Author's Note: Aaaas promised, here's the new chap! And it even turned out to be way longer as planned :P I also realised that I didn't respond to comments aaaand yes I am sorry for that and feel so ashamed that I'm gonna get naked and walk through the streets now like *CLINGCLINGCLING* SHAME *CLING* (shout out to everyone who gets that reference)

BeOurGuest (guest name?): to your second question - I haven't planned on writing a seperate ff focusing on Merlin, but don't worry, he's gonna play a big role in this ff as well (not least because he's one damn. sexy. beast.) :) to your first question - You are very welcome to keep reading and find out yourself :P After all, isn't it sooo much FUN to wait for some mystery's solution for weeks, months and even YEARS? :DD ... No? Oh. Well. Tough titty.

Oh, yeah and btw we've passed the 50,000 views mark y'aaaaaall! Thank you so much for reading this story, it's really a pleasure writing for Kingsman fans :)

Now, please enjoy, Ladies and Gentlemen, and keep reviewiiing! (no, not at all pushy ^^)


The English Way

Alasdair Whitehall shined with bliss. White clouds merged with the snowy fairness of his features, his eyes were closed, his head put back, his lips mouthed the lyrics: "Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way", before pleasurably closing around the joint again.

The sight had Victoria seething.

When she'd entered Whitehall Manor just moments before, it had been fear that had quickened her pulse, made it hard to breathe. The sight of different craftsmen, carpenters, construction workers, plumbers and so many more, stripping the house from its furniture piece by piece, or battering walls down, gouging holes in some others, had confused her and had her mind racing. Could this renovation underlie some bleak reason? Did Alasdair somehow go broke despite his recent fame? Did the bad memories associated with this place gain the upper hand after all, making him abandoning his childhood home because he wasn't able to cope with them anymore? He had been exposed to a ton of stress lately; had it gotten the better of him eventually?

But then she'd heard familiar tunes - Time by Pink Floyd, one of the songs on the mix tapes he'd given her upon his leaving Kingsman - echoing through the halls that grew louder and louder the closer she got to Alasdair's office. Music had always been his passion, his anchor that simultaneously grounded him in reality and offered an escape from the very same. Silence around Alasdair Whitehall meant that he wasn't being himself, that he wasn't well, just like last time they'd met. Hearing it playing here had therefore washed all fear away in an instant, left nothing but excitement of seeing her best friend again... until she'd entered the office and seen him standing on the balcony, smoking marihuana. Bloody marihuana!

With just a few steps Victoria was at his side and hissed: "What on earth do you think you're doing?"

He whipped around, smiled and saluted. "Vic, Ma'am, so great to see you, Ma'am! You look stunning as always, a tiny bit battered though. Are you okay?"

"So, you won't even try to deny it?"

"Deny what?"

"That you are doing bloody drugs!" She tried to snap the cigarette from his hand, but apparently the psychedelic hadn't affected his Kingsman-trained reflexes.

"Stop exaggerating!", he laughed. "It's just weed. My doctor prescribed it to me for stress relief." Sighing, he examined the smoke's orange glinting end up close. "Medical marihuana... what a time to be alive, huh?"

Victoria crossed her arms. "A time where it's still illegal."

"Funny how that little fact's completely irrelevant when you're rich… You can relax, though. It's weak stuff. I don't feel high at all." Victoria noticed how unsatisfied he sounded at this statement, making her fume even more.

What kind of doctor turned to such unconventional methods? What prompted them to deem them necessary to support Alasdair in his everyday life? It wasn't like he was some fragile little boy, goddammit! No, he was a grown man, an English man who was more than capable of coping with the burdens his father's death entailed without having to resort to something like that… or was he? Was her assessment of her best friend's character wrong after all? Was he hiding something from her? Her, his supposedly best friend?

"Alasdair— "

"Victoria, when you get to hold two doctor's degrees, we can continue this conversation.", he cut her off harshly, a bitterness resonating in his voice that he'd never used when talking to her before. "Until then let me enjoy David Gilmour's brilliance. The files you wanted are on the desk inside." With that he just let the music drown out every other sound around them with the remote in his free hand, including Victoria's objections, which she let drop as soon as she realised that he wouldn't let anything disturb him in reveling in the coming guitar solo, so she just shook her head and reentered the office.

