Yes, I’ve changed the title of the next book. More about that at another time.
Here’s an excerpt from the first chapter. (Wording for the final draft of the book could be changed slightly)
They’ve found me. . .
My fingers find a hook near the trigger, but I’m trembling so badly, I can’t flick it. God damn it, it’s stuck. I push and push. It won’t budge! Maybe I can use the gun like a club. Hit them. But they’ll shoot me first, and how much—
It moves. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now I can kill them. Another memory, this one of another gun firing and my guard’s head exploding. Leonides. Blood and brains spattering. I fight back tears and terror—I can’t. I can’t do it.
The door opens. A black robed Inquisitor steps in.
I pull the trigger.
He yells, but I have no time to acknowledge it because he’s raising his gun. I pull the trigger again and again. He falls to the ground before getting off a shot. Another Inquisitor rushes through the door and I shoot him too. Two, three, four times, while the first one writhes on the floor, moaning. The second one joins him, gurgling blood. They make awful, grating sounds, and I’m shaking, terrified they can still hurt me somehow, so I keep shooting until the noises stop.
Afterwards there’s silence. Eerie, accusing silence. I’ve killed two people. I didn’t think about it, I just did it. And now I’m all but hyperventilating, losing feeling in my limbs as a black fog threatens my vision. Oh God, their blood is spreading across the floor. I want to drop the gun and curl up in a ball on the bunk—
Was there a third voice?