Randal smiled at this thought.

“What makes you smile, mystery man?” Temmins asked. He was a short man, overweight and balding. His skin was pale and a gray scar covered half his face and scalp in revolting patches. “You have no reason to smile. Not since Gireson told me you weren’t fully human.”

Temmins firmly planted a hand on a thin piece of bamboo that was resting in one of the several wounds the Special sustained during his escape attempt. Randal’s face contorted, but he would not make a sound.

Temmins gave the bamboo a nudge and had a laugh.