"...I'm surprised you can even think about food after this lovely smell," Shinichi said dryly, looking up at Sokka from his position under the sink. Something cold, wet, and slightly more viscous than it ought to have been was dripping down the back of his neck, and he had to fight the urge to run to the nearest shower and scrub himself raw. The sooner they got as much metal as Hattori decided he needed, the sooner they'd be getting out of here.

Though pliers would have been a good idea. The detective stared at the Commander a bit, still rather disconcerted by the kid's talk of "kings" and whatever. But not as much as he could have been. After spending the last several months as a first grader, Kudou Shinichi knew very well what it was like to be underestimated because of age (or apparent age).

Kicking worked just as well as pliers, though. He was, after all, very good at kicking things.

Especially now that he didn't need superpowered shoes to get results.

Shinchi stood up and gave the pipe he'd been working on a good, solid kick. Maybe even a game-winning one, if the goalie wasn't quite up to par. There was a crack and a clang and the pipe separated from the rest of the sink.

He got a mouthful of awful black sludge for his efforts.