“Hang on,” James said. “So, basically, no matter what, either my wife and daughter are fucked, or Tom and my son are fucked. Assuming my fucking head doesn’t blow up.”

The sinister man stood back. This was the ninth time, but no one had taken it quite like this.

When in doubt, stick to the script.

“If you panic, James-”

“Who’s fucking panicking? I asked a simple question. No matter what I do, someone I love gets fucked, yes or no, asshat?”

“You only have eight seconds-”

“You already said that, jackhole. Alright. Do whatcha gotta do.”

The man in black smiled and pressed a button on his remote.

Of the previous subjects, five sat paralyzed and wasted time, one fainted, and two ran. James jumped up; good, a runner-

-and ran straight towards him.

The man dropped his cig and went for his knife, but James got him in a bear-hug first.

“Six!” James yelled in his ear, pressing the bomb against his jugular. “Five! Four! Three! Two!”

The man used the remote pressed against his leg.

This was not the plan.