Fighting!
But so did Jim; he noted the look of surprise on the first morlock’s face before the iron-weighted base of Jim’s business satchel smashed into it. Jim pivoted and threw the satchel into the lead morlock’s gut, staggering her. He shifted slightly to face the third, who had pulled out a rock-hammer, its head already a blur of vibration from the battery in its handle.
The morlock’s swing wasn’t wild. But it was just a bit badly-timed; and Jim had both a longer reach, and better reflexes. He stepped into the morlock’s swing, grabbed his arm, and and redirected the rock-hammer into one wooden ‘window.’ Jim then stamp-kicked the morlock’s ankle with brutal pragmatism. It was still three against one.
Or more like one-and-a-half against one, he decided as he took two careful steps back. The first morlock was lying slumped on a seat; from the bloodstains, it looked like he had bounced the back of his head against a pole. The last one was picking herself up, now holding his satchel as either shield, or weapon. From what Jim could see, it wouldn’t matter much, either way.
“Put it down, citizen,” Jim said. “The King’s papers are in there, and he doesn’t like it when they’re stolen. That stop’s still coming up. Why not drop it, and run?” And let the damn sammies chase you down, instead of me. That’s why they joined the police, isn’t it?