Perhaps it was better this way, avoiding each other's company for the moment. They've never been angry with each other before and Victoria was at a loss of how to react to that, so she decided to focus on what she'd come here to do.

As promised, the documents containing information about cooperations, affiliated companies, their financial movements, as well as their connections to Whitehall board members – all of which so secret to outsiders that it would put Alasdair in serious trouble were anyone to get scent of him giving it away – were piled up within a brown folder on the mahogany table at the back of the office. A yellow post-it note stuck to the topmost paper reading Jane Bond, which Victoria would have laughed at if it wasn't for the bad or rather pondering mood she was—

Something glinting on the floor made Victoria huff. It was already difficult enough to concentrate with rock music blasting around her as well as the anger still boiling in her guts without additional visual distraction, so she snapped the folder in her hands shut and picked up whatever created this utterly annoying sparkling. It was a splinter of glass, thin glass, probably by some tipped over wineglass – no, something smoother, not that it mattered, Victoria'd litter it any—

The picture.

Victoria frowned, eyed the table anew.

Yes, her subconscious had been right. The photograph showing a young Alasdair and his family that she'd marvelled at the last time she'd been here, was gone. It must have dropped, which was hardly surprising, considering how cluttered this desk was… Or… perhaps it hadn't dropped after all… rather… smashed…

No. That was just her grim mood speaking, her bleak imagination. Alasdair had not broken the picture intentionally, it had dropped, clearly… But why hadn't he replaced it yet? Perhaps it'd happened today… Or he didn't want to replace it…

Victoria took another look outside.

The guitar solo was nearing the end, but Alasdair didn't seem ready to snap out of his trance-like state yet. Good. She didn't want him to think she was spying on him, because she suspected him of being dishonest with her.

Not taking her gaze from him, she quickly reached under the desk for the small dust bin she knew was there. Again and again she reassured herself that her friend wasn't looking, whilst rummaging about in the bin, not sure what exactly she was looking for herself. More broken glass telling her that it'd been an accident that happened today? Remains of the picture itself? Perhaps with marks of burning? No, no, that was far, far too dramatic! Or was it? Had her assessment failed there as well? She couldn't find anything in the dust bin pointing in that direction. In fact, she couldn't find anything of interest, only shredded documents, a bunch of misprints, teabags, banana peel, parts of a peeled off label, some more shredded papers…

Wait. Victoria took another, closer look at the label pieces. They were so torn and rumpled that only bits of print, the letters SRI, were readable, but it was enough to ring a bell. Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered having read those initials before. But where?

Her attempt to remember was cut off when she saw Alasdair turn in the corner of her eye. In one quick motion she shoved the dust bin back and leant against the desk, acting absorbed in the files in her hands.

"So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking", he strode in singing, turning down the volume with his left hand and closing the balcony doors in a swift dancing move with his right, before grabbing some air freshener from the shelf next to him.

"As if that worked.", Victoria murmured, shaking her head.

Alasdair turned to her, visibly surprised – and relieved – by the smirk on her face. He shrugged. "It's worth a try. Herb's not too keen on the pot either."

"And what does he think about your decision to sell the house?"

For a moment, Alasdair stood still. Then he put his hands in his pockets, strolled over to her and sat down on the table right next to where she leant. "What gave it away? The construction workers or the removal vans?"

"Actually, you just did.", Victoria said, putting the files down to look at him. "I wasn't sure whether you're just renovating. I honestly couldn't believe you would sell this place. Alasdair… this is your home, the house you grew up in. I know it's not always associated with pleasant memories, but… it belongs to your family. Your ancestors have built it generations ago. Do you really want to discard their legacy?"

"I'm not, because I'm not selling it."

"You just said—"

"I'm giving it away for free." Before horror even got the chance to kick in, Alasdair clarified, his face soft, eventually rid of irritation it had worn before: "To charity, Victoria. I'm donating this estate to charity. The sheer beauty of it has always been reserved to family members only and I thought it was time for others to take pleasure in it as well and learn about my family's rich history along the way. From now on, this will not be known as Whitehall Manor anymore, but Whitehall House, home to orphaned, troubled and disadvantaged children." He paused, either for effect or to offer Victoria to have the floor, though, she didn't, so Alasdair continued. "We're renovating to make this place livelier, you know, more colourful, and playful and less… Addams Family-ish. Not that I don't like them. As a little boy I so wanted to be Wednesday, even asked my mum if I could have black hair – fastest "no" I ever got – today I'm more Gomez inclined, but for waaay different reasons." He sighed, gazing into space. "Oh, Morticia… what a woman…"

Obviously finished now, he looked at her, his eyes searching for some kind of reaction in her expression, but she just stood there, stiff as a statue, completely stunned by this turn their conversation had taken.

