Black Market Villains

Chapter 1 - Tank

It was raining. Hard. And all that I could think of is how quickly we needed to get this done.

I ran into the building, glad that the bank left their air conditioning on when they were closed. The vents blew ice cold air through my too long and too curly hair. I had to start tying it back when we went on missions, but that's so much work! At least I wasn't late to the mission this time because of it.

I ran through the back door and was immediately knocked off of my feet. Long, slender arms wrapped around my shoulders and rolled me, head over heels, into the back of a tall crate.

If there wasn't a horde of security guards four hundred strides in front of us, I would've thrown her off of me so hard that she would be seeing stars for weeks. However, her scream would immediately notify them of our location. Actually, it might be beneficial - it's so high pitched that it would permanently deafen them.

When Grenade stopped rolling me across the warehouse floor, she lay on top of me with a smug grin spread across her face. "Get offa me!" I whispered as loudly as I could without alerting any of the night guards. Without warning, she broke out into a fit of giggles. They were silent, as to leave the guards undisturbed, but annoying nonetheless.

I gave her the most horrifying scowl that I could muster. Grenade rolled off of me with a groan.

"Come on! Have some fun!" she whispered. Grenade had been looking forward to this heist since Writemare gave us the report a week ago. Honestly, it seemed Grenade couldn't go a week without wanting to blow up bank. Then again, that's why we call her "Grenade", isn't it? She carries about forty of them in her pants and jacket at almost all times. It sounds like it may be a danger for the team, but trust me when I say she knows how to use them.

I'm actually not as serious as she thinks. I'm a lot of fun, at least in my opinion. The problem is that I just think too much and know when it's time to get down to business. Now Grenade on the other hand, procrastination all the way. She is also almost NEVER serious, but I do like having her around, even is she does get on my nerves

Sometimes.

I opened my mouth to retort but was quickly silenced by a hand over my mouth and an ear-splitting explosion only a few rooms over. The Grenade has struck again. I peered around the crate that we sat behind to look at the guards standing in the doorway a few yards away from us. They all stood on edge, reluctant to go over and figure out what had caused the commotion. " What's happening?" Grenade whispered, crawling closer to me and resting her chin on my shoulder. I shrugged, moving her off of me. "They aren't moving." I said, surprised to hear a bit of disappointment in my voice.

"You know, Tank, not everyone has to move around to be dangerous. I could blow em' to smithereens with a flick of the wrist." She demonstrates, showing me her carefully calculated hand movements. She then proceeds to gesture to invisible, mushroom-cloud explosions, mouthing the booms. She mimes the panicked pedestrians, arms flailing like an octopus with dexterity issues. She ends her tirade with a silently executed evil laugh.

I mentally debate between rolling my eyes and facepalming for a few seconds before settling on the former. "We melee fighters are much more intimidating, though. Are you going to run away from a lazy ass who tosses grenades at you or from a lady like myself who will literally punch your face in?"

Grenade looks hurt. "I work very hard at my job, you know. Blowing things up isn't nearly as easy as it sounds." Her expression shifts, mouth curling into a smirk. "I'd imagine you'd have a bit more trouble being intimidating, considering that you're not tall enough to touch most people's shoulders."

I frown. That was a low blow. But, as much as I hate to admit it, Grenade was right. I didn't have a particularly intimidating stature, even if I did pack quite a punch. "You're going to earn yourself a uppercut for that one."

Grenade's grin is wider than that of the Cheshire Cat. "Need a ladder?"

By now I was absolutely fuming. "Goddamnit Grenade I swear to God I'll -"

Grenade interrupts, shushing me. She hands me a length of steel pipe. It was about half a foot long with a 4 inch diameter. The pipe was heavy-duty, so the metal circumference was several centimeters thick. Puzzled, I ask, "What do you want me to do with this?"

Grenade simply replied, "Stress relief."

I put all my effort into bending it, but it doesn't move in the slightest. It was creating quite the opposite effect of stress relief. If I was fuming before, then I was positively murderous now.

Grenade sighed. "Pretend it's me."

She gestures to a smiley face she drew in Sharpie at one end of the rod. She looks up, meeting my eyes.

I stare straight past them, looking into her very soul. My raging expression goes completely calm, cold as ice and hard as granite. A smirk spreads across my face.

The pipe bends in half with so much force that the opposite sides squished together like putty.

To her credit, Grenade goes completely white.

There's few things I enjoy more than scaring Grenade. I smirk, relishing in my victory as I pat her shoulder and gently set the pipe down.

Grenade picks it up to examine it, still pale as a Minecraft addict. A perfect replica of my handprints are pressed into the pipe, steel curling like Play-Doh around where my hand once was.

I turn back around to check on the guards, but they haven't moved. "Goddamn cowards," I mutter, frowning as Grenade puts her head back on my shoulder to look. I shrug her off but she got a good enough glimpse.

Grenade sighs disappointedly, having recovered her spirit. "Well, they're a boring bunch. Why don't we give em' a bit of life?" She raises her eyebrows playfully, grinning as she rummages through her pockets for another explosive.

This can't end well - the security guards are way too close. If we stay here, the explosion will kill us, and if we run, the guards will pick us off. I dive for the grenade out of desperation, attempting to snatch it from Grenade's hands.

I overshoot, body-slamming her.

The force causes Grenade to lose her grip, the tiny explosive flying from her hands. I watch in silent horror as time seems to slow, stretching out as the grenade arches through the air, spinning as it begins its descent.

It hits the ground with a small clink.

We had their attention now.

The warehouse falls silent - deathly silent. I can feel the eyes of the guards boring through the wood of the crate.

We're done for.