The gunshot still echoed around Max's empty head as his friends finally came crashing through the door.
"Max!" Dawson cried, as she clambered over the splintered shrapnel of fallen furniture.
Max did not turn to look at her, or to great the rest of his group. Max didn't even flinch at the relentless cracking of wood behind him. Instead he remained motionless, on his knees, crouched over a bloody corpse, his head slightly bowed.
"Max?" Dawson repeated, far gentler than before, as she reached out and placed her hand softly on his shoulder.
Max jumped out of his skin and swatted Dawson's hand away, desperately scrambling away from her with fear drenched in his eyes.
Once his brain recognised the familiar, friendly faces, his breathing slowed, and the fear began to wash away.
It was no
