The estate agent opened the door and politely pushed James into the house. It was an interesting mix of modern decor and rustic charm, it had a TV and extensive mould covering the flaky, cracked walls. James had expected this, of course, it was the only reason he could think of as to why this house was so cheap. He gave the room a quick once over and turned to the estate agent.
“It’s very nice,” he said, barely hiding that he was lying, “But what’s that thing?”
James pointed at a rusted computer monitor mounted on the wall, partially obscured by a termite ridden wooden door then led into the kitchen. The estate agent strode across the room, slammed the rotten door (splintering it in the process), and studied the device.
“Ah yes,” he tapped at some buttons, “This is your ‘burglar alarm’.”
He punctuated the words “burglar alarm” with the finger quotes, which instantly aggravated James.
“It doesn’t look much cop. How can I be sure it even works?” James asked, trying hard to hide his growing dislike for the annoying little man that was trying to sell him a glorified rat’s nest.
The estate agent didn’t respond, he just tapped away at a few more buttons. There was a loud creaking noise and a section of the ceiling cracked to pieces and fell to the floor. Out of the resulting hole descended a large, heavily rusted, spider-like device. It scuttled along the ceiling towards James and settled a few feet away. It began to unfurl, its motion clearly slowed by the heavy rust, and drilled itself into the ceiling. Once it was in place its body opened up and two rotary cannons emerged, pointing at James. They began to rev up.
James let out a yell and leapt for the nearest doorway in an attempt to find cover. The guns began clicking aggressively at him. They weren’t loaded. James poked his head out from behind the doorway and glared angrily at the estate agent.
The estate agent smiled back, “Just imagine what it would do to a burglar, eh?”
“You… utter… bastard!”
Whitehall Press Corps. 