Drops of warm fluid mist my numbing face as I fall heavy to the stage floor, eyes open but the world stays black, nebulous. Bedlam resurrected, heartbeat softening in my ears but hard as ever in my tight chest. The cobra lies next to me, shrivelled, smouldering. A blurred figure reaches down from above. Help, not harm - an offering. I take hold of its hand, let it pull me to my feet, legs like ribbon but focus returning.

Shades of blue invade the mass of grey and pitch, weapons tearing through dark armour and scaled flesh. My saviour pulls me behind the machine, collection chambers burst, screen shattered.

‘Stay down,’ she says, robotic voice coming from a panel in her blue-armoured forearm, the yellow of her eyes glowing behind a clear face guard.

‘The children,’...

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