As I go through the last preparations, I'm suddenly filled with doubts. What is it that's making me so uneasy? Last time I checked, everything was perfect; Why do I have doubts now? The whole thing has been planned for months, thought for years. Every number has been viewed and reviewed, every possible flaw corrected again and again. The whole plan is perfect. Fool proof. There would be no mistakes. There could be no mistakes. It was a do or die kind of plan.
As I go over the blue prints one last time, I frown and try to figure out where the uneasiness comes from. Is everything in it's right place? At first glance, it seems so. When inspected meticulously... well it still looks damn perfect. If there is anything wrong, I'm sure as hell not gonna find it that easily, so might as well go on with the plan. Last details before starting. Rubber duckies? Check. Latex gloves? Check. C4? Check. 19th century cherry wood chest? Check. Three grams of cocaine? Check. Two liters of napalm? Oh yeah!
What about the cat? Where has the damn thing run off to? I frantically look around, knowing full well that I have about three minutes left to make sure everything looks perfect and works even better. The sheer pressure... Nevermind, there's that damned cat. I put him back in his cage, stick it back in the middle of the contraption, and go through the checklist once more. Raw tuna? Tin foil diapers? Everything is perfