Mission Im-potass-ible

When my superior at the FBI handed me a banana peel as my weapon for the mission, at first I was confused. But now, crawling in the vent above the meeting room for the drug cartel leaders, I finally understood. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the slimy browning peel, bringing it out in the dim light. It left a thin sludge on my pants and in my palm as I squeezed it tight.

But something in my movement upset the metal vent. It shook, dust billowed, and then the rusty spot beneath me broke away as my leg shot right through, bringing the rest of my body down with it. The vent creaked, I fell to the floor was a thud, and suddenly four pairs of eyes and four pairs of guns were all pointed right at me.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them demanded. He had spiky hair and an equally spiky glare. Next to him were two meaty men with thick necks, dark skin, darker suits, and pitch-black sunglasses. Rounding them out was a wiry guy as pale as the drugs piled on the table.

"What the hell is that?" the pale guy asked in a high-pitched squeaky voice.

One of the meatheads spoke up. "Goddamn! That looks like a banana peel!"

"Exactly!" I said, confidence coursing through me along with pumping adrenaline. "I've been hiding in that vent for the past hour, and I heard everything you were saying!"

The four of them lowered their gaze but kept their guns pointed straight.

"The hell you talking about?" asked the other meathead.

"You," I said, nodding to the spiky guy. "You were complaining about your digestive issues. And you," I nodded to the two meatheads, "both of you said your doctor couldn't figure out your irregular heartbeat and strangely high blood pressure. And then you," I nodded to the final pale man, "you said you had kidney stones removed last week."

The spiked guy glared and shoved his weapons forward. "I'mma 'bout to go bananas on you with bullets unless you explain right now what–"

"You're all suffering form potassium deficiency," I said. "I used to work as a nurse assistant in college. You'd see it all the time, kids eating nothing but ramen and instant mac and cheese, and they'd end up in health services barfing into bags. All it took was a week or so of bananas to get them back on track."

The four of them exchanged glances, slowly lowering their weapons.

"You for real?" one of the meatheads asked.

I nodded. "Yes. Maybe that's why you've been doing all these drugs. Because you've been trying to feel good when all your body really needed all this time was a little potassium! I'm sure my superiors can work out something where we bring you bananas in exchange for–"

An explosion rang out from the other side of the room, turning the opposite wall into a blast of rubble and dust. Before the four men could even turn around, lights from the dark outside were shining on them and bullets were spraying through the air. Their blood splattered and their bodies rattled until they collapsed to the floor, leaving puddles of potassium-deficient fluids spilling out of them.

The army of FBI agents swept into the room, visors down and guns blazing. One of them walked over to me and lifted off his helmet, revealing my boss underneath. His eyes snapped to the peel in my hand.

"Good god, Biff," he said. "You didn't actually think we gave that to you as a weapon, did you? I just wanted you to throw it out for me!"

This prompt was written with the help of chat at the ScottWritesStuff Twitch stream.