Tales of the Wastelander Ch. 42 - Teaser (Patreon)

The group moved with grim efficiency, striking hard and fast. They crept from shadow to shadow, cutting down stray guards and isolated groups wherever they could, dragging bodies out of sight before moving to the next target. Each step closer to the heart of the pit felt like peeling back layers of rot, revealing the vile machinery that kept the Hierarchy’s twisted empire running.

Meanwhile, Bellona and the guards worked to quietly unlock the slave cages. Each freed prisoner was given the same instructions — stay quiet, gather what they could to defend themselves, and wait for the signal. Dohlrak’s warning echoed in every whispered message: ‘We outnumber them, but only if we wait for the right moment.’

The momentum was building. Each freed prisoner became another spark in the fire of resistance — a fire that would soon consume the pit. As they neared the end of one corridor, Ben quietly voiced a concern.

“We’ve got a problem,” he muttered. “Those Slavemasters in the compound — we can’t let them escape.”

One of Drohl’s kids, a wiry boy no older than ten, smirked. “They don’t have anywhere to go,” the boy said smugly. “That place is a fortress — only one way in or out.”

“They always have an exit plan,” Ben replied as he shook his head grimly. “Scum like that never put all their faith in one door. I’ll bet you anything there’s a hidden tunnel. One they’ll use to slither away once they realize things are falling apart.”

Drohl, who had been checking a fallen guard’s pockets for keys, looked up. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’m thinking,” Ben said, his tone sharp with purpose, “that you need to take as many of your gangs as you can and slip into that compound. Start searching for any hidden passages — old sewer grates, concealed doors, anything that smells like an escape route. When you find it, you get in there and sit tight until the fireworks start.”

Drohl’s grin widened, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. “So you want us to trap ‘em?”

“Exactly,” Ben said with a satisfied nod. “Once the chaos starts, they'll panic — they always do. If they run for their tunnel, which I’m certain they will, you and your kids will be waiting for them. When the time comes, you make sure they never crawl back out.”

“I like it,” Drohl said, his grin turning predatory. “The rats won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Just be careful,” Ylva added firmly, stepping closer. “If you get spotted before you’re in position, the whole plan goes sideways.”

“We’ve been sneaking past slavers and lowlifes since we could walk,” Drohl said with a confident grin. “We’ll be fine.”

Ben reached out, gripping Drohl’s shoulder. “Don’t get cocky,” he warned. “This isn’t just another turf war — this is the real thing.”

Drohl’s grin faded slightly, but the fire in his eyes remained. “I know,” he said quietly. “That’s why we’re going to win.”

Moments later, Drohl and several of his sharpest runners were slipping away into the shadows, disappearing like ghosts into the night. Their grim task lay ahead — to sit quietly in the dark, like spiders in their web, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Ben exhaled slowly, watching the shadows swallow them whole.

“They’ll pull it off,” Magdalena said quietly, appearing beside him.

“I know,” Ben replied, his voice low. “But even so… I don’t like sending kids into something like this.”

Magdalena’s expression hardened. “None of us do. But they’re stronger than you think.” She glanced back toward the pit, where more slaves were quietly preparing themselves for the coming storm. “We’re all stronger than we think.”

Ben said nothing, but as he watched the quiet chaos they were sowing spread further and further through the pit, he couldn’t help but hope she was right.