Laundry Day & Laser Beams

Harriet dove behind the row of washers, laser beams ricocheting overhead. Shouldn't alien crime lords take weekends off like everybody else?

She swiped her card on the machine where she'd just stuffed her laundry, lamenting the impending doom of some favorites. Yanking open its door, she slipped a plasma grenade among her effects.

At least the laundromat's otherwise uninhabited, Harriet thought. She hurled a basket, drawing off enemy blasts, and leapt through the exit to the relative cover aside her cruiser. A resounding boom shook the air.

As far as exploding buildings go, it smelled rather fresh.