One moment he's letting a side of him, a self-destructive, sour side, shine through that put her into the most unfavourable position and the next he's revealed to be the most compassionate and endearing person after all, the person she'd chosen as her best friend. Victoria's heart sank at the thought of this angel of a young man having had to suffer so many heavy setbacks in his life already, and not for the first time did she wonder where he was summoning the strength from to maintain such a positive, buoyant attitude that it, literally, took her breath away.

"Alasdair…", she only managed to utter in a whisper thereby. "…that's beautiful." She felt tears welling up in her eyes, so she cleared her throat and quickly looked away from his now beaming face, back to the desk where she viewed the messy paperwork on it in a completely different light now, and realised how some slips were scribbled over with crayons. "Are those…?"

"Letters by the kids, yeah. I mean, not really letters, it's more instructions really. Thought asking them for furnishing ideas would be the best way to transform this house into their personal paradise, but, actually, there wasn't any original input, I mean, nothing I hadn't come up with anyway. Oh, except this one girl's request for a Mulan-style training station! I so got to pay them a visit when it's finished. Got to bring honour to us all, right?" Upon seeing the confusion on her face, his jaw dropped. "Oh. My. God, you still haven't watched it! Vic, it's been almost two years since its release! TWO YEARS!"

Victoria frowned. "It's an animated movie for children, Alasdair…"

"IT'S A MOVIE FOR SOLDIERS. Shame on you, your family and your cow."

Victoria blinked at Alasdair.

Alasdair blinked at Victoria.

"You know,", she began after this moment of silence. "when I decided to come here for business reasons, I expected many things, but I did not expect my–" There they burst into laughter, heartfelt, loud laughter. " – MY – COW – GETTING – INSULTED!", Victoria more or less managed to utter in between laughs, but it was so immensely difficult to even produce the slightest of sounds with this broken type of breathing that she wasn't sure if the words actually reached Alasdair. It didn't matter, though. All what mattered was that they haven't laughed so hard since… Blimey, she couldn't even recall the last time! Must have been sometime during their training, which seemed like ages ago. And now it was as if nothing ever happened, as if not a single tragedy had incised their lives and they were just two friends, best friends, who were laughing together, clutching their bellies.

"Spe-speaking of business,", Alasdair brought out giggling after they'd calmed down a bit, still wiping tears from his cheeks that had blushed so hard they looked like loud pink blobs on an otherwise white canvass. "are the documents helpful?"

Victoria took a pocket mirror out of her purse to check on her make up. "I only skimmed them but they're certainly promising." Not completely satisfied with her appearance, but not concerned enough to care either, she put the mirror back and walked over to her friend to plant a kiss on one of those blob-cheeks. "Thank you so much, Alasdair. I really appreciate your support."

He shrugged, meeting her broad smile with one of his own. "Always a pleasure, Vic."

Careful not to ruck up the files in her left too much, she gave him another one-armed embrace and starting walking backwards. "It won't take too long analysing those. I'll keep you updated."

Surprise seized Alasdair's features. "You're leaving already?"

"Uhm, yes, well, Interpol's sort of breathing down our neck, so I'd rather have this done as soon as possible. Why? Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

As though being caught doing something wrong, he winced but ever so slightly that only people with refined skills of perception would make it out. "No! I mean, nothing specific. I was just thinking, I mean, it's my first day off in a while and I thought, well, now that you're here, we could, uh, hang out or something. Don't know, play some games or go out and eat…"

"Oh,", she replied, suddenly feeling guilty for not even having considered spending some quality time with her best friend. "I would love to, but we're really running out of time here, so I should probably keep going, you know?"

"Of course, sure, you're busy. Totally, uh, totally understandable. No one gets that better than I do."

"I'm sorry, I—", she started to apologise, but Alasdair cut in with hands held up.

"No, no, don't be! It's really no big deal! I'll just have some me-time then, no problem. No problem, at all."

