With armed guards in front, behind, and neither firing, Randal assumed he must be taken alive. Even if this wasn’t the case, if they started firing now, any stray bullet would hit their own. These idiots had set themselves up for one costly, painful lesson.

Randal charged the new formation, his left arm, still numb, flopping useless next to him. The guards didn’t dare fire, recognition now falling across their faces.

“Fallback!” the first battalion shouted behind Randal, trying to order the soldiers he faced now to retreat.

But it was too late. Ran was already on top of them.

Hesitation gets you killed. Randal turned from the bunkered soldiers to continue further down the last hall, still on the run from the other advancing battalion. With a glance, Ran saw twelve to fifteen carrying light artillery autos still after him.

But then Randal stopped again. Another dozen or so armed guards rounded a corner at the end of the hall. Seeing Ran, the soldiers quickly took a standard defensive formation guns ready but not firing.

It appeared Randal was dangerous enough to issue an order for arms, but too valuable to be killed. And this gave Randal an idea.

Randal walked toward the sentry lying on the stone floor. The Special’s bare feet were sore from running, but having a bone sticking out of his limp forearm and attempting a prison escape armed only with a guard’s side-handled baton, sore feet didn’t rank very high.

“Don’t move!” a man’s voice behind Randal shouted.

The Special ignored the command and took off running. Guards cursed behind him and struggled to follow.

He turned a corner and stopped dead. Thirty feet down the corridor, a squad of soldiers were bunkered down behind a large stack of sandbags, firearms at the ready.

It had been a desperate move, and it had cost him, but it had also worked.

Randal rolled himself off the dead guard, his face and head a bloody pulp. The guard had tried to protect himself and his arms also bore the price.

Ran forced himself to stand and examined his arm. It was what he had feared. The arm was broken. It hung at an awkward angel and a small portion of the bone protruded from the skin. He still couldn’t feel anything, and that was a blessing now.

He turned to kill the other still unconscious guard.

The guard’s eyes went wide, clearly not expecting a full assault. But his reactions were still quick. He stepped to his side and brought his baton down hard. Ran knocked the attack upward with his own baton and ducked low beneath the attack, leading with his numb arm.

Ran plowed into the man’s chest with his shoulder, knocking the guard over. The two tumbled, reinjuring the Special’s arm. But the first moment Randal was able, he struck the man’s right hand with the baton, breaking his thumb and dropping his weapon.

Then Ran went for the head, blow after blow.

Deflecting another blow, Ran spun his body away from the attack and back towards the guard. He got a solid kick at the man’s ribs, but as he spun back round, Randal took another vicious blow from his enemy’s baton, this one directed at his kidneys.

The two squared off, facing each other. Clearly the guard’s side hurt, but with Ran’s useless left arm and shot to the kidney, he was losing. The man’s reflexes were good; style and grace would not win this for Randal. Shear brute force was the answer.

Having little other choice, Randal charged the guard.

Randal’s left arm was all needles. The fingers would not move.

The remaining guard continued advancing, swinging his baton with incredible force. Ran knocked aside each blow, being driven back and losing time. It couldn’t be long before reinforcements came. Perhaps the guards had already triggered an alarm, or perhaps they would soon miss a check in.

But there was nothing he could do. The attack was so swift, defense was all he could afford until his left arm came back round.

He kept trying, but the fingers would not move.

Ran had to turn his defensive into an advantage.

The sentry swung his baton madly at Randal’s head. The Special saw it coming and turned, pulling away. It was all he could do to avoid the blow to his skull and take it on his shoulder. The baton slammed into him, and his entire left arm went numb. The baton slipped from Randal’s grip, falling to the stone floor, his arm limp.

To garner some time, Ran returned attack with a jab from his remaining baton. The guard knocked it aside.

Unwilling to give up his advantage, the guard attacked again, coming at Ran harder and faster than ever.

The second guard swung his side-handled baton toward Ran’s head. The Special deflected this with his left baton, but the guard on the ground grabbed Randal’s leg, pulling to take him down.

Ran swung his right baton at the man, but the leg grab had been a feint. He caught the baton with both hands and held onto it with a sneer. Without hesitation, Ran swiftly swung his other baton right into the man’s face, breaking his jaw and knocking out a few teeth. The guard fell over, unconscious.

But this left Ran open to attack from the other guard.

Randal bridged half the gap before the guards spotted him and was bringing down his baton before they responded. But the sentries were pros, better than the guards he had faced before. Already the man brought up his own baton, deflecting Randal’s blow at his head. And the guard brought his arm over, deflecting the second baton’s strike at the gut.

Not losing momentum, Ran brought his first deflected strike further down, hitting the guard in the back of the knee taking him to the ground.

But the second guard was already on the offensive, and Ran had to respond.

Trying to outthink them, Ran didn’t go back the way he had come, but instead continued further down this hall. He hoped anything that had heavy artillery blocking the way would be a good thing.

