Cyril groggily opened his eyes. The ceiling swam into focus. He was on his back, lying with his head up against a wall. His head was throbbing again with a steady thump, thump, thump that felt like it was shaking the whole world and seemed to resonate out of the wall above him.
“That’s odd,” he thought. “Shouldn’t the thumping be inside my head?”
Before he could answer himself, the wall above him exploded inwards into the room. Instinctively, Cyril covered his face with his paws and raised his tail up over himself, tucking in to a ball. Could this be a second bomb?
He opened one eye cautiously to see a massive figure leap through the new hole, knocking a few more pieces of masonry into the bank in the process, before executing a rather unnecessary commando roll and returning to his feet. The entrant looked quickly from side to side before noticing Cyril beneath his entry point.
In a flash, before Cyril had the chance to say “Eh, calm down!”, a nightstick was in the figure’s hand, shooting out to full extension in the blink of an eye. With an impressive (but still rather unnecessary) flourish, the nightstick was whipped round sharply, stopping with the end just a hair’s breadth from Cyril’s throat.
“Don’t move, punk!” the man shouted. "You're nicked!"
Cyril closed his eyes again and let his head slump back against the floor. In the distance, he heard the squeal of tyres as a van sped off into the night.