Black Market Villains

Chapter 2 - Grenade

I rifle through my pockets, searching for one of my specialty explosives.  It seems now is a perfect time to use one of my less deadly, but still quite effective, grenades.

I pull my prize from my pocket, weighing the grenade in my hand.  I tug the tag out right as I prepare to throw it, but, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Tank's desperate expression as she dives at my hand.  The force causes me to lose my grip, and of course, the grenade flies out of my hand.  The nearly-inaudible sound of the grenade hitting the ground inexplicably catches the guards' attention.  Our position is compromised.

(Thank you, authors.  You've done such a good job of screwing Tank and I over.  Much appreciated.)

"Goddamnit, Tank," I hiss.  "It was a flash grenade!"

Tank looks positively mortified.

Of course, as flash grenades are expensive af, I only have one.  Great.  If I didn't know any better, I would say that we were done for. The guards now know of our location, and there was virtually no way out. I could blast em' to the heavens, but the explosion would be too close to us and would either leave us deaf for days or kill us. Tank was losing her pretty little mind over it, but I'm sure she knew that she had nothing to fear. She had a tendency to be worrisome over my specialty, but I'm always prepared. I know how to handle sticky situations. I'm always thinking two steps ahead.

Sadly, I didn't see this coming so I had to think on the spot. Looking around, I tried to formulate a plan. A bound stack of metal is sitting to my right, the grenade was too far away to grab without being shot, and the footsteps coming from behind the crate were getting nearer and nearer by the second.

"Hmm..." I dug into one of my many fabulous jean pockets and fumbled around for my special attack.  All this running must have made it fall down.  I fish around, my elbow jutting out uncomfortably just above the rim of the pocket.

Did I mention that I have cool-ass enchanted pockets?

At long last, I triumphantly pull out a mega roll of rainbow-colored duct tape.  Tank stares at me out of the corners of her eyes like I've gone even more insane than I already am.  Grabbing a few pieces of metal, I go to work. Narrowing her eyes, Tank is visibly tired of my bullshit and done with whatever this was before I had started. Little did she know, this was going to help us get out of here in the best way possible: fast as fuck and lookin' sexy.

I looked at Tank, trying to telepathically tell her what I needed her to do. Though that isn't possible (yet), she seemed to understand well enough. Taking a few steps back, she ran at the crate as hard as she could, hitting it with enough force to knock it off balance. It was rocking, slowly - as if it were to fall over.

Okay, no.  She didn't understand at all.

I glance at the rigid hook I had constructed from metal and duct tape.  Now that Tank was screwing up all my plans, it was impossible to drag the grenade back to safety.  I slip the hook back into my pocket.  Stopping whatever the hell Tank was doing was my first priority.  

As quickly as I could, I ran to the other side, grabbed the bottom edge of the crate and pull it down, trying to set the crate back on the ground.  Tank stubbornly held on, her superior strength making my job nearly impossible.  However, my weight sent the bottom of the crate teetering closer to my head than I would have liked. I look up, sending silent prayers to whoever the hell is up there.  I'm too young - and awesome - to die, after all.

Suddenly, the crate stops falling.  I lose my grip as Tank readjusts her hold, hefting the crate higher above her head.  I try to motion for her to put the crate down, but she scowls and holds the crate even higher.  Man, she really has that face down pat, doesn't she?

Still scowling, she swung the crate around towards the guards - and the grenade. I watched in amazement and horror as it landed perfectly centered over it. I run to the back of the box and try to lift up the edge of the crate, but I don't have the strength.

A near-deafening boom echoes from beneath the crate.  A bright flash of light escapes through the corners, leaving my eyes burning and my senses numb.  The grenade is completely wasted.

Tank is curled in a ball, covering her head.  She looks up, confused, as the blast leaves the crate completely intact.

"It. Was. A. Flash. Grenade," I growl, mood ruined by the loss of my newest and most expensive explosive.

Tank looks confused, not understanding my anger.  "Did it explode?" she mutters to herself, checking under the crate.

"Yes, it exploded!  It's a flash grenade!  Flash grenade explosions are extremely loud and extremely bright, deafening and blinding whoever's in the radius!  I wasn't about to blow us up, you blithering idiot!"

Recognition dawns on her features as she lets loose an angry huff.  "You should have explained that before you threw it, you imbecile!"

"Flash grenades look completely different from explosive grenades, you uncultured swine!  If you had any common sense, you'd know in an instant!  For one, they're cylindrical, not roun-"

"I lift stuff, not blow stuff up!  How would I know, you feeble-minded blockhead!"

"Moronic simpleton!"

"Dense dimwit!"

"Boorish birdbrain!"

"Witless... uh..."

"Jackass?"  Tank suggested.

"Witless jackass!  Perfect!"

Tank and I make eye contact for a second before bursting into peals of laughter.

My laughter breaks off when I feel the cold muzzle of a gun press against my temple.

That's when I remember the other deadly threat. The guards.

Tank's expression shifts to abject horror as the guards surround us.

"Put yer hands up," the one closest to me hisses, gesturing with his weapon.  His grizzled beard and cruel eyes make me want to punch him.  Really, really hard.  Between the legs.

I slowly place my hands behind my head.  Tank looked just about ready to fight, but she gingerly did the same.  I glance around desperately, hoping - praying - for someone to save us right in the nick of time.

(That's your cue, authors.)

"Get down, Grenade!"

I fell to the ground as a bang echoes through the chamber.  The muzzle of the gun slips from my forehead as the guard crumples, cross-eyed, and collapses on the floor.

Blood oozes from the hole in his head, the gunshot placed perfectly between his eyes.