Zagrabath the Gigantic saw the railcar trundling down the hill, their horror growing as they made out the tiny matchstick figures lying across the tracks at the bottom. At the top of the hill, a cackling, white-haired old man waved his hands in the direction of the pedestrians on the nearby roadside, shouting for them to intervene and choose.
Choose what? Zagrabath thought to themself. It wasn't like the human pedestrians had laser breath or claws or a tail swipe attack to choose between, they probably had at most one way each of stopping the railcar.
Besides, the choice facing Zagrabath was obvious: if they positioned themself just right and used their laser breath, they could immolate the railcar and the raving philosopher in one go.
