“You’re sure of this?” Asked The Justice Officer.

“I’m telling you, he killed them!” Panicked the stranger.

The Justice Officer reached for the phone inside his desk, picked it up, but did not dial any number yet. Instead, he asked the stranger, “You’re saying that he killed three justice officers? Why’re you telling me this now? Why not a day ago when this happened?”

The stranger nodded. “Two of ‘em didn’t even have their guns. And the last one. . . well, his gun wasn’t even loaded. I didn’t wanna risk making myself a target for that guy. If he wasn’t dangerous, I’d’ve reported it right away. There was something about his eyes. . . Something in them just told me he wasn’t some ordinary criminal. He acts more like a machine performing a task than a man,” the stranger ranted.

The Justice Officer looked grim as he dialed up a number on the phone. The phone buzzed for a few seconds before going silent.

A gruff voice spoke from the phone. “Domal justice officer department. What do you need?”

“This is the Drismal justice officer department. Listen, there’s a real menace heading your way. Either that, or he’s walking to one of the stations. You can’t let him pass through Domal. And, you can’t let him take the stations into Briam. He’s a menace I tell you.”

The man on the phone made chewing noises before the sound of spitting could be heard. “What’d he do?”

“I’m being told he murdered three of my men,” said The Justice Officer.

“Funny that you say that. I got a call earlier today about trouble over in Joran. They say there’s some degenerates driving around in black vests looking for their ‘leader’.”

“Can’t be related to this man. He’s in a black coat and hat.”

The other man paused. “Are those his only identifying features?”

“No, it’s just. . . trust me when I say that he looks too normal. Fair skin, blue eyes, short hair—brown or blond, couldn’t quite tell—fit build. He looks no older than twenty and he says he’s a priest.”

“Did he take a vehicle?”

“No. The guy that reported this to me is the last surviving witness. That, and maybe one other.”

“And who’d this ‘other’ be?”

“Whoever those justice officers had cornered in the warehouse.”

“That old shit shack a mile or two out from Drismal? Didn’t they used to store military equipment there?”

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“Yeah, that’s the one I’m talking about. Some woman with silvery hair and yellow eyes is who they had cornered. That’s all they said they knew about her appearance. Treat her as a hostage.”

“Where’re they heading to? Do you know?”

“He said Joran.”

The man on the phone sighed. “Fucking Joran. That place’s gone to shit, hasn’t it? What kind of holy center gets the nickname ‘city of sin’? It’s a pit of degeneracy I say!”

The Justice Officer gave no response. He licked his dry lips before inspecting his Klein 76. It was fully loaded. All he needed to do was pull the trigger to take a life. The deadshot inside was more than powerful enough to blow a hole the size of a small fist through someone. A direct shot was guaranteed to end someone’s existence.

“On second thought. . . I’m coming over,” relented The Justice Officer.

The man on the phone hung up. The Justice Officer waited for a response, still having not processed that they ended the call with no clarification.

“Leave. My place’ll be filled in a few hours. The justice officers from Stoneward—what used to be Stoneward—they’ll take over while I’m gone.”

The stranger and The Justice Officer left the building, The Justice Officer entering his car as he started it up. He had packed a trench gun, a metal jug of water with ice in it, and spare bullets for both his Klein 76 and the trench gun in the trunk of the car. To Domal he went.

The inside of Domal’s justice office had been painted a sickening red. Gore, the remains of those justice officers lucky enough to have been killed quickly, and fragments of metal mixed with bone and cloth and all manner of unknown substance, probably flesh, messed up the wooden floor. Yet, the outside world was completely oblivious to the horror. A lack of windows entirely to combat the scorching rays of the sun scorching the Usgar made the perfect curtain to the violence and depravity at play.

In the center of the massacre stood seven men, all of whom wore defaced Briam military uniforms. Random patches of ink depicting crude acts of sodomy and skinning had been painted on the backs and sleeves of six of the uniforms. Only the singular man who stood taller than all the rest, who stood in the center of the party, had an outfit stained solely with blood. No inkings disgraced his uniform. Rather, the buttons from the top half of it had been torn off, exposing his chest which was covered in numerous scars. He was lanky, blond, and deathly pale. His eyes were dead and round like a fish’s, and he had a permanent grin on his face. He was The Captain of the lunatics.

“Good show, everyone?” The Captain spoke in his gruff voice.

“We’ve an eye for the fine things in life, captain! Of course!” The six other men half-shouted.

“Oh, behave,” The Captain said, frowning, with disappointment in his voice. His frown quickly turned to a grin as he said, “These walls are mighty thick so that it’d take deadshot to pierce them! Come on, come on! I want you all to let it out!”

The lunatics all went into a frenzied dance. Each one held a long metal bar two feet long with a spiked, tipped end which dripped with the blood of the slain justice officers.

“Come on! Voices, everyone, voices! Dance for me!” The Captain ordered.

The chaos grew and grew in volume and sheer destruction. The men hopped up onto tables, kicked in the thinner wooden support beams of the building, and battered the walls with their weapons, leaving bloodstains and disfigurations all along it.

“Now, then. . .” uttered The Captain. “Fire or iron? What do you gentlemen think the fine town of Domal deserves?”

The men stopped in their lunacy. Those hanging on furniture dropped down. All of them crouched to a low stance and cautiously approached The Captain with looks of curiosity and wonder in their eyes.

“I think we deserve a warm bed tonight, sir,” answered the shortest of the men.

The men laughed, even The Captain. They laughed and danced mad, almost to the point of the collapse, for they knew not what else to do with freedom and pleasure.