Basher liked to watch things burn. He loved the split second of sheer terror and total power when his thumb depressed the trigger. He lived to see things explode, to watch things fall to pieces, and to know it was all because of him. He liked the lovely flare of orange-red when the fire soared into the night sky. Like a fucking firework.

That�s why Basher loved chemistry so much when he was in school. Maths wasn�t his strong point, but he forced himself to study it � if only to better understand the science of explosions.

So Basher wasn�t a munitions expert for the pay. It was a shitty job, to be honest. All the research and all the work and all the exactness basically added up to bollocks unless you were a nuclear physicist on the government payroll.

That�s why Basher became a thief.

It was hard to do the job properly, though, surrounded by the local idiots who liked to pretend they were all cool and professional. Their attitudes, all that strutting about, just gave Basher a headache. He missed working with proper villains, that�s what.

�Naw, naw, �tisn�t right to go about it that way,� said Dom. Dom was twenty-two and good with computer systems and he thought he was the shit. He had a missing tooth and it gaped at Basher whenever Dom opened his mouth. �Can�t we just go in and stick �em up?�

�Right, brilliant, because it�s still the bloody 1920s, and banks don�t have video cameras or security systems,� said Basher. �I didn�t join up with you wankers for my health, did I? You need to fucking take down the alarm system and the security feed. Or this is all for naught, you hear me?�

�Yeah,� grumbled Dom. �What the fuck ever, man. Let�s just go.�

Basher gritted his teeth. He closed his eyes and thought of England. On fire.