Amos drew his blaster pistol from its holster as the group of Rannian thugs approached. Most of them stopped. He nervously pointed the device at the one who kept walking.
The creature paused for a moment, looked at the blaster, and smiled, its mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.
“I mean it! I'll blow a hole right through you if you take one more step.”
Hands shaking, Amos pressed the barrel into the smirking Rannian's chest. The Rannian brushed it aside without a second glance.
“You'd have a lot better luck making that hole if your gun was charged.”
I wrote this while struggling to work on some other projects of mine. Can't find all the answers I need (for the other project) at the moment, so I figured I'd write a little space vignette that doesn't necessarily need answers.
Poor Amos. We hardly knew ye.