Time passed without incident until peering around yet another corner, Randal quickly pulled back, hiding out of sight: two sentries at a metal doorway, thirty feet away. He wasn’t seen and Ran considered trying another rout, but perhaps the path of least resistance was not the path to freedom.

He steadied himself, considering the situation; then rounded the corner, batons in hand, ready for battle.

Dark, gray red blood oozed from dozens of wounds; the orc’s arms, legs, chest, gut, and face blotted with bullet holes. Even his feet, hands, and throat had been hit. The orc glared at Randal, immense hatred burning in his small, dark eyes. Then his focus faded. He took one heavy step toward the Special and collapsed, his massive body hitting the cold ground with a wet thud.

The orc was dead.

The Special took a brief moment to catch his breath. A pool of blood quickly formed beneath and around the orc’s body.

Ran stood to continue his escape.

But the weapon didn’t stay trained on Randal long.

The orc took the corner wide and faster than before, slamming into the far wall. The machine immediately switched targets, finding the massive creature to be a much more immediate and hostile threat.

The double barrels opened up, spraying the orc with gunfire. The beast roared with anger, frustration, and pain. He charged the weapon, only taking more damage, hit after hit. Stumbling forward, the orc swung his powerful fists into the ceiling mount, tearing it free and sending it skidding down the hall.

The orc turned to face the Special.

There was the corner. The Special had to make his move.

Nearly on top of the prisoner, the orc reached out his enormous hand.

Turning left, Ran kicked his legs out, falling hard to the ground and avoiding the grasping hand of the orc. Ran stayed as close to the wall as he could, dragging his arms and legs, sliding only a little to his right.

There it was above him. What Ran had seen before, and why he had avoided this hallway earlier.

A ceiling mount kicked to life. Swiveling, its double barrels rapidly took aim on the Special.

A few more paces and the orc knew he could reach the escapee. When he did, he would gladly tear the man’s head free. He didn’t care that orders were to bring the prisoner in alive. He wanted to bathe in this creature’s blood. He wanted to tear the animal’s limbs from his body and have the prisoner watch the bloody art he created as the man died. He wanted to put a hole through the captive’s chest, removing his heart, maybe his liver, both his lungs.

They were at the corner and the orc reached to grab his prey.

His shaggy, dark hair flopping behind his head, Randal ran as hard as he could. His body ached from the last several weeks of torture and malnutrition, but adrenaline pumped madly through him. Each stride of the orc brought him closer.

A dead end far ahead, they neared the corner he wanted. Randal could hear the loud, labored breathing of the orc behind him. He grunted now, not happy to be forced to run, but he had started to chuckle again, this time breathlessly.

The orc reached forward, nearly able to grab the prisoner’s scrawny neck.

Just a little farther.

Randal double tracked his passage back through the facility, realizing the orc was close behind him. The corners were good, the orc’s massive frame forcing him to slow a little, making their pace about even at those points. But now that the creature had gained some momentum, his long strides meant he was gaining on Ran in every straight way.

The Special took a sharp left, going a little wide but not slowing. He had a long stretch until the next corner, and he knew the orc would gain incredible ground.

But this was exactly what Randal was counting on.

The orc dragged the Special backwards by his leg, but Randal was ready. He twisted and struck his captor’s massive knuckles with both batons. The orc opened his hand, grunting at the pain. Ran was quick to jump at the opportunity. He got to his feet and swung both batons into the side of the orc’s head.

Startled, the creature looked down at him, his anger rising. Randal didn’t need to be told twice. He turned around and sprinted back the way he had come. The orc lumbered behind him, slowly picking up speed and eventually gaining on his quarry.

The orc leapt forward, his fist crashing down. Randal rolled avoiding the blow, the orc’s hot breath and a spray of saliva hitting his neck. The beast’s hand slammed into the stone floor, but this hardly fazed him. He chuckled again. His bottom canines, the size of a man’s three fingers, jutted over his top lip. His mouth formed an awkward grin.

Still holding both batons, Ran got to his feet, turning to run back down the hall. But the orc was fast. His meaty hand grabbed the Special by the leg and ankle, yanking him back to face him.

The Special flew backwards, slamming into the opposite corner. His vision went stars and black, but he had to keep moving. He rolled to one side, kicking his leg out blindly.

He did not make contact with his attacker.

Instead he heard a deep bass laughter.

Randal continued to scramble backwards as his vision cleared.

A massive orc was advancing on him. The creature was huge. His chest was five feet across, and even with his hunched shoulders, he still stood over eight feet. His fists were the size of Randal’s pounding head, and he was coming right at him.

He dropped the cords, scrambling to his feet again. The guards would soon know he had taken out the gun and pinpoint his location. Retrieving both side-handled batons, Ran continued down the hall, now slowing at each corner to check for further ceiling mounted weapons.

He arbitrarily chose his path, avoiding obvious dead ends and hallways with more automatic firepower. He tried to keep track of his rout, mapping the facility in his head, but he was discovering the place was huge.

