Winged one, by what he could see in the dim light, but not enough to stop him running. Badd whirled to follow them and fired again before something dark and warm sent him sprawling. He was left shuddering on the grass for several seconds while his body tried to figure out what the hell had just hit it.

It wasn't a bullet, he'd been shot far too many times to not know what a gunshot felt like. But it had hit him hard and left him weak.

Job still to do. Shake it off. Get up. Badd staggered to his feet and took after the prisoners, too dazed to yell another warning. It wouldn't matter anyway. The trio had decided they had a death wish, or at least a vigorous bodily harm wish, and Badd would be happy to grant it.