He ran breathlessly across the field, his heart racing at a million miles an hour. Pronn hadn't eaten in days, so adrenaline was his only fuel. He didn't dare turn back, knowing it would only slow him down. Whatever creature was chasing him was faster than the devil, and he knew the slightest drop in speed would end in a bloody execution.
He tried hard to breath, but it almost seemed impossible. So he punched himself in the gut as hard as he could, which somehow allowed him to breathe. At least a gallon of air went into his lungs, but hardly fueled his rush.
He could hear the sounds of the creature calling after him, screaming a blood-curling scream. He knew he couldn't outrun it much longer, and resorted to plan two. He spun around fast and put out his hand. The creature didn't stop, it only ran faster. Suddenly, Pronn's hand started to change shape. Metal started to crawl outside of his skin and begin to change his hand into a weapon. A gun. Pronn fired upon the creature, launching it back fifty feet. It hit the ground and sent up a mushroom cloud of dust and blood, and then there was silence.
Pronn's hand returned to its original form in almost an instant. He fell to the ground and started to breathe hard, with each breath feeling like weights were lifted off his shoulders. Finally, he reached a point of relaxation, and arose. He walked over to the alien's dusty grave, and spit on it. He then took one last deep breath, and then sighed. "Life will never be the same, will it?" he asked himself aloud.
Only thunder answered. Pronn looked up at the black clouds and winced. He then turned and faced the woods. Slowly he walked into the trees, hoping to find some shelter from the incoming shower of rain.