we both draw, but we are too slow. the thing moves faster than the book said- but that is one of the unfortunate side-effects of using rakeesh's tomes as your primary source materials for research. pay-while-you-browse is a shady policy for any library, even an occult one. so our hands are sitting there full of guns, when the exoskeleton cracks open & the hooked tentacles slither out.
or to put it another way: HOLY SHIT THAT THINGS FROM OUTERSPACE!
by now our guns are roaring in our hands; hell, i'm dropping my hand so fast to compensate for the recoil that i look like some hungry hindu god. so while our irons are mantra-ing with a "bang-bang-bang," this thing just sort of ripples up the bank towards us, & the next thing you know, sally hecate is more like sally pate, a spread of meat on the stone. at this point, i'm getting a little distressed that the teflon coated copkillers havn't shreded this thing by now.
the next couple of rounds in my gun are home-made. i call 'em pharsee rounds, but whatley (he's the hairy one laying hexes down with his free hand) calls 'em something with alot of gutteral noises & the other guys call 'em arson rounds. either way the next three bullets start toasting the thing with white phosphorus. that seems to get its attention; it turns around like its got some crazy internal gyroscope (& i'm thinking "uh, is this the thing or its fucking spaceship?") & starts that creepy wavey movement over towards me.
this is where things get screwy, 'cause i drop my skin.
turns out, i'm an alien after all, & your whole planet is fucked.