I never believed in fate until that day. Standing on the precipice, with a gun pointed at my head. Wondering what the hell am I doing here? Then the thought hit me so hard, it almost knocked me over the edge. Everything was leading to this one moment. People always say that one person can't make a difference, well bollocks to that. One person can, and today that person is me. But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Let me get you up to speed. My name is Adam Donnelly, and I am an unemployed brick layer from Lisburn, a little town outside Belfast, Northern Ireland. What am I doing in a bank in Oxford? Listen, and I'll tell you.

I was crap at school. Probably would've been diagnosed with ADHD these days but not then. You were just slow or thick, and given the ruler across the knuckles or the key to the top of head. Teachers ridiculing you in front of the class. No wonder I gave up; dropped out just after my sixteenth birthday and went to Castlereagh Tech and did a brick laying course. First week on the job, two of my work colleagues lost their arms on site when a pipe bomb went off. Legitimate targets you see, IRA style. We were building a cop shop. I never went back.

I did a bit of 'wheelin' and dealin' and that's when I met George Adair. He had been a couple years ahead of me in school in my brother's year. He was a dick but had connections. Everyone knew he'd been running drugs for one of the paramilitary groups that governed the province. I wanted money, he had a product. Doesn't take a genius to understand. I started running for him. We made some good money together, running under the radar from the police and the army.

Tensions were still running high at the end of the 1990s, particularly after the bombing of the town centre in Omagh in summer '98. Twenty-nine dead that day. The Real IRA. It would be another eleven years before those cunts were brought to justice. I was in my late teens then and thoroughly outraged, as any decent human being should have been let alone a little orange bastard like me. It was around this time with tensions riding high that Adair recruited me into the Ulster Volunteer Force.

These were mad bastards, all right. A violent loyalist paramilitary organisation who didn't give a shit who they hurt on the 'other side'. At first nothing much changed for me. I was still running the drugs like before. Next came the weapons. I have no idea where they got their shit from, there weren't just handguns. Shotguns, rifles, machine guns, a whole fucking arsenal. These were a bit trickier to conceal as you can imagine, especially with the army still on the streets. There must have been some kind of collusion with the security forces as our 'commanders' always seemed to know where the holes were in the patrols.

Very soon I was selected for weapons trainings and this meant missions. I would be a fully active member. The thought scared the shit out of me but at the same time I was fuckin' thrilled. I proved to be a natural with firearms, no idea why. Maybe it was all the video games or some such shit. Anyway, my first 'mission' was to petrol bomb some of the 'peelers.' Although they still used unmarked police cars, they weren't that hard to spot. Usually in a bland old Ford Mondeo with all the stickers and shit taken off. Watching out for the armoured Land Rovers and the army Saracens was the tricky part.

Anyway this went off without a hitch, there are areas even the security forces wouldn't venture. The next mission was a real target. We were sent out to set fire to a Roman Catholic Primary School. This was a favourite target. Maximum damage and inconvenience. Again another night time mission. This one I did with George. We bussed down the Cregagh Road in the direction of the Short Strand, a Catholic dominated part of Belfast, donned the balaclavas and the red, white and blue scarves and set forth. We lobbed a couple of petrol bombs over the wall but they fell short. We climbed the iron railings and perching on top managed to hit the building. I scored a lucky shot and broke an upstairs window and watched for a moment as the flames licked the internal walls. As I was scrambling back down to the pavement I was sure I heard someone shouting from inside the building but the school should have been locked up tight so I dismissed the notion quickly.

The local news the next day lead with the story of the school firebombing. There had been extensive damage to the building but unfortunately there had been a cleaning lady still in the building with her five year old daughter in tow. I couldn't believe it. I ran to the bathroom and puked. I was white and shivering. They hadn't been killed but the five year old had suffered extensive burns to her face, torso and arms. She was in intensive care. I didn't feel so fucking brave and righteous then I can tell you.

My phone rang. Landlines, remember them? Anyway, it was Adair on the line and he was hollering and laughing down the phone, saying we were moving up in the organisation. The command was very pleased with the outcome. Pleased! I damn near shit myself. I hung up on Adair, ran upstairs and packed a bag. I grabbed my passport, driving license, and as much money as I had lying around and hopped the bus into Belfast. I was sure I was going to get stopped. I must have looked guilty as fuck but no one really gave me a second glance.

