The heavily modified bulldozer ground to a halt. Finally, a weakness.
He crawled up over three inches of bulletproof plastic and settled near the main hatch.
Killdozer, they were calling the machine. A homemade grudge settler courtesy of a local shop owner. Decades on the force and he’d never seen anything like it.
He cocked his pistol and gripped the latch with a sweaty palm. One more breath – slowly in, slowly out – and then down into darkness.
But before he moved, a single gunshot rang out, catching him by surprise.
He cursed, holstered his gun.
His work here, already done.
The Weekday One Hundred 