The flash of the gun brightened the perfect stillness. The tall "robo-cop" parted way through the gun shooters in front of it. It oriented its faceless "face" towards the sound. A chunk of cement, falling, perforated by the machine gun fire. It drew its hand up, like a marionette, then the fingers seemed to twirl something like a ticket counter.
Someone tossed someone a monkey wrench. Silently, sweatily, caught.
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