The Plan


7/9/20232 min read

We found ourselves standing at the doorway of a room that smelled faintly of rust and disinfectant. It was filled with grim tools, knives, and chainsaws that sent a chill down my spine. But in our dire situation, they were our only hope.

Fitt took the lead, stepping in first, eyeing the array of knives with a grim look. Chef, ever the inventive mind, looked at the chainsaws with something akin to professional interest.

"Dude, this looks like a storehouse of a slaughterhouse," Fitt's voice echoed in the room.

"Well, these people sure know their tools," Chef's gaze lingered on a chainsaw, his fingers running along its edge.

"Remember, we are just trying to get out, not butchering them in their own style," I said, eyeing a cleaver.

"That's the best idea I've heard all day," Fitt added, picking up a knife and testing its weight.

We spent the next hour strategizing and preparing. Chef took to modifying some of the tools. He tweaked a chainsaw, making it lighter and easier to handle, and added extra grip to some of the knives.

"We need distractions, diversions, and most importantly, a plan that works," Chef said, wiping his brow.

Fitt and I shared a look. This was about survival now, about getting out alive. And we were prepared to do what it took.

We used every trick we'd learned in our journey this far—diversions, quick exits, handling confrontations—and taught Chef. In return, Chef taught us about the small explosive devices he was creating from spare parts around the room. The dynamics of our team was changing.

It was strange, amidst the looming dread, to have something akin to camaraderie bloom. Chef, once a terrified stranger, was now part of our team. The humor between me and Fitt started rubbing off on him, and we found ourselves in a strange, terrifying, but not entirely hopeless situation.

We spent as much time as we could in that room. Partly because we wanted to prepare, mostly because we were terrified. The sounds of the cannibal party echoed above us, adding to the adrenaline already coursing through our veins.

"Are you ready?" I asked, once we had armed ourselves. Fitt was spinning a knife between his fingers, and Chef had a small explosive device in his hand. They looked at me, and I saw in their eyes the same fear, determination, and hope that I was sure mirrored in mine.

"As ready as we'll ever be, Voidrunner," Fitt said, his voice steady.

"We got this," Chef added, his voice equally firm.

I nodded, taking one last look at the room. We'd entered it with fear and hopelessness. Now, we were leaving with a plan, weapons, and a determination to fight. As I walked out of the room, I couldn't help but think of what lay ahead. We were going into a battle, against a horde of cannibals, in their own territory. The odds were not in our favor, but we had to try. For ourselves, for each other, for the hope of a future.

As the sounds of the party grew louder, the enormity of what lay ahead sunk in. It was us against them, smugglers versus cannibals. As we stood there, armed to the teeth, the reality of our situation hit us. This was the fight of our lives, and we could only hope to come out alive.

With a deep breath, I looked at my teammates, my friends. I saw their faces, resolute and determined. The gravity of our situation was evident in their eyes, but so was their resolve.

"All right, boys," I said, clenching my fists. "Let's do this."

And so, we began.