The Last Stop
A Knightscope Chronicles Case
Sentinel Shores
Part I: The K1 Emergency Call Box
Please—he’s chasing me—”
Her words break on the line.
Breath sharp. Almost a sob.
“He killed the clerk—he’s got… it’s like a nail gun—”
Sentinel Shores Police Dispatch comes back steady, calm:
“You’re not alone. Stay on the line. Officers are on the way.”
Pull back:
A stretch of blacktop cutting through nothing.
No headlights. No homes.
Just one figure barefoot on the shoulder,
clutching a handheld phone.
Part II: The Robbery
Neon hum inside the gas station.
Fluorescents flicker.
The clerk looks up as the door slams.
Then he’s there.
A giant shape fills the doorway.
Shoulders too broad, frame crooked and wrong.
A face twisted—jaw offset, one eye higher than the other,
skin scarred in uneven lines.
He lets out a loud, gross grunt.
The sound rattles the shelves.
Then—hiss-pop.
The nail gun fires.
The clerk screams.
“Please! Please don’t! Take the money—just don’t kill me!”
Another grunt. Louder.
Another shot.
Money scatters.
The clerk crumples.
Part III: The Bathroom
She hears everything.
The grunt.
The scream.
The clerk’s voice breaking as he begs for his life.
Then—quiet.
For a second, nothing.
Just the hum of the fluorescent light above her stall.
Then it starts.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Slow.
Each one pounding like bass she can feel in her chest.
Louder. Closer.
Each step shaking her to the core.
Then the steps stop.
Only breathing now.
Thick. Uneven.
Like someone snoring through broken lungs.
A hand smacks against the bathroom door.
The frame shudders under the weight.
Her breath catches—
a sharp, involuntary gasp.
She panics.
Scrambles for the tiny bathroom window.
Fingers clawing at the frame.
Behind her comes the sound—
his face smashing against the door,
grunts wet and awful between blows.
Then his shoulder.
The wood begins to splinter.
She kicks herself through the window, tumbling onto gravel.
Looks back—
And sees him break through.
Hands massive, nails yellow and cracked.
For one sickening second, their eyes lock.
Then she runs.
Part IV: The Run
No traffic. No lights.
Only gravel tearing her feet
and the sound of him behind her—
boots pounding, grunts echoing,
a hulking silhouette lurching in the dark.
The hiss-pop of the nail gun splits the silence.
Steel slams into asphalt feet from where she runs.
She doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t look back.
She seizes the handset, gasping into it:
“He’s right behind me—please—”
Sentinel Shores Police Dispatch replies, calm and firm:
“Stay there. Hold on. Help is seconds away.”
Part V: The Border
She tears off the shoulder and into the trees.
Branches whip her arms raw.
Every step slower.
But his aren’t.
The giant grunts behind her, nail gun hissing,
air and steel chasing her deeper into the dark.
Then—lights.
A K5 unit patrolling the border road.
Owned by the City of Sentinel Shores,
its dome turning steady,
lenses unblinking.
The machine captures everything:
her screams.
Her staggering run.
The massive figure lumbering after her,
tool raised in his hand.
KSOC flags the feed.
Police dispatch calls it out.
Border patrol units move.
Part VI: The Confrontation
They find him at the treeline.
Still coming.
Still grunting, chest heaving.
A taser cracks—arcs of blue in the night.
The wires stick, biting into his chest.
He looks down at them.
Stares.
Then lets out a guttural, sickening grunt.
And sprints.
Straight at the officer in the middle.
Hands clamp around the man’s head.
He lifts him clean off the ground—
a rag doll in the grip of a giant.
Then the bite.
From eyebrow to upper lip, torn away in one grotesque rip.
The officer’s scream curdles into the night.
That’s the breaking point.
Border patrol and police open fire together.
Bursts of thunder.
A hundred rounds tearing through the trees.
The giant staggers, flinches,
then finally collapses into the dirt.
Silent.
Finished.
Epilogue
She had only been passing through.
Headed home from college,
March break,
the long drive stretching ahead.
One wrong stop.
One nightmare detour.
And her life nearly ended in a bathroom window.
She survived.
Barefoot, cut, shaking—
but alive.
Sentinel Shores would not forget the night.