The voice resolved itself into a robot, floating several feet in the air; it had three of those glowing eye stalks and three dangling arms: one with a pincer, one with a flame-thrower, and one with some kind of futuristic gun. "You better run, you commie-loving bastards!" it yelled, voice like a Hollywood drill sergeant.

"I can't even," Verity said, and shot the thing twice. Both bullets ricocheted off its armor. "Well, fuck."