Blackout Part 6

“Whoa, what do we have here?” The older jag asked, fumbling to put his helmet on as he drew his weapon. “On the ground, killer.”
“The ground? Why?” Vas asked with a tilt of his head. “Is existing now a crime?”
“Existing? No. Impersonating Rambo? Yes. What’s with all the hardware?” the younger asked, keeping his pistol drawn.
Vas strugged. “Came stock.”
“Yeah? Well it’s not legal in the sprawl. Hand it over and we’ll let it slide.” The older one demanded.
“And anything else you got,” his partner added.
“You like pineapples?” Vas asked the Jaggs with a growing smile.
“You can keep the fruit, we’ll take your guns, that knife and any credits on you,” The younger Jag said, cocking the weapon in his hand for emphasis. “Now, or I paint this wall red.”
“But I am such an amazing cook.” Vas said, fishing out the grenade and yanking the pin out. “What do you think? A whole new meaning to a fruit basket aye?” He kept his thumb firmly over the spoon, his smile growing. “How about this you, paint me red I paint you red. Fair is fair right?”
Serena covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide as saucers.
“You’re bluffing, asshole,” the older jag snapped.
“I literally just pulled the pin. Honestly the most upsetting part of this is wasting this on you.” Vas admitted. “So … who wants to try me cuz i have had a hell of a morning.”
The shot cracked through the alley. For a second, neither Jagg moved. Serena froze. The younger jackboot stared at his weapon as if it had gone off by itself. Blue blood spread across the front of Vas’ shirt.
“Well … fuck …” Vas said, dropping down to a knee. “... you … that hurts …”
“You shot ‘em!” Serena yelped.

“Huh ... its blue …” He noted absently. “... you … should run.” He advised Serena.

The older Jagg grabbed the younger, and they scrambled out of the alley, not wanting to be blown to bits by some psycho with a mohawk.

“What do we do?” Serena asked, staring from his wound to the grenade.

“Oh now he runs … dick …” He grimaced. “... There … “ He pointed. “Over there.”