You rush over and try to help.

The woman disengages herself and runs away, totally freaked out. You bolt from your chair and hurry over to the stranger. His legs give out and he collapses with a groan. You catch him as he falls, and gently lay him down amid the scattered comic books.

"Are you all right?" you ask. "Are you on any medication?"

Just then, the paunchy store manager rolls up, cell phone in hand.

"Call an ambulance!" you bark. "I think he's ill."

"That's not a bomb on him, is it?" the manager asks, dialing with his thumb.

You look down. The stranger's coat has fallen open. The box is festooned with buttons, dials, and gauges. It looks more like a funky old-style radio than an explosive device.

"Please," the man rasps. "He's right behind me. Push the button now!"


On the front of the box, two buttons on the top row are lit up and blinking. One is red, the other green.

"What is this thing?" you ask. "Is it dangerous?"

"He's a freakin' terrorist!" the manager declares, backing away. Customers in the immediate area scatter like ants from a spritz of Raid.

From outside comes the sound of screeching tires, then WHAM! The crashing of metal.

You jerk your head and take in the scene beyond the glass doors. Out in the parking lot, a car has just smashed into a huge man, and the man is still standing! 

Holy kazonga! The dude is more than huge, he's of Hulkian proportions! Shaved head, caveman brow-ridge, muscles threatening to burst his black clothing. And he's heading into the coffee shop!

"The button, press it!!" the stranger cries. Then he sighs and his eyes close. He's out like a candle in a hurricane.

The big dude stomps up to the entrance. In two seconds he's going to be stomping on your face!

The End

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