People believe coming up with a plan is easy. Everyone has an idea; everyone is an idea, man. Well here’s the reality of the situation. Everyone has ideas, just because you have them doesn’t mean it’s good.

The real genius lies in between the beginning and end of the idea. Thinking of how it works, irritating, problem solving. The key detail of a good idea and in proxy a good plan, is understanding the purpose of every step.

For example, I planned to open the door and get the key so Crimson couldn’t get inside. It was a success. It's just we are up against a guy who can plan in between other people's plans and prep the pan before the other people know they even know he was there. I should have known; the signs were right there.

“We should give up,” Emanuel whispers.

“What’s the purpose of that?” I say, lying on the ground and looking at the ceiling. Trying to calculate what our next move can be.

“We save energy and die in my family vacation home.”

“Mansion.”

“Garage.” He snaps back at me.

“No, my purpose right now is to get you out of here and get you to bake bread. So, I came up with a plan because I am tired. I’m going to look for something to eat.”

I gave the boy space as I searched the garage for anything edible. There was nothing, but I hoped my luck would turn around and produce a miracle. It did, but not as I expected.

A small door about three feet tall and wide is attached to the wall. Emanuel's eyes were on the floor, bouncing around as his mind filled with thoughts. I could tell he was mumbling to himself.

“What’s this door? “ I ask, pointing at it.

It is then that Emanuel’s eyes light up.

“That’s it!” He shouts. “ I have an idea! That door connects to the pantry. It’s meant so that we can slide groceries into the pantry from the trunk of the Solar Sail, car, or any vehicle without carrying them all the way inside.

“That’s rich people’s architecture,” I say, admiring the modern-day miracle.

Right then, we heard a loud grunt and a bang coming from the door. We turned to find a Crimson blade piercing the top of the door. The security system kicked in, and electricity flooded the knife and Crimson on the other side.

His screams shredded past the door and bounced around the garage. We were expecting him to stop, but he didn’t. Instead, after a few seconds, I realized the knife was melting the door and slowly cutting the hinges.

“We don’t have much time. He’s cutting the door down.” I say springing up

Emanuel’s hand shakes as he shows his age at that moment. Face with fear and pressure, his lips seal, and his legs grow weak. I reformed into my hominid shape and grabbed his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” I say, pulling his focus on me. “You were in the middle of telling me your plan. That’s all that matters. Take a breath and continue. On three, okay? One, two, three.”

I fake, taking a deep breath as he stars. I counted again and took another fake breath; this time, he joined. He isn’t calm, far from it. Yet he’s still able to tell me his plan. Part of it required a distraction. That meant I needed to fight him. The other half required intelligent design, which he wouldn’t let me take part in. Emanuel feels that this requires a gentle touch. My hands are litter slime, SOFT, and soft equals gentle. Still, I let him take the lead.

By the time we finished setting up, Crimson was on the bottom hinge of the door. I want to know WHAT IS THIS MAN MADE OF? To take in that much damage and still continue is astonishing. He’s still a dick but an astonishing dick.

I am the first to go through the pantry exi. I shrink down and absorb my clothes into my body. This way, I slither into the pantry filled with expired food.

That pantry is the size of a small bedroom. I turn back into the hole, but Emanuel glares at me. He knows what I will say, so I keep it to myself.

Now, I don’t want anyone to blame him for the role I'm playing. I volunteered, but it didn’t help the nervousness swallowing me up.

I made it into the restaurant-quality kitchen and quickly snaked on moldy bread on the counter. It wouldn’t recover my mass quickly as it was moldy and did little to help me build slime fast, but any growth helps.

I make it to the kitchen corner and watch Crimson continue to slice the door. Electricity danced on his body as he Crimson to pull the knife down. The smell of singed clothes and skin haunts the air, but something strikes at the core of my soul. Every time his skin singed, it began to heal. It wasn’t instantaneous, but it could see parts heal as others continued to sing.

He continued to take damage, focused on his goal. I did not know if it was greed or determination, but his drive was monstrous. At the moment, one thought crossed my mind.

Fear.

I don’t know how I can win. What is a god in comparison to the determination of man other than an obstacle? Still, this wasn’t for me. That’s when I saw the shield on the wall. I had never fought with one before, but if it could lock a few slashes at my body, it’s worth it.

I carefully removed the shield from the wall, doing my best to avoid making noise. It's not like he would have heard me past his screaming. The shield is made of metal, at least two inches thick. It is chipped and cut up, but under the collected dust is metal that was wiped down and cared for while it was on the wall.

On the front is an insignia of one of the bugs his family would farm. It is a large bug the size of a car, with a long horn with a forked end with three prongs. Its body is oval, but its back is ridged with thick spikes.  Apparently, the meat under the shell is the most tender and delicious on the whole planet, and it is best when it is in old age.

Emanuel told me this on our walk. “It’s his family symbol, and we should be thankful for these creatures. They are the reason we have what we have.” Emanuel would say. I grabbed the shield and attached it to my arm. I wrap threads of my slime around it to keep it tight and add a woven layer of ooze that crystalizes on the shield. Is it sacrificing some of my mass? Yes, but I don’t know how good the condition of this shield is. What if this was a decorative shield whose only purpose is to hang on the wall? The scratches can be fake, and I’ll be left stabbed like a fool.

All of these thoughts are a distraction. The pain in my body still lingers and tightens my slime, preventing me from stepping forward. I have faced many horrors in space, but this man. This single man has hurt me more than anything else. The only thing motivating me right now is a crying kid, haunted by this man’s actions, who just wants to bake me a cake, and I am going to earn that cake!

I settled my nerves, reformed to my humanoid shape, and stepped into the hall.

“You’re still on that door? What’s your plan? Look at you.” I say, faking my bravery. Crimson’s blade stops moving. The air feels like the smoke of his burned skin. He doesn’t turn when he speaks.

“I don’t know how to got out here, but this will be your end, fake god.”

“Name calling is all you got?” I snicker back.

He turns to me with a wide smile and a terrifying look in his eye. The burns and wicked stare can’t hide his good looks. I hate him more now.

“You know there was a world where you could have left alive and continued your weird life. You should have taken that, " he says, facing the door. I bet he wants Emanuel to hear this.

“There was never a world like that as long as Emanuel needs me,” I say, fighting the slime around the shield.

Crimson turned, revealing his clothes has huge holes in them, exposing his burned skin healing. His teeth gritted as his breath punded out of his mouth. To anyone else, this would be a wild animal, a man who lost his grip on rationality.

To me, I notice hishand gripping his knife. His other hand moves to his gun. His eyes scan me, whiel leaving no gaps in his stance. He hasn't lost anything, he is as aware as before. He was alway a beast, ones whos intelgence matches his brutality.

He pulled the knife out the door with ease and charged at me.