Dai ran the race of his life. He was oblivious to the pain from his injuries. A bright light shone in his eyes. A helicopter appeared, hovering above the scene. He saw a man dangling out of the open door, like a spider hanging from a web. He was holding a camera to his face. The pilot skilfully manoeuvred the chopper, training the spot light on the bridge and  illuminating the grotesque form, hoping to capture more fantastic footage of Jack.

Rhys pushed through the people gathered at the roadside. Each onlooker was hesitant. None brave enough to get involved in the action below them on the aqueduct. Tearing through the undergrowth and grasping branches of the tree-lined footpath, he stumbled to the bottom, just in time to see Dai reach Morgan. He groped for the loaded Stigma, tucked away in the concealed holster, like a baby sleeping in a cradle. He pulled it free and holding it steady with two hands, he released the safety catch, aimed and fired.

The second she heard the gunshot, Morgan felt a force punch her in the back. She let out a howl like the scream of a hunted fox, as a knife of pain sliced through her chest. Her howl was silenced as her body crashed into the turbid waters of the canal.

At that same moment that Dai struck Morgan, pushing her into the water, he felt a searing pain rip through his shoulder and he fell quivering and bloodied from the gunshot wound, at the feet of his adversary. Twice Dai had saved her from the clutches of fate: the ripping, spawning claws of Jack...