Angry Jasper: Thirty-three

You got a very special mom, kid,” said Jazz. Skull Boy peeked over Jazz’ shoulder as he carefully scraped the last of the chalky and rotting wall from around the final bolt.

“I do?”
“To love a face like that,” he grimaced. Jazz glanced back over his shoulder at the kid and felt a shiver run through him. “And could you not stand quite so close.”

“Getting in your light?”

“No, you’re making me sick.”

Suddenly the bolt popped free. It tumbled from the wall and spun in the air for a he art-stopping moment before Jazz caught it. He peeked through the slit inj the door once more. The guard was sound asleep, tipped back against the wall in a small chair. With a deep breath Jazz pulled the door aside just enough to squeeze through. Skull Boy was right behind him. Jazz turned and knelt to tell the kid his plan. Skull Boy brushed past and ran straight up to the sleeping guard.

The kid looked back at Jazz, his fingers a hair's breadth from flicking the guard's ear and frowned, as if this was something he couldn't explain but which needed to be done. Jazz wanted to scream and wring the kid's throat, but he too far away and helpless to do anything now. Skull Boy flicked the guard's ear with an audible thwap. Jazz bowed his head and sighed, but the poor lout woke with such a start that he leapt backwards. The legs of the chair flipped forward. In a blur of flailing arms and legs the guard's head banged off the wall knocking the guy cold.

“Do that on purpose?” Jazz rushed forward, giving the unconscious guard another good slug.

“What do you think?”

Jazz grabbed the guard’s ARP, checked the power meter and stuffed it into his belt. “That’s funny. Got a sense of humor kid. Now let’s get out of here.”

They dragged the guard into the cell and pulled the door closed. With luck he'd be out a good long while. That might just give them enough time to make it out and back to the surface. Jazz started down the corridor. Skull Boy remained beside the door with a disappointed expression on that hideously ugly face.

“Coming or not?’

“Not that way,” said the kid.

“Why not?”

“Men. They’re coming to kill you.”

“Kill me? How do you…?”

“This way.”

Jazz had a bad feeling as he followed the kid down deeper and darker corridors. These were the bowels, the fringes of the rebellion's underground great subterreanean body. Rats as big as a man’s body eyed the pair hungrily. Some of the passages were flooded up to their knees, and by the smell Jazz guessed they were somewhere about that great body's ass..