Victoria paused for a second, then nodded, smiling. "Well, then…" With just a few striding steps, she reached the double doors forming the office's entrance. "We may need your help again, so, we'll probably see each other soon anyway."

"Looking forward to it."

"See you…", she said, exiting, then turned once more and with a nod towards the magazines beneath the children's letters, she gave Alasdair a smirk. "… twenty-first century boy…"

With that she closed the door behind her, approaching the construction noises around with an utterly different attitude than before. While fear and unease had accompanied the hammering and drilling only minutes before, now they radiated a certain progressive enthusiasm, sounded all happy, as if looking forward to building a wonderful new home — and future for that matter! – for several young people in need. Sadly, the effect was a little dimmed by Pink Floyd's gloomy lyrics still haunting her mind, but Victoria just zoned them out and focused on—

She froze.

Restlessness. Irritation. Changes of mood.

"... Desperation is the English way..."

Not SRI. SSRI. Of course, she had read it before. It had been printed on the pill's label she'd been prescribed to almost a year ago, pills... to counter depression.

Without thinking twice, Victoria turned on her heel, marched back to the office and entered, wearing the brightest smile she had in store. "You know what? I'll just stay here and let Merlin analyse the files. I'd be in his way anyway. You got a fax here?"

Alasdair, who'd apparently been doing nothing but staring holes into the ceiling, sat upright now, his pale face lighting up with joy. "You bet, sister!"

He burst with ideas of what they were going to do with the short time of togetherness, so thrilled was he about the prospect of spending time with his best friend that she didn't even feel guilty for burdening Merlin. After all, a Kingsman's utmost objective was to aid people in need, and if she had the opportunity to combine that with having fun, then why the hell not?

Eventually, they decided on going to the cinema, which, since Alasdair'd stored the latest film guide there, gave him the opportunity to show her what he called his 'kingdom' aka his bedroom.

"Bloody hell…", Victoria muttered under her breath, blinded by the blaze of colour she was greeted with upon entering. Shelves upon shelves of comic books and magazines lined up on one side, complemented by their corresponding action figures, props and other merchandise on the other. Above and around them there was Indiana Jones cracking his whip, David Bowie rocking the stage in voluptuous pose, a black-haired Uma Thurman with cigarette in hand, Darth Vader, CCR, Prince, Beetlejuice... The sheer number of posters, photos, newspaper articles and whatever else promotion material was papering the walls made the room appear both smaller and, strangely enough, even bigger than it already was, as the myriads of different sceneries, which minds were encouraged to dive into, provided for a certain infinity in non-physical space. That no less than four arcade machines adorned the back – one reading TRON on top, one Multi Williams, one featuring a game that must revolve around dancing from the looks of it as well as some racing game machine – came as no surprise, as dozens of video game cassettes piled up in the front, all around stacks of board games, boxes of jigsaw puzzles and LEGOs, a TV cabinet crammed with gaming consoles from, what Victoria guessed, the last two decades and, opposite to the latter, a spaceship double bed as icing on the cake. It was a child's paradise, predestined to make little ones' eyes twinkle... and those of the young adult next to her too.

"Yep, I was very much alone in my childhood,", Alasdair explained, his chest swollen with pride. "but very much a rich boy and never bored. Besides, I had Herb to play with me. He wouldn't admit it if you asked him, but he killed it at some games." In a whisper, he added: "And still does.", before gracefully navigating through the wood of piles straight up to what Victoria identified as a Super NES – oh, childhood memories... she should definitely pay her brothers a visit soon. Setting it up, her friend kept talking, whilst she turned in a much less effortless walk over to him. "He thinks I wouldn't notice that he's still into it and plays when I am gone, but he always forgets to properly log out, so every other playing session he's surprised anew by 'the game' having changed his character names into something…different."

Finally reaching Alasdair, Victoria took a look at the screen and couldn't help but snort at the high score list being composed of names such as ValdBagina, WilmaFingerdoo and BawlzaacNewton, especially since the very first one simply read 'Herbert'.

Beginning to delete that one as well, Alasdair asked: "So, what are we going to make of that one?"

"How aboooout... Mr. Pickle?"

He paused, looked up. "Mr. Pickle? Is that a metaphor for..." For just a second, his eyes indicated downwards his own body, whereupon Victoria slapped his arm.

"No, you swine! It's the name of a friend's dead dog. I meant it as a tribute."

"…Wow… that's… kind of macabre… I like it! The film guide's on the bed, by the way."

