Randal turned on this man, striking him mercilessly with the baton. The guard fell, wrenching Randal’s arm. Pain shot up his arm, piercing his face, neck, and head with sharp icicles. His vision momentarily went white.

There was no thought left. Ran grabbed the fallen man’s light autofire.

And this action was enough to grip one soldier at the rear in a type of palpable fear he had never known.

Guards were yelling, screaming. Men he had trained with, worked with.

The escapee was a rabid animal, and it would kill every last one of them if given the chance.