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We're still street punks and we've got a job to do.

As soon as you think of a speedy feline form to catch the purse snatcher, you think of an orange cat, which causes you to spontaneously think of the movie you watched during your Italian takeout dinner...Alien. Your outer skin appears to harden and your limbs stiften and enlongate. Your head shapes itself like a banana as your back becomes a living coatrack, and your tail a bullwhip. You begin to see electromagnetics and then drool acid all over the place. An overwhelming thought enters your mind as you're chasing after the snatcher...on the sidewalks, over cars and on the sides of buildings: *CATCH RUNNING PREY KILL RUNNING PREY KILL PREY KILL PREY!!*

'Shit, man! SHIT!! SHIT!!! Godogodogodogodogod!' he wails as he stumbles blindly along, no longer possessed of the energy to flee upon his own will...no matter that he's around six-feet seven.

He is finally cornered in a dead end ally and you approach him. He screams in utter dispair, throws the purse he had been absently clinging to the side and begins to pull a long metallic tube out of his jacket and begins to lower it, all the while you are already in the air and at his throat, removing his head.

Satisfied, you switch to the crab-faced predator form, reach down and pluck up the head and purse, screaming a warcry of victory. You climb a ladder, remove fleshy things from the head, polish it and stick it in a small cardboard box wrapped in newspaper. You become human again and hand box and purse to the formally robbed woman. She whispers a tiny thanks, not looking at the box's contents, as you smugly stride home.


Written by Hypogryph

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