- Not every day, you come out on top with minimal ease.

  - Sometimes you just gotta say "Fuck it, we ball" and lock in.

  ---

  There was no plan. No backup. No brilliant trap I could set with duct tape and a half-finished Red Bull. Just me, two batteries, a smoke bomb that smelled like burnt maple syrup, and a horde closing in from four directions.

  I should’ve run. Should’ve stuck to the safe path I marked on the map. But I saw a hardware store with the windows still intact—and the thought of a fresh roll of wire, maybe a decent hatchet—was too tempting.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  That’s when the “Fuck it, we ball” switch flipped in my head.

  I made noise. I chose to make noise.

  Banged on trash cans. Smashed a car window. Screamed bloody murder. Lured them away from the main entrance like it was a concert and I was handing out backstage passes to the buffet.

  I dove in through a vent grate like a raccoon in an action movie. Got stuck. Swore a lot. Kicked myself free. Landed on a shelf and fell through it, and by the time I was upright again, there were three munchers clawing their way in through the side window.

  I didn't think. I moved. Threw the smoke bomb. Swung a wrench. Screamed again. Laughed when one tripped over the spilled paint cans and face-planted into a rack of plungers.

  I got out with a bandolier of zip ties, a crowbar upgrade, and a bag of fertilizer that I probably shouldn’t sleep next to.

  Desperation is a hell of a drug. Sometimes it's just the adrenaline. Sometimes, it's the refusal to give in. That stubborn, stupid part of your brain that says:

  "I'm not dying today. Try me, bitch."

  And weirdly enough? That part has kept me alive more than any plan ever did.