I got off in town and changed buses for the docks, Victoria Terminal. I was fuckin' outta there. I kept looking around like a scared shitless rabbit. I was more afraid of the UVF catching up with me than the security forces. I liked my knees too much. I got a one way passenger ticket to Liverpool and boarded no sweat. That was in 2003 and I have spent the last eleven years hiding out and trying to make amends.

I bummed around the south of England for a while, doing odd jobs and shit. I worked as a home care worker and care assistant for old people as well as in special schools. Anything really that could help me make amends for my past indiscretions. Nothing seemed to help. I'd been living in Oxford for six months prior to today. I moved just on a whim, simple as that.

I came into the branch this morning to change my address and now, here I am. Standing in a long queue because that's what we do, when in through the doors burst three men wearing green army jackets, heavy work boots and balaclavas. Fuck me, was my first thought, now after all these years. Even though the paramilitaries are supposed to be out of commission I never really believed that. The three of them are brandishing weapons. All handguns. I can't tell the makes or models. I am shitting it.

One of the gunmen grabs me and presses the barrel of his gun hard into my temple. I flinch. I can feel the sweat sticking my shirt to my back. I am petrified, but something else. Something I have not felt in a long time. Adrenaline is pumping too. Is this how muscle memory works? My eyes dart around the room and for the first time I notice my fellow hostages. There are eight of us in total including the two female cashiers. Immediately in front of me in the queue is an elderly women, who looks ready to wade in on these buggers. I like her. There are two black youths, with their headphones blaring. I think it is music, but I'm not totally sure. It takes them a few moments to realise what's happening. One of them goes so slack jawed, his chewing gum rolls out onto the floor.

The last two hostages are a woman and her kid. She looks to be in her thirties although it's hard to tell these days. The young girl beside her can't be more than three or four. Adorable in her pink Minnie Mouse hat, scarf and gloves combo. I can see blonde hair poking out scraggly from underneath her hat. I am sure she would have an angelic smile but right now her blue eyes dominate her face, as she spots the masked men and their weapons. Damp patches edging their way down her little light blue jeans.

One of the men is shouting in a language I can't comprehend but I get his meaning loud and clear. I can see some wires protruding from the bottom of his coat as he pulls out a black flag, emblazoned with Arabic script and a white circle with words in the middle. I can't read it but I know what it is. He sticks this flag over the window.

I look back at the mother and the girl standing by the counter and again at the two men I can see waving their weapons around shouting. Another legitimate target? In this instance I know my fate is sealed. If you had told me way back when, I first picked up a petrol bomb or gun, that I would be here, like this, right now, I would have laughed. Fate has offered me my shot of redemption. And I intend to take it.

I stare at the little girl until she looks at me, clinging so hard to her mum's legs I can see the whites of her knuckles. I wink at her, and with only my eyes to speak with, I urge her to get behind her mother by quickly darting them in that direction. She slowly complies so that now all I can see are two tiny little hands on either side of mum's knees.

One of the gunmen orders everyone down on the floor. The other two have forgotten about me. I am no threat with a gun to my head. They picked the wrong day to fuck with this bank. I can feel the tremors of the gunman behind me. He is not confident, perhaps not a true believer. I go to get on my knees.

"Not you." The voice from behind me says, muffled through the balaclava.

"Sorry." I whisper as I start to rise again, there is separation between my head and the gun. The other gunmen have their backs to us. I twist and powerfully thrust my elbow into his throat, crushing it, leaving him gasping for breath and unable to talk. He instinctively reaches for his throat allowing me time to grab his right wrist, twist and remove the weapon from his grasp.

One of the other gunmen turns round as he hears his colleague hit the floor. I shoot him twice in the chest before he even realises I am armed. The third man spins round and shoots at where I was seconds ago but I am already crouched down and my third bullet hits him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards. I advance and put a fourth and final bullet into his head.

As I turn around I see the two youths beating the shit out of the only gunman left alive with one of those weird barrier poles. It proves to be an effective method.

I feel a tug at my legs as the little girl tries to get my attention. I bend down and wipe the tears from her eyes. She hugs me and I can smell the piss on her little jeans. One of the best smells I have ever smelt.

I gather up the three guns, put on the safety catches and set them high on the counter where the little one can't reach them. I rip the flag down and stare at it for a moment, thinking on how I used to worship another flag of red, white and blue.

Fate guided my way to this moment. It has given me redemption. I sit down on the floor amidst the bodies. In another life, this could have been me. Fate put me here today and as I sat, waiting, I wondered if given the chance one of these men could have been me.

After all, one man's terrorist is another man's hero.