Folly Fetch: 2 of 2
Eyes shut and gasping, Mossy’s mouse ears flattened as he pawed at a forearm barring his neck. A gunfight raged around him, the sounds growing muffled as his heart thumped in his ears.
“You damned dirty rat bastard!” Sergeant Fury bellowed. The angry badger pinned Mossy to a wall, his free hand rearing with claws beared. “What the hell was that? You were supposed to cast a smoke screen to get us across this damned cavern.”
“A mistake,” he croaked, his hind legs padding against Fury’s chest as his tail whipped between the sarge’s legs. “Mossy on...same side.”
Fury loosened his choke. “If you double-cross us... I’m gonna open you up. Let you watch as your insides become a turncoat.”
Mossy glanced at the otter standing nearby. Chief Olly Otterman was facing away as he spoke into a collar-clipped radio. “...Soon, we’ll be out of both.”
“Chief! Mossy scared! Mossy real scared!”
Otterman gestured with a raised finger—‘hang on.’ “Godspeed, Flurry.” He oriented on Mossy, his bushy mustache concealing his mouth. He clasped his hands behind him and approached.
Orange lines zipped overhead, the three of them shielded by a stalagmite cluster. The overhead darkness undulated as muzzle flashes blasted all around them.
A ricochet struck the wall near Mossy. He scrambled. Or tried to. He was held fast. His panicked gaze flashed between his captors, who didn’t seem aware of the lead parasites leaping about.
“I thought you said security would be light in this area?” the Chief asked, evenly.
“This whole thing stinks of a setup,” Fury bellowed, fangs gritted. “This rat’s not snitching; he’s baiting. If Flurry finds a trap...” He growled and pressed into Mossy’s throat. “I’m going to rip his whiskers out through his asshole.”
“Na-na-no!” Mossy pleaded. “Mossy’s been good! Mossy’s been real good. Been honest too! Mossy not know this way guarded. And when Mossy’s magic misbehaved. Was a trick! A trick on poor Mossy!”
Fury glanced at Otterman, whose mustache wriggled. “What’s the ‘stache telling you, Olly?”
“A truth wrapped in lies,” Otterman replied. “Or perhaps the other way ‘round.”
“It’s KB!” someone yelled. “KB’s here!”
Fury crouched alongside the stalagmites, Mossy in tow, where they peered out across the space. His men, a group of blue-uniformed lemmings, were backing away in unison, their pistols and free hands raised in supplication. Ahead of them, a pack of rats parted and lowered their Tommy Guns. A small rabbit loped out from a far-side tunnel—KB. He lifted his head and twitched his nose.
Then, chaos.
KB bounded onto the nearest officer, then leaped away from the throatless, collapsing corpse. He sprang against the wall, then back again, dribbling between the environment and imminent corpses.
“Chief!” crackled over the radio.
“Flurry?” Otterman responded. “What’s your status?”
“I’m here!”
A blur zipped out of an adjacent corridor.
“Over here!” Otterman beckoned.
Flurry was there in a flash, a metal orb proffered, his toothy grin framing its backdrop. “Mission accomplished.”
Fury took the orb. “Our boys are dying out there! No time to waste.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the instructions right—”
“I know how it works.”
Mossy forgotten, he glanced at the artifact, then at his captors. He dipped into their huddle, then clapped his hands over his head.
A blinding, deafening flash erupted from his met palms.
The snitch snatched the swag and scampered away in a hurry. He passed a line of lemmings filing in the opposite direction as his posse hefted their weapons in triumph.
KB loped forward, his white mouth and paws dyed red.
“Boss! Mossy did good. Mossy did real good.” He took his place beside KB as the squeaking cheers rose in pitch. He really had done a good thing this time. The cheers reached into him and struck a strand of modesty he hadn’t known was there. His face felt flush, and his gaze fell.
As he looked down his nose, he saw that half his whiskers were gone. One side was bare, and he only just noticed the pain there! His hand nursed the injury as his eyes shot back across the cavern.
Flurry stood on the stalagmites, his hands cupped around his mouth like he was shouting something. Otterman clapped alongside him. And Fury stood with his fist in the air—a fist full of whiskers, no doubt.
“When did—”
Fury’s hand turned around, and he raised his middle finger.
“Rude!”
The finger glinted. There was a ring. A dangling pin.
“Oh...”
“Three!” Flurry announced.
Boom!
Constraints:
- WC: 750/750
- Genre: Crime
- Trope: Dirty Rat