Despite this implicated request for her to get it, Victoria didn't bother to do so, since her room assessment concluded that the time she'd need to force her way through this accumulation of entertainment goods would certainly amount to the same as if she just let Alasdair finish typing and fetch it himself, which he then did.

"Alright, we could waaaaatch...", he said, leaving the room, which was quite impressive considering that his eyes did not once leave the thin magazine he was flicking through, whilst Victoria had to draw on her Kingsman skills to not accidentally knock anything over. "Oh, the Pokémon Movie just came out today! How did I miss that?!"

"Some voice told you that you are an adult after all?"

He turned up his nose at her. "Philistine. Okay, then how about Fight Club? I've seen it twice and, bloody hell, you got to see that ending! Also, there would be playing Princess Mononoke, Being John Malkovich..."

"Master Alasdair!"

Herbert was standing at the bottom of the main staircase they had just set foot on. He tried to hide it with his usual genteel demeanour, however, this wasn't the first time Victoria'd seen him that way, and, thus, spotted the concern underlying his features straight away.

"Hey, Herb!", Alasdair greeted him with a wide grin, either oblivious to the worries besetting him or intentionally cheerful to appease him. "Where's Theodora?"

"She's having lunch in the kitchen." He turned to Victoria, a faint smile playing around his lips. "Good afternoon, Miss Norwood. I regret not having been here to welcome you."

"No worries, I thought my visit would be brief anyway, but…well…"

"We're just off to the cinema!" Excitement, as well as just a tiny hint of nervousness, resonated in Alasdair's voice. He really made no secret of positive emotions, no matter how intense they are. One more reason for Victoria to adore him. "You need anything from downtown?"

"You mean… you are going out, Sir?", the elderly man brought forth hesitantly as they passed him, ignoring the question.

"Yep."

"With… bodyguards, Sir?"

Alasdair laughed. "I hardly think we need any."

"Shall I drive you, Sir?"

"No, no, just keep an eye on Theodora, will you? Thanks."

"Sir…"

"What?" It was a mere indication of annoyance that was in his tone, though, as it came in contrast to his good mood, his response came off very harsh. Victoria looked at him, then at Herbert, who seemed even more hesitant now.

"Sir, may I have a word with you?"

"About what?"

Throwing Victoria a help-seeking glance, the old man shifted his weight, but before he could answer, she cut in, smirking: "I'll go ahead. You told me you'd let me choose the car, and that way you won't get to sway me to pick the one you want at least." To not give Alasdair any chance to protest, she already set out for the garage.

Surely, Herbert was aware of his employer's condition, if he was not even the initiator of any treatment measures Alasdair had taken this far, which was why such a seemingly rash resolution of doing something he hasn't done in quite a while, coupled with the notion of going practically unprotected from fame-induced stress, alarmed the butler. He's always been so caring, so warm-hearted, so... fatherly... His reaction was only natural, and Victoria hoped Alasdair wouldn't be as rough with him as she'd been with her mother back then when she'd been going through something similar.

The garage beneath Whitehall Manor was a generous display of the wealth the family had been accumulating over generations, which was represented by the order the several cars were lined up in, which made it easier for Victoria to identify them. Most contestants had barely considered it a challenge to memorise all those types of vehicles as it coincided with their sphere of interests anyway, but for her, who didn't share this passion, it had been a real pain in the arse, even though she did acknowledge the necessity of discerning such details for tracking purposes. Therefore, identifying this variety of cars constituted some good practice, after her training did feel like ages ago anyway. She spotted a Duesenberg Model J in the far corner, a Jaguar E-Type, an Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale, a BMW 507 – that one stood out the most, as it reminded her of one she'd seen before. It even was of the same colour, a silvery grey… and the interior was also deep red…

Wait a second.

"Sorry it took me so long." Alasdair entered the garage sighing, his concentration completely occupied by the hoody he was fumbling with in his hands. "Herb insisted on 'undercover' clothing, because, apparently, I'm soooo famous now that it's daaangerous to— Oh, uh, sorry, we can't take that one.", he said when finally looking up and seeing her inspecting the BMW up close.

"It belonged to you father, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did, and it was the only car I was never allowed to drive, which always struck me as odd, I mean, he definitely was no sentimental person and being attached to a car wasn't like him at—" He froze suddenly, looked at Victoria, saw her grin, looked back at the car… and gasped. "NO. BLOODY. WAY."

