Rise

Alive

They had left intrepid warriors, confidence overflowing after their recent conquest, only to crumble at the sound of a dense dissonance of what seemed like hundreds of the beasts.

Slamming the vault door shut behind them, Trish and Dez manage to slip back into the safe room where they had found the supplies. The hall had suddenly flooded with creepers in their short absence, the creatures probably having overheard their earlier ruckus.

"We're trapped. We're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped, we're trapped!" Dez begins chanting, back against the door, legs shaking and knees buckling as he struggles to fight gravity. As his hyperventilating starts, Trish puts down her things and takes a tight hold of his arms.

"Easy, easy. We'll get out. We always do." Her grip loosens as she feels some of the tension leave his body. He nods, his breathing easing up. She had a way with calming him. It isn't always the nicest way, but it's a way. Her hands slip off his arms, and he looks to her for guidance.

"So, what's next?" he inquires, wide-eyed, yet steady.

"Why are you asking me?" She asks softly, her confidence wavering.

"You're always the one with the plan! How do we get out of here?" His pitch had heightened; the anxiety setting in again upon the realization that Trish is just as lost as he. She's always been one step ahead of him in these situations. How can she tell him to take it easy when she, herself, is uncertain of what lies ahead? He feels his body begin to tense again.

"Dez. It's okay. We'll figure something out, but you can't leave it all to me. Give me something to work with! You have any ideas?" She moves him aside slightly and puts her ear against the vault door. The sounds had amplified. They're getting closer.

"There could be a ventilation system we can crawl through, maybe?" He looks about the room. Practically airtight. Why would those mercenaries need so much security for some food and medical supplies that they could find just about anywhere? Dez lowers himself down onto his knees and forearms, crawling around to try and find any possible escape they may have missed initially.

Trish joins him in his search for an escape, but halts as her line of sight catches something that could prove useful. "Dez...Get over here!"

"Hold on, I'm trying to feel around for a secret trap door–ack!" he starts, before being pulled up onto his feet, Trish hoisting him up by the back of his collar. She leads him over to her findings.

"Tell me," she gestures at the bottle she had found within an open crate, a rag of sorts hanging out of its mouth. "Is that what I think it?"

"Woah, no way!" he gasps. "Molotov cocktail." He delicately picks it up out of the crate and begins to examine it, just to make sure. "I can't believe they actually have one of these. Like straight out of a video game!" Trish raises a brow at his comments, though the gesture is accompanied with a smile. Memories of all of those violent videos games they had played together in the past somehow come as a comfort.

"They're not exactly too difficult to make, Dez. Liquid laundry detergent and some gasoline, and you're pretty much good to go." She takes the bottle from him to inspect it herself. "We could use this. Did you find a lighter in any of the supply bags?"

"Actually..." He begins sifting through one of the bags. "Hm...Nose hair trimmers...Toenail clippers...Tweezers..."

"Tweezers? Oh, give me those! I doubt they'll miss them." Trish interjects, reaching for them. Dez holds them out to her. Brand new, a shining silver with a little purple zigzag logo. Would do wonders for her brows. Just as she's about to take them from him, he pulls his hand back.