“In a hurry, citizen?” booms Murdron, towering above Margaret’s Chrysler. Its deputy badge is a gold dot welded to titanium armor; its clipboard is a flatbed.
“Well, yes,” says Margaret.
“What was so urgent as to make you exceed the posted limit?”
“The kaiju battle,” says Margaret, “mostly,” as Vulfhor subjects Welbaru to a radioactive eyeblast. Welbaru shrieks. Margaret’s hair falls out.
Murdron shakes its head. “You put yourself and others in grave danger!”
“With all due respect–” Margaret begins, before Welbaru flattens her car.
“Truly, a tragedy no one could have foreseen,” is the box Murdron checks on the paperwork.
