The hand that gripped my wrist was like a steel vise. My hand was ripped away from the railing, and I was yanked to my feet. A tremendous strength hauled me up. I came face to face with a monster in human form.

The skin was gray and mottled, like a zombie except unbroken and with no signs of rot. The face was splotchy, with a jutting chin and broken teeth that snarled at me, inches from my face. The foul breath hit me, and the eyes were mismatched and glaring. It wore Rasputin's choker around its neck and two more around its wrists, glowing and pulsing with the same sickly green light as his other creations.

It had the body of a power lifter but swelled beyond all realistic proportions, gray skin stretched over bulging muscle and vein. It dragged me into the train car and tossed me like a rag doll across it. I bounced off one metal wall and slid down to the middle of the car. I jumped up to face my attacker, but something else grabbed me from behind. The submachine gun and ammo pouch slung over my shoulder were ripped away. The canvas straps simply snapped under the unbelievable force.

I spun around. Here was another of these muscle-bound abominations, not that I was one to talk. Its face and eyes were different from the first, so these weren't mass-produced like golem bodies. Thank goodness; the idea of a factory churning out these abominations was enough to turn even my stomach.

The car was only dimly lit. It stank like a cattle transport. From the shadows, a third abomination stepped into view. All of them were taller than me and heavier built. The one that had ripped my guns away only topped me by a couple of inches, but the one on the far end of the car looked to be at least a head taller. It had to be over 8 feet tall.

From behind me, I heard the one who had pulled me into the car walking closer. They all growled a low rumble back in their throat.

I wanted to groan and bitch about the situation, but a sudden euphoria hit me. I took a half step back and bounced on my toes. I lifted my hands and rolled my neck like a good old boy just about to throw down at the bar after someone made the wrong comment about his momma. "Alright guys, who wants it first?"

The slab of muscle lifted one fist slowly, almost ponderously, and cocked it back. I bounced on my toes, getting ready to block and thinking about how I would counter when suddenly my world exploded.

The blow so blindingly fast I hadn't seen it coming. It brushed past my raised hands and caught me full on the jaw. My head snapped back, and I staggered back into the metal wall. I took a deep breath in, trying to ignore the stench, and let it out as I waited for the dancing stars to leave my vision. "Okay, so you're not as slow as you look."

I was outnumbered, and they were larger and more heavily built, so I couldn’t to go toe to toe. If I wanted to get out of this in one piece, I needed to depend on speed. Based on the first punch, that could be a problem.

I would also need strategy. I focused my thoughts and shook off my musings. Then I grinned. I wasn’t here to fight; I was here for an execution.

I turned and rushed the one that had pulled me into the car. As I came in, it reached out lightning-quick to grab me, but I wasn't there. I stepped to the right and crouched into a side thrust kick that hit him in the knee just as he stepped forward. No matter how much muscle you pile on a skeleton, and even if you magically reinforce the bones or some such bullshit, the joints would always be the weak spot. There was an ugly crack from his knee, and the brute staggered. They apparently felt no pain because that would have dropped any ordinary man from the sheer agony.

It took a step back, favoring that leg, but I didn't give it any space. As I moved in, the brute lashed out with a punch. I blocked it and stepped to my right, towards the injured leg. It tried to turn and use its out-thrust fist in a backhanded blow, but when its weight came down on that injured leg, the knee buckled. For one glorious instant, its defenses were down. I struck with a right hand, open palm, across the left ear, bursting its eardrum. Even things that don't feel pain needed balance. With my left hand, I speared him in the throat with a fingertip thrust that crushed its windpipe.

Even slabs of muscle need to breathe. He staggered and started to fall, and I took a half step back and snap kicked him in the face.

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The thing about pain resistance is it has no effect on whether a blow to the jaw knocks someone out cold. There are major nerves running through the face, and a serious shock to those disrupts consciousness, regardless of how much of a tough guy you are. Its jaw cracked, teeth flew. The big brute toppled forward unconscious.

