Roland spent the next few minutes jockeying for a good position close to the gallows. He wasn’t certain that’s where the convoy was headed. It seemed like a good guess though. And he was quickly proven right when the APC pulled up to a stop just a hundred feet away. The crowd stopped and gawked as the heavy doors slid open. Soldiers in full-body armor stepped out, dragging six men and women in honest-to-god manacles and chains out into the dying light.

The captives were all SDF. Roland didn’t even have to make an educated guess on that one. The Heavenly Kingdom had made sure to dress them in their tattered and blood-stained uniforms. They were, all of them, emaciated and broken-looking. The evidence of torture was so clear that Roland’s enhanced eyes weren’t even necessary. The captives had broken, bleeding fingernails, black eyes, painful limps, and feet that looked like they could barely stand to touch the ground.

One of the Martyrs, a tall man wearing a red beret instead of a combat helmet, strode ahead of the group. He had a voice-amp in one hand. He raised the other up in the air in a prayerful gesture that was matched by most of the crowd.

“Brothers and sisters,” the Martyr’s voice boomed, “today the Lord and his loyal soldiers have delivered unto you a blessing.”

The crowd tightened around Roland. He could see, hear, feel as people rushed out from cafes and shops to watch. The fear and excitement was so thick in the air Roland was sure even unmodified humans could have sensed it.

“Here we have six prisoners from the SDF,” the Martyr began. “These men and women were all captured in the last week. Rather than accept their defeat, they chose to fight as insurgents against the Heavenly Kingdom. God and his Martyrs are merciful. But these sinners have spat on that mercy. Now it is our privilege to execute upon them the judgement written: this honor have all his saints. Praise ye the LORD!”

A ragged cheer went up from the crowd. Many of the assembled sounded less than enthusiastic, at least to Roland’s ears. But there were still dozens and dozens of voices full of reckless hate. The prisoners marched forward with their escort, ever nearer to the gallows. Roland’s ear tingled, and he sensed Manny’s presence out in the street now. The kid smelled afraid, with a faint fading tinge of pheromonal arousal. Huh.

Roland backed away and escaped the main press of the crowd. In a few seconds, he was behind Manny and he put a hand on the fixer’s back. The young man jumped and then shot Roland a furious look.

“What the hell–” Manny caught himself and instead pointed up to the line of doomed men and women. “Roland I know that–”