“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.