I knew the others would be on me in an instant. I dove forward just in time. Grasping hands clutched at me but I broke away. My move had been in the nick of time. I lunged over the fallen body and rushed to the door of the car. The two stood on their feet, were momentarily delayed, getting over the body and past each other. It gave me just enough time to open the door and start through it.

Then a vice-like grip caught my collar. I reached back and grabbed and spun, using a judo move to break the grip. The hand was like a side of ham, and even with a wrist-lock, it took all of my strength to break free. The second brute shoved past the first, crowding into the doorway, and threw a blow that caught me in the shoulder and slammed me back into the door of the next car. My head bounced off the metal, and I saw stars.

The two of them were jammed into the doorway trying to get to me. I reached up, caught the lip of the armored roof above me, then kicked out with both feet. I was aiming for the one on the left's head, trying to hit it with fight-ending force, but the struggles of the two threw off my aim and I caught it in the shoulder. The one I hit was knocked back a step. The other, path now clear, charged.

It grabbed me around the waist as I dropped back onto my feet, and I knew I was in trouble. The massive arms wrapped around my torso and squeezed. I felt my ribs creak. It slammed me back against the metal door again. A sharp pain in my back reminded me of something.

As he pulled me away from the door to slam me again, I reached back and drew my .45. I clicked off the safety, screwed the muzzle into his ear, and pulled the trigger. Then, just for good measure, I angled the muzzle slightly up and fired again. Pain tolerance might be one thing, but scrambled brains is quite another. The massive arms loosened then slowly fell away.

The last brute was coming through the door almost on top of me. I fired into his body but he didn't slow down. He came at me with flashing blows. I tried to sidestep. There was no room on platform between the cars. The first hit caught me a glancing blow in the ribs. The second one slammed into my chest, knocking me back against the metal door frame and handrail. I headbutted him to create space, and then lashed out with both fists, pounding with lefts and rights.

The blows kept him off balance and drove him back. As I punched, I realized his earlier strike had knocked the 1911 out of my grip. Sudden fury hit me, and I pummeled him harder and faster. That was my favorite gun! I struck him face, chest, and torso, and low down on the ribs. I could feel his jaw crack and his ribs break under my fists, but he didn't react, other than to feebly try to strike back. He was off balance and couldn't throw a serious strike at me.

Still, one of his flailing swings clipped me above the ear and sent sparks through my vision. Another caught me across the ribs and threw off my rhythm. In that slight opening, he lashed out, hitting me with a left and a right that impacted like pile drivers. His blows seriously hurt, and I had had enough of this crap. Going toe-to-toe with giants in punch fests was not why I had all this martial arts knowledge crammed in my brain.

I locked out his elbow and then judo threw him off the platform. His heels clanged the metal roof overhead as he sailed past. There was a startled cry, which was the first time he had shown emotion, and then he was gone, flying out between the cars to land somewhere along the tracks. I heard a sickening crunch as he landed in the gravel at 50 mph, out of sight around the corner of the car.

The final brute, the one I had fought first, was working his way across the car, limping on his damaged knee and glaring at me with righteous fury. No, with a burning hatred. He was almost to the open door. I stuck one hand in my pocket and held out my other palm forward.

"Just a second,” I said. “Oh here it is. I almost forgot this one.”

Then I drew the revolver from my pocket and shot him one through each eye.

He straightened up with a confused expression.

I reached forward and slid the train car door closed. It was probably going to take him a little while to realize he was dead, and so I left him to it in peace.

Tired, still trying to catch my breath, and holding a partially empty revolver as my only weapon, I reached for the handle and opened the door to Rasputin's train car.

The door slid easily open and revealed the train car beyond, eerily lit with green lights of swirling magic, dim electric bulbs, and a bank of scientific equipment with lit-up indicators in various colors. All this served to reveal a crazy collection of scientific and arcane equipment. Runes and pentagrams were drawn on the walls. A magic circle of flickering artificial candles was laid out in one corner. But the most prominent feature of the room was the glass tank with the shriveled and twisted form of something that might have once been human.

I stepped inside. The voice that came was raspy and twisted. It emanated from an electric speaker near the tank.

"You are both brave and stupid to come here. You eluded me once, but now, once again, you will be my puppet."