One evening, as he wandered these streets, an old man in a faded white suit stepped out of the shadow – a lone figure, with grey hair and a long beard.

Max hesitated – just the sight of the old man released a hit of adrenalin and he braced himself for the worst as the old man stopped in front of him with a deep sense of purpose in his eyes.

The confrontation was thick and powerful, clear intent versus certain resistance.

“You are Max,” the old man said. “You are going home.”

Max was dumbfounded.

Going home?

How can that be?

You’ve only just arrived!

He stepped back –

And… how does he know your name?

“Come with me.”

12.6

Top flight professional athletes fed off a saturating surge of adrenalin rarely experienced by normal people in modern life. This raw energy focused them – committing them to the moment – fuelling an insatiable desire to push the body and the mind to the maximum – just for the thrill of it!

Max felt it now, and didn’t hesitate in following Shard.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch and by the time he entered the narrow alley Max felt strangely fictionalized, like a central but unwilling figure in some strange, brooding spotlight that was suddenly hotter, brighter, more squarely focused on him. By the time Shard reached the foot of the lane and turned to face him Max was fully braced in anticipation – adrenalin firing freely from every gland.

Shard smiled –

“For you there is one God.”

Max didn’t see a problem with this.

“Fair enough.”

“And for you there is one woman.”