The mob churned before him, stirring like a restless sea. But the tide came no closer to the Watchman. Not with his gun held in their faces.

The brute who stepped forward from the crowd had a thick neck, a shaved head, and bared a smile full of rotten teeth.

“There’s only one of you, and there’s got to be at least thirty of us,” the thug said, still grinning like a mad wolf. His eyes held a glint of something… not intelligence exactly, but a spiteful, predatory cunnning. “And how many bullets do you have in that little pistol, mate? Not many more I reckon. Why I should think-”

The Watchman put a bullet in the brute’s head. The thug’s expression changed from malice to mild surprise, a tiny dot appeared in his forehead and the people behind him were showered in gore.

Several people screamed and the mob surged back several paces as the dead man slumped to the ground.

The Watchman sighed, theatrically.

“Any more mathematicians among us?” he asked, drily.