((The belated Monday Triple catch-up: page 1 of 3))
Royo glanced at the six other militiamen in the room, then at the prisoner in the cell across from him. The militiamen were all seated at a table together, looking confused or annoyed by their loud-mouthed comrade, but the prisoner was clearly paying close attention.
When Dorgot opened the door, Royo stood, raising his hands in front of him.
“Sit back down, you--!” Sludge from the jar splattered onto Dorgot’s face, and the man began screaming as its flesh-eating properties went aggressively to work.
Royo caught Dorgot’s holstered sidearm as the man stumbled back. His fingers unbuttoned the strap and pulled the weapon free in less than a second. He flicked the safety off and fired right into Dorgot’s neck, putting an end to his insufferable howling and his life.
The other militiamen were scrambling now, and Royo just kept pulling the trigger until it was out of ammunition. Four of them dropped instantly, stone dead before they even hit the floor, and the remaining two militiamen were wounded in multiple places.
Royo tossed his spent weapon aside, found the keyring on Dorgot’s body, and unlocked the chains around his ankles. Then he stepped over to the nearest dead man, looted a replacement firearm, and finished off the remaining militiamen with one shot each to back of the head. There was no sense in leaving any loose ends.
Time was not on his side, Royo knew. The noise of the train should have muffled the sound of gunfire, but anyone could still walk in at any moment.
The first thing he had to do was become a militiaman himself. Green hat, green scarf, green belt and trousers.
Ah, and some black-rimmed goggles, too.
He had never personally seen one before, but he had heard the rumors. The ghosts of the supermen. Invisible scouts and spies. If they really did exist, then these goggles would be invaluable.