In the blink of an eye he was at her side, visibly regarding the vehicle in an all new perspective, and she knew that from now on this would never be the car his father never let him drive anymore. No, from now on it would be the Kingsman car.

"I remembered one like that being parked in the hangar.", she explained, taking Alasdair by the arm to move him to the driver's side. "Never would have guessed that it belonged to him, though, so I took a closer look at it et voilà..." With her chin she pointed at the almost invisible engraving on the door handle: a lying K enclosed by a circle.

"Wicked...", Alasdair whispered, before giving a jump. "Oh, you think it's 'standard equipped'?!" His voice was higher pitched than normal due to the rush the thought of handling all those wonderous gadgets they'd been told about during their training probably unleashed within him, just as it did with Victoria.

"Well," She arched her brows, barely able to contain herself. "there's only one way to find out."

Alasdair squeaked and grabbed the handle, but there red light flashed up on his hand and he instantly drew away with an "Ouch!".

"What happened?!"

"Anti-theft electroshocked.", he answered pouting. "I know Merlin told us about that, but, heck, I really thought my old man would have configured the fingerprint scanner to admit me. Why I would think he would give me such a treat, I don't know." He glared down at his hand, rubbing it and murmuring: "Plonker..."

"Hm… Did he leave you a key? A reset code maybe?" He shook his head, so Victoria got back to thinking. "Had it been gone since the day he died? Or did someone come to see it?"

"Not that I know of, no.", he replied, though, judging from his tone, his optimism was returning. "But even if they hadn't reconfigured it manually, they could do it via data link! Provided this sexy beast can receive such signals."

"Well, then." Before he could object, Victoria held her hand to the handle, whereupon a green light flashed and a *Click* sounded.

Victoria and Alasdair exchanged a look.

Then they hastened to get in the car, her into the driver's seat, him into the passenger's, both all smiles and giggles, which was briefly replaced by a deferential "Ooooh...", as green-glowing letters flashed up on the windscreen saying Welcome, Gawain, before disintegrating into other words and numbers along the edges.

"High-fucking-tech.", Alasdair marvelled, completely in his element. "Does that mean this Lady functions via touchscreen? It would make more sense if it was voice-operated, wouldn't it?"

"It is. The windscreen just functions as a form of head display. My mentor showed me how such cars work right before my first mission. I'm just not sure whether this model has the same equipment and, consequently, whether the operation codes my mentor showed me apply here."

Alasdair shrugged, just as clueless. "Proof is in the pudding, I guess."

She thought for a moment, considered which type of equipment might be more standardised than others. Then she smirked. "Operate 604."

The words had barely left her mouth, when the sides of the bonnet already sprang open, two small miniguns emerged with a rattle and text shimmered up on the screen:

Fire?

Alasdair turned to Victoria with a seductive grin on his lips. "Sexy." Then his features changed back to innocently excited. "Does it fly too?!"

"I don't know. Let's try outside."

At her touch on the steering wheel the engine roared up like some hungry wildcat. It surprised Victoria how smoothly the car followed her every demand, gliding out the parking space and up the exit as if it were going there all by itself.

"So,", Alasdair started as they came to a likewise smooth halt. "what's the operation code for flying? To infinity and beyond?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of any Kingsman car that could fly." She thought for a second, then tried, grimacing: "Activate… flight mode?"

This time nothing popped up but a text on the screen saying:

'Flight mode' could not be found. Activate power drive?

Victoria and Alasdair exchanged a look and grinned.

"Activate—"

"Wait!" Alasdair pulled out a phone that looked just as modern as the one she had gotten by Kingsman, if not more, wired it to some USB port above the gear change, and typed away on it, the green glowing lines on the windscreen moving wildly until they formed a single line in the bottom left corner that began to curl when, all of a sudden, the sound of an electric guitar filled the air in the car. Victoria recognised the song at once: 20th Century Boy.

Alasdair beamed with pride. "To celebrate recent successes."

With a just as triumphant smile, Victoria set her eyes on the road ahead. Her hand on the gearstick, she let the seats shudder with the purr of the beast in her power, let it become one with the rhythm of the growing riff, and only then, when she felt nothing but the thrill of life pumping through her veins, she said: "Activate power drive.", and they dashed off screaming.