It didn’t take him long to work out that there was a bomb strapped to the underside of his seat. He’d noticed a mess of wires jutting from underneath – a clear sign of a hidden explosive.

That is to say nothing of the note that was stuck to the dash that said: “hi terry put a bomb, in you’re car. hav a great drive!!!!!!”

Terry thought the note was odd, but seeing as the doors appeared to be locked with no amount of handle-jiggling altering the fact, he figured that his would-be assassin didn’t seem particularly bothered about him finding out about the bomb, nor about his spelling or punctuation.

Terry was resolved to get out of that car. Nobody who used that many exclamation points deserved to live.

He looked up to the sunroof, ironically named as he lived in Scotland, and saw that it was open. It was the sort that lifted up rather than slid back or forth, but it was open just enough for him to get his fingers out. With some force, he could probably force it open.

He became aware of a gentle ticking.

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