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.