Tanks Grenades

Cautiously, I approached Oni Lee, who was disturbingly still. If not for the subtle movements of his back as he breathed, I might have thought him dead. With the toe of one boot, I wedged my foot under his uninjured shoulder and carefully turned him over.

And then recoiled, startled, as he carelessly yanked on the pin of every grenade he could reach.

“Shit —”

Something slammed into me from the side —

BOOM

— and then my world was thunder and force and crushing silence.

After a moment, I became aware of myself again. I had no idea how much time had passed, but it felt simultaneously like forever and less than a second. I blinked open eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed and found myself on my back, staring up at the sky, again. The gravel beneath my back was like salt in the open wound that was the bruise I’d just picked up minutes — hours? Days? — ago.

At first, there was no sound at all. My ears were stuffed with cotton, and I couldn’t even hear myself breathe. Then, the ringing started, a shrill, high pitched whine that threatened to deafen me all over again. It was like someone had set a siren next to my ears, because that was all that I could hear.

I picked myself up and stumbled to my feet, clumsily, drunkenly, like I was just learning how to walk. My feet were unsteady beneath me, and my balance was so skewed that I was having a hard time figuring out which direction was up.

I shook my head to try and clear it, and that was when the situation started to come back to me. Bakuda. The bombs. The goons in the warehouse. Oni Lee. Oni Lee setting off almost all of his grenades at once, right in my face. That sonnuva —