Don't you hate it when you leave the office after a long day of work only to find a giant crab tearing the place up? They may be inconvenient, but monstrous crustaceans make for great stories. See what you can come up with for this killer kaiju crab.
Here's my response:
Sylvain sighed. He was already late picking Rachel up from soccer practice, and now one of Doctor Dementex's Frankenbeasts was running amok in the office parking lot. He supposed he should be grateful that it wasn't his car in the giant crab's claws, but it hardly mattered. His insurance premiums were going to go through the roof now.
He considered his options. The Department of Metahuman Hygiene warned that if your vehicle was caught up in a superpowered battle, you should abandon it and flee to safety. (He hummed the PSA jingle as the crab flung Henry Forrester's Prius into the lot next door.) But how would get to Rachel's school then? The L-train had been down since the Somnambulist's showdown with the Questionable Quintet, and there was no way Sylvain was riding the bus.
Sylvain pulled out the phone and checked the time. Where was Moaning Man when you needed him? Doctor Dementex was his responsibility, after all. So annoying when Metaheroes were tardy with their own rogues. He drew his car keys from his pocket and pressed the unlock button. The crab didn't react to the soft click of the doors. Sylvain took a deep breath and ran for his car.
As he and his car were hoisted into the air, Sylvain wondered what giant crab meat tasted like. As he hurtled to the Earth, his only thoughts were of giant buckets of drawn butter.
Jenson gasped when he saw what was happening in the parking lot. Field testing at the Facility was a necessary part of the work being done but usually the scientists and engineers were able to contain things to the proper areas.
He didn't work in the lab. Jenson was a mid-level administrator who took care of the things needed to keep the lab division operating. He knew from the progress reports that crossed his desk that the lab was doing incredible things but he generally didn't see anything they did firsthand.
As he headed for the main exit of the administration building the guard had warned him of the Category One Incident happening in the parking lot.
"Don't worry, sir. The HRT is handling it," the guard added. The Hazardous Response Team was the Facility's in-house force for such events. "Just stay here until we get the all clear."
Jenson pushed past the guard and out the building, briefcase still in hand. He had never seen a Category One Incident in progress and was curious. The creature known as Test Subject XPQ-6754 was scuttling through the lot. Jenson noticed with dismay that XPQ-6754 had his red sports car gripped in one claw. He wondered what the cover story to tell the public, and more importantly his insurance company, would be.
It was finally happening. Gavin had dreamt of the day the old gods would rise from their aqueous slumber, to rule with implacable horror. What he hadn't pegged was the lack of tentacles...he was if anything mildly distracted from what should've been a momentous day by this fact. It irked him. A lovecraftian youth had prepped him for squamous and toothsome and eldritch. This looked more like something he used to watch as a child,comfortably wrapped in a blanket,wrapped in a proper American wagon, shoddy glasses wrapped around his head as he watched rubber beasts shamble through polystyrene cities. Good, quite fun in a campy way but severely lacking the requisite gravitas he wanted, no needed from the end of days. Frustrating really. He wondered if he should complain, but judging by the billowing smoke rising lazily from the city, all services would be down. He realised he had been standing on the spot, just gazing off into middle ground, as all around him his coworkers ran by screaming, tripping over debris, yelling to whatever gods would hopefully be listening. gavin knew better. So he walked against the tide of humanity. Sat himself on a bench he'd sat upon for many a lunch over many a year. Opened his briefcase, took out the slighty soggy sandwich his wife had made for him and settled back to enjoy the show. Any ending was better than no ending.
It had been one of those days. On the way in that morning, the elevator got stuck between floors for ten minutes and that was ten minutes too long to share space with Morrison from Acquisitions. How could one man manage to be a sweaty-faced blow hard and a clinging claustrophobic at the same time. Once the car started moving again, Paul was more than willing to jump off on seven even though his office was on eleven. Morrison was too busy alternating between reaming out the maintenance staff and hyperventilating to notice how quickly he was bulldozed out of the way.
It was downhill from there. The coffee maker died in a hail of sparks and steam, Eileen was tying up the best copier making PowerPoint hand outs and the second best copier jammed every second page. Someone reheated something horrendously odoriferous in the microwave and Paul's lunch managed to smell like a combination of sweaty cheese, old fish, and sausage. The candy bar he decided to eat in it's place tasted almost as bad. The network connection, intermittent throughout the morning, finally gave up the ghost after lunch. Of course, that meant spending the afternoon hearing 'is the network up?' in all of its variations while he twiddled his thumbs at his desk.
Finally, Mr. Philipson finally took mercy on the non-essential staff and sent them home. Paul gathered his belongings, including the briefcase that he felt made him look more a bit more professional than the backpack he used to carry, and headed for the back lot.
He heard the screams as soon as he stepped outside, only a little bit before the salty, sour odor of sea water hit him. His shoulders slumped. Of course, this would be the day that he drove to work rather than taking the bus. He watched a Ford Escort go skittering across the lot, slamming into a couple of Civics. There were sirens in the distance blending with the wail of car alarms.
Maybe, on a different day, Paul might have made some vague effort to save his car. The faithful Dodge Neon had seen him through some difficult times and had not succumbed to the various electrical issues and minor accidents that plagued it. But, really, it wasn't worth it. If nothing else, it would be an interesting insurance claim. Pausing, he pulled out his phone and snapped a couple of pictures, just as proof, turned away, and headed for the bus stop.
The phone rang.
"Henderson here. What can I do for you?"
"This is Robinson. Get the exterminators on the phone. Send them to the parking lot."
"We've got rats?"
"You telling me you've got crabs?"
"Crab singular. And it's big."
"I'll be right on it."
"And get me the price of mayonnaise futures. I feel an opportunity."
Donaldson wasn't sure of a lot of things, but today one thing became certain to him.
He was NEVER going to illegally park in a handicap space again....