slow down the oncoming robot with his shotgun.

The house was spacious as it had been stripe bare in a riot. The white washed walls were now covered in black damp mould and had been vandalised with spray painted graffiti. Decker was still trying to shake of the shock of the car crash and Erin had turned pale, her eyes were once again wide and alert. They climbed the stairs waiting halfway for Henri to retreat into the house.

As Henri turned towards to doorway, a screeching whistle overpowered the sound of gunfire. The car exploded in a bright orange flash engulfing Henri in a ball of flames. The vehicle was thrown through the air crushing Henri's burnt corpse against the far wall. The flames entered the house rolling across the ceiling in a small flickering surge. The remains of the twisted vehicle grinded to a halt and sat like a blackened, broken eggshell across the road, pumping out thick, black, petrol-reeking smoke. The high-pitched whistle was heard again as a rocket-propelled explosive exploded against the doorway, shattering the double doors into matchwood, cracking the stone doorway and illuminating the darkened corridors of the house.

A dark black van pulled up outside across the road and Majestic Twelve troops jumped out on to the street. The squadron poured out in groups of four, black helmets shining in the streetlights and flames. The three of them retreated upstairs as the screams of the instructing commandos and the trampling of feet got closer and entered the house. Searching torchlights flickered on piercing through the banisters on the stairs seeking out the fugitives.

Once again they were on the run, their thumping footsteps echoed pursuing them as they ran past rows of empty raided rooms some contained the brown, squashy mattresses of the numerous squatters. The house they were hiding in was a layered with spacious oak floored rooms, and had miles of corridors. It was a labyrinth.