Max-Kielsmeier

On a more remote stretch of Trail Ridge Road in the mountains of Colorado, Robert’s car stalled out for what he knew would probably the last time ever. The knowledge that it would easily lead the police to his whereabouts, even in the mountains, wasn’t lost on him. He had but one chance—to roll the car off-road and down a slope, hoping they’d not see it for a while. It had a decent chance of delaying them long enough for him to escape. If anyone could escape the police, it ought to be Robert Droll; Captain Robert Droll, at that. He hadn’t bested aliens on their own worlds just to be outwitted by the police in his own backyard. Only one problem—they did have guns. Meanwhile, Robert was unarmed, and he had to assume they were near. In one sense, the stars had aligned, for he was near just such an ideal slope at a ravine in the mountains which no other road had a view of. The area was remote enough not to have guardrails on the side which led to the trees below. It would take something

A mechanical beast prowled the streets. Brad and Cullen sat inside Claw-face, their eyes scanning the haze-infused city. There was a cathedral to the south. They saw a man emptying a bucket of liquid on its lawn. The front door of the cathedral had been left wedged open. “Look,” said Brad in a conspiring tone. “People living there...” Brad popped the glove box and withdrew a pistol from it. “It's time for a special operation.” Claw-face rolled slowly toward the cathedral. It stopped with its prongs pointed directly at Will, who had his shotgun slung over his shoulder. He tried to look past the glare on the windshield so he could see whoever these presumptuous tools were exactly. He strolled out of Claw-face's direct path. He came in view of the drivers side, the window of which was presently being rolled down. A sleazy smile was on Brad's face as he made eye contact with Will.