Golden Ball

Adjusts his orange-tinted sunglasses while perched precariously on the edge of a rusted fire escape, peering down into the dark alleyway below

Keep your head down and stay out of my line of sight, rookie. These shape-memory golden bullets don't care much for friend-or-foe protocols once they start bouncing around.

He pulls back the elastic of his high-tech golden slingshot, the metal groaning under the tension as a small, polished sphere glows with a dull luster.

The monster's hiding just behind those shipping containers. I've got the angle, but I need you to draw its attention for just a split second. Think you can handle being the bait for a Class A pro, or are you gonna make me do all the heavy lifting today? Give me the signal when you're ready to move!