She screamed with such force the entire warehouse shook with fright. Her knife punctured Tucker's skin, entering him till it would go no further. Violent air blasted from his mouth. He collapsed convulsing, choking on bile and blood. Fluids pooled from his trousers and slicked the floor.

Kasia fell against corrugated iron and covered her face with trembling hands. She pushed against the wall with her legs in a futile attempt to get away.

Everyone else stood rigid with confusion and horror. Between all of them, the iron slab of Desert Eagle rested.

A worker leapt towards it. Luca was on him too fast, tasering his neck and taking the pistol himself. The room filled with noise, as one by one those inside jumped into the fight. Zenia kicked another man back and covered Kasia as Curtis exchanged fists with a second. Across the room, Sermon let off a fierce roar, windmilling into the mob with flying fists.

It took seconds of fumbling for Luca to realise the gun was fake. Severely outnumbered, one trick remained. He yelled at the van, tossing the pistol against its window, summoning those within for backup.

In their weeks together, the recruits had come to forget those ferrying them about. Their recipients saw an ordinary delivery van, fronted with black windows, and mistook it for a driverless autopilot. This was intended. If either group required force, the drivers inside were equipped to assist.

Out they came, two stocky West Africans with polished bald domes and stout muscles. They levelled riot guns - tubed bazookas with drum-shaped magazines - and loosed them on every American in sight. They beat dull, like a helicopter's rotor, as razored cannisters pounded against men and sent them flying.

The workers reeled; the revolutionaries laid on the attack. Zenia turned her mark against the wall, smacking his head against a strut until it glossed with red. Sermon bounced around, isolated and frenzied, hacking anyone who came near. The biggest of them made it through his attacks, wrestling him off the floor and into a stack of kegs. Both struggled for an advantage, and in a pause of eye contact and mental battle, he spat a slur in Sermon's face.

Luca trained his taser and waited. The drivers charged around him, using their emptied guns as clubs. One of their victims rocketed into the corporal's back. Luca held steady. Sermon saw the fizzing blue, and spun under his opponent. An acute bolt sliced through the man’s cheek and into his gums. He fell down. Sermon kicked him over and started stamping his face.

The recruits bundled Kasia into the van and called for their boss to leave. Luca assessed the scene, finding men fleeing in panic or writhing in agony. All was clear.

One issue remained. He dismissed drivers.

Tucker lay prone, paralysed with pain and fear, with Kasia’s knife lodged in his perineum. Luca grabbed the hilt and slid it out. Then he yanked the man's head up, craning it backwards, and slit his throat. Tucker's neck yawned open, and victorious Luca watched him fade.

He mounted the van and called the retreat.

Streets and sights passed in silence. The van rocked its passengers gently. Luca muttered into his phone using dense military jargon beyond the recruits ears. He finished, and leant forward to address them.

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"My superior is aware and will take this issue over; we will all be fine. Now you know why we keep the drivers separate."

“What happened with their boss? I mean... he's dead, right?”

Luca grit his teeth. Curtis had gormlessly asked the one question he really didn’t need to hear. He caught Kasia’s chest rising, her hands squeezing her seat.

The gravity of a first kill. Luca chose to rescue her.

“He would have survived Kasia’s attack; I did him myself on the way out. If there were any problems, they would be on me alone.”

Kasia’s grip loosened. She snivelled. Luca wiped her knife against his jacket, streaking the fabric crimson, and handed it back.

“Tanto, isn’t it. Elegant… much nicer than the knife I’ve been issued with. Have you been carrying this with you since the beginning?”

Her head flicked once, admitting guilt. As she sheathed the blade, its scabbard's foil lining glinted. Luca snorted, too wired with adrenaline to tell her off. Curtis gawped at it, his mouth hanging open placid.

“You said we wouldn’t need proper trainin’ or anythin’ mate. If this is ‘ow things are gonna be, I don’t reckon I can carry on, just sayin’.”

Luca muttered to himself.

“We can’t just openly train people, it takes time and money and it exposes us. What if a police drone clocked a group of civilians doing weapon drill?” he felt a dissenting mood in the air and changed tack, "however... given how the last drop just went, I think I can put a little plan together for a one off lesson."

“And I think we should give her a bit more money,” Zenia pointed at Kasia, “for her trouble. And for our trouble, maybe we don’t spend all night shifting deliveries for your 'non-revolutionary' superiors? Since we are mere couriers…”

Backed into a corner, Luca could only agree. He called for a wad of notes from the driver's cabin and shared them out, taking none for himself. Kasia kept distant; money hanging limp in her hand. He stuffed them into her hoodie pocket for her, failed to get any further response, and gave up.

Sermon watched, bleakly imagining what she thought of him, hoping his heavy sense of guilt could in time heal the truth: back at the warehouse, before the fight, he was prepared to leave her behind.

There was something else on his mind too.

The van rumbled over gravel. They were at Sermon and Kasia's drop-off point, close to home. Twilight covered them.

Luca hopped outside and waited with Sermon as Kasia shambled away in a daze. The two men found a few seconds together.

“How did you find that?”

“Not good mate, to be honest,” Sermon tutted, his eyes vacant, “that big lad called me somethin'... somethin' I never thought I'd hear in real life.”

"What're you talking about?"

"He called me a nigger, Luca."

Luca made an expression Sermon had seen before: awkward, dumb, glazed over, embarrassed. All in a single face. Luca tried his best.

"You’re not that though, are you! It's just what they're like. I had to deal with it back there too that manager would not shut up. 'As an American, here’s what I think, from the point of view of an American'. As you say, it's like the online world in real life," he rubbed Sermon's arm, "that's just them though, isn't it? All of the ego with none of the sense."

"Yea it's not just them though is it!? I’m getting pretty sick of everyone sayin' we got rid of race, when every week I’m havin' to laugh off comments about my skin-"

"Sermon! Things were much worse before and they’re getting better. We just have to carry on!" he looked around and shrugged, "are you doing anything later?"

Sermon scowled at him, "I'll be clubbin’."

"Oh... I thought... can’t we meet up again?"

"You cant give me what I need right now."

"Why not?"

He stepped away, "You outrank me."

Sermon moved aside to let the van pass. Kasia was far ahead, walking back to the estate and oblivious to all around her.

He couldn't face it. He watched her turn the corner, and took another route.