The day had finally arrived. The monotonous morning routine took on a distinctly more exciting task as every bead of moisture that poured from the shower head carried nine o'clock ever closer. Breakfast - which was set by the dieticians at the club - was hoovered down. The dishes, normally fastidiously packed into the dishwasher by the young man, were left atop the elegant glass dinner table. This could wait. He grabbed his bag and zipped through his modest apartment to the communal stairs, which he took three at a time. He bounded to the car park and set his car in motion. The soundtrack to the drive to Colney was provided by Deadmau5. The normal motivating tones of Eminem weren't required this morn.

The low, bricked ceiling and dank smell only added to the feeling of foreboding the plucky group now felt creeping ever higher up their spine. Whitewash covered the flaking brickwork of what could only be described as an underground cellar. A network of tunnels linked the subterranean hovel to the surface and also provided a chance for escape if the meeting was rumbled by the very people they discussed right now.