Whatever it was, skittering about the junkyard on disjointed metal stilts, it had just proven that it was carnivorous. The remains of the guard dog were strewn around like week-old festival confetti and the ground all around the main office was slick with the poor thing's blood.
The graveyard shift, consisting of Craig and Dmitri respectively, huddled under the lunch table and prayed that it couldn't open doors. Every few minutes they'd see it darting across the monitors - patrolling, they realised. Patrolling and scenting the air, knowing there was more food nearby but not quite pinpointing them yet.
They were torn between two choices - hide and wait until morning, either hoping it would get bored and leave by then or that the day crew would scare it/feed it. It was a real coward's choice but as Dmitri pointed out - cowards live longer.
Their second choice was to use the junkyard's speaker system to lure it away and then make a mad dash for the car park just outside. It was dangerous, crazy dangerous and they reckoned they'd both end up painting the ground before they could even see their cars but it meant the ordeal would be over quicker.
In the end their decision was made for them as jagged metal legs punctured the glass and then their throats.
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