«Places for Act Two!»

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"Blimy, mate! You're out of your bloody mind!"

Liam Gideon stared down the length of his sword at the pale face that moments before had been a blustering menacing figure.

"Crazy or sane, it doesn't matter," he said. "Because I am the one who has a sword at your throat. So I wouldn't be advising that you move too quickly or count on any help from either of your friends."

The pale faced man's eyes darted to the far side of the ally where another man, dressed as shabbily as him, lay. This one was still breathing, but with two teeth dangling over edge of his lip it was obvious he was coming to no one's aid. A second man lay on the ground, conscious, but not moving. A heavy black boot was planted across the man's chest. The boot belonged to a tall dark man, dressed in elegantly cut clothes, who the three had been attempting to rob.

"Now, sir," Liam said to the stranger. "I think it only right and proper that you make the decision about what to do with our friend, here. Should I run him through, perhaps cut him just a bit, say, remove certain portions of his anatomy; or should we just hold him and the others for the arrival of the police."

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