Randal slowed at the next intersection. Carefully peering around it, Randal took a massive fist to the face.

Randal’s feet dug into the walls madly, desperately trying to gain a foothold. In a final effort, his hand shot blindly forward, grabbing whatever it could to gain a hold. But it gave way, and the Special fell, losing his grip on the gun barrel, hitting the cold, damp floor.

The gun barrels pivoted above him, aiming directly at him.

The Special rolled to his side, knowing the effort was futile, knowing the guns would track him and open fire, but nothing happened.

The gun was not moving.

And in the Special’s clenched fist was a massive handful of wires.

The gun swiveled, attempting to swing its turret beneath itself. The Special grabbed one barrel, burning his hand, the barrel hot from gunfire, but not letting go. The machine pushed with tremendous force. Randal held it at bay for now. He spotted an access panel near the top on the wall-facing side. But he couldn’t get to it. One hand held the gun barrel and the other gave him leverage to push back. Letting go of either meant the guns could pivot and fire.

He eyed the hall; still no guards. Then back to the gun. He had an idea.

Randal kicked his legs toward the stone wall, his bare feet finding narrow support grooves in the mortar, his toes curling, giving a little leverage on the wet rocks. Pushing with his legs off the wall, Ran held the guns back and slowly released his grip with his other hand.

Suddenly his feet began to slip. Ran grabbed hold of the machine. The barrels jerked closer, but Ran’s feet found a hold, and the Special pushed back, stopping them.

He began loosening his grip again and went for the access panel, flipping the lid down.

But his feet slipped again!

Ran tossed one side-handled baton to the opposite wall. The machine gun tracked it swiftly, firing dozens of shots as the carbonate stick bounced from floor to wall down the hall. The Special charged the machine. It spun from the baton to face the new threat. Randal threw the second baton straight at the gun. It tilted up, firing. Shots hit it, but the baton struck the tracking lens, momentarily disrupting the system.

The double barrels tracked blindly back and forth, up and down. Beneath it, Randal leapt, grabbing the gun with both hands as the machine came back online.

It was only his enhanced reflexes that saved him. Ran dove to the ground, rolled, and vaulted to a cell doorway, pressing himself to the metal prison door, bullets flying inches away. It hadn’t been a guard. It was auto-response. They must have shut off this wing, thinking the security systems a better alternative.

A ceiling-mounted unit. Unlimited ammunition. Track and fire capabilities. No potential of prison control fatality or added arsenal for the escapee. A smart move. But simple programming should make it easy enough to confuse and disable.

Randal considered his next move.

Enough thought.

Time to act.

Ran patted the guard down. No further weapons, but he withdrew a keycard swipe. He peered back and forth down the hallway. They had dragged him here half drugged and wearing a black hood. Neither passageway felt right now.

Randal picked the direction the guard had come from and ran, his bare feet making little noise on the cold floor.

Passing several cells, Randal considered a massive cell breach. He didn’t know how yet or what further prisoners the vampires had, but any would only add to the confusion.

The Special rounded a corner and gunfire opened up on him.

Randal picked up the dropped baton and killed the first guard with a blow to the temple. No time to waste. He emerged into the hall. It was similar to his cell, wet stone walls and floor, but the light was overpowering, his eyes so accustomed to the darkness.

Squinting, he kept moving, ignoring the headache pounding behind his eyes as adrenaline flooded his system. It wasn’t nanaline, but it would do.

Ran heard a guard charging down the next hallway. He waited, then struck him in the throat as he rounded the corner.

Now the Special had two batons.

“Dinner’s on.” The first man entered the room carrying a bowl of steaming gruel. Ran was on him, cupping the man’s knee with one hand, grabbing his ankle with the other. With one brutal movement, the Special wrenched the man’s knee from its socket. He fell over screaming.

“Get help!” the next guard called, drawing his baton. Randal scooped up his dinner bowl and emerged from behind the metal door, throwing the bowl of hot liquid. The guard screamed, pawing the hot liquid off his face; Randal hit his solar plexus, then his trachea, killing him.

But more were coming.

Crawling toward the door, Ran rolled to his side. He would rest while he could, saving his strength. When the time was right, when opportunity showed itself, he would strike without hesitation. His captors had showed him little mercy, and he would return this kindness in full.

Several hours passed and the Special rested, but at the sound of the sliding bolt, Ran’s eyes shot open. Voices through the thick metal door. Two guards, perhaps more. They would be delivering his dinner now, then continuing his torture later.

Now was his chance.

The door swung wide.

Now he must strike.

the beginning

Randal gently pulled himself up from the damp stone floor. His muscles ached.

The room was locked. He had heard the heavy bolt fall into place when they left.

He pushed his shaggy dark hair away from his eyes. One was practically swollen shut. What he wouldn’t give for a shot of nanaline. But begging for what would be nice would get him nowhere. They had beat him over and over again, never getting the information they wanted. And frustrated, they finally left.

But this time they had not tied him up, and this time that would be their undoing.