The Diversion


7/9/20233 min read

Fitt and Chef stood side by side in the dimly lit caverns beneath the tavern, an array of scrap metal, cannibalized machinery, and basic tools spread out before them. Chef, who had revealed himself as a rather handy engineer, was in the process of cobbling together a makeshift bomb with whatever he could salvage. The silence of the underground chamber was broken only by the steady hum of their whispered conversation and the occasional clang of metal on stone.

"Ok, one more time," Fitt said, squinting at the object in Chef's hands. It was a mishmash of gears, wires, and cylindrical parts that Fitt couldn’t identify, all held together by a sturdy casing. "You're sure this thing will work?"

"It's an explosive device," Chef clarified. "A crude one, but it'll cause enough noise and chaos to give us an edge. We’re not trying to bring down the tavern, just distract our meat-loving friends."

"I still find it hard to believe you’ve created this from a handful of junk,” Fitt commented, but admiration colored his words. The complexity of the device was beyond his understanding, yet he trusted Chef’s skills.

With the explosive device set, the pair retreated, Fitt casting one last glance at the bomb. It was a desperate gamble, but they were out of alternatives. The low hum echoing through the caverns announced the countdown to detonation.

The blast, when it came, was deafening. It shook the ground beneath their feet and filled the tunnel with a thick cloud of dust and smoke. Shouts and yelps echoed from further down the corridor. The cannibals were scrambling in confusion, and Fitt could barely suppress a triumphant grin.

"Time to move," Chef said, his voice barely audible over the ringing in Fitt's ears. They broke into a run, the smell of burned wiring and dust filling their lungs.

Running through the winding labyrinth, they evaded cannibal patrols with daring close-calls. They ducked into dark corners, hid in nooks, and once, Fitt tripped, sending a cascade of loose rocks down onto a patrol, buying them precious seconds.

Throughout the ordeal, Fitt found himself marveling at Chef’s ability to remain composed. His quick-thinking was invaluable as they navigated through the dark passages, and his courage, given his circumstances, was admirable.

They reached a juncture, pausing for a brief moment. Chef pulled out a scrap of paper, sketching a rudimentary map of the tunnels based on their exploration. He marked out the areas they'd been and the routes they'd taken, noting traps and cannibal patrols. His actions were quick and methodical, his focus entirely on their task.

"Once we link back up with Moe," Chef said, "we have a real shot at getting out of this mess."

"Here's to hoping," Fitt muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. The plan was daring and full of risks, but the alternative was becoming someone's dinner. For now, all they could do was trust in each other and believe that I would fulfill my part of the plan.

They continued their perilous journey through the tunnels, their hearts pounding in their chests. The chaos they’d caused was buying them time, but they were under no illusions. The odds were against them. But there was no turning back now.

As they ducked into the shadows, avoiding another patrol, Fitt found himself sharing a grin with Chef. They were in the heart of danger, every moment fraught with risk, yet there was an exhilarating rush in what they were doing.

In the gloomy depths of the caverns, with the echo of confusion behind them, Fitt felt a glimmer of hope. Together with Chef and, hopefully, soon myself, we had a fighting chance to survive this nightmarish ordeal.

With that thought, he and Chef pressed on, ready to face whatever came next.