Comment-A-Thon: Round 3 - Flashfiction
Welcome, everyone, to round three. In this round, I present to you one, count them one prompt to do with and interpret as you please (so long as that interpretation remains gen and character-bashing free
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June's contacts were better. It took them longer to locate Neal than it had to locate Ford - three days to be exact. The new base of operations was an abandoned hotel. Peter and SWAT raided it. It wasn't cut and dry, the element of surprise giving Peter and his team the edge, but the assholes inside refusing to give up without a fight. Gunfire was exchanged but numbers and self-preservation won out.
Peter let his team and SWAT handle the bad guys. He went in search of Neal. The printing press and the rest of the equipment had been set up in the bar. Criss-crossing lines of drying dollars forced Peter to duck more than once. the printing press was still printing, whipping out sheet and sheet of hundreds. Peter stepped around the bar.
Neal was on the floor, huddled in the corner, probably having ducked out of sight when the gun fire started. He was exhausted and filthy; dark circles under the eyes, shirt ink and sweat-stained, hair a mess, face pale - the whole shebang. He forced a smile for Peter's sake, but it was weak, sickly.
"Bout damn time you got here," he said, and coughed. There was a rag tied to his upper arm. Peter stared at it.
"Warning shot," Neal said with a shrug, like it was no big deal. "They wouldn't take "I'm tired" as the reason I was slowing down."
Peter's fist tightened. Ford really was lucky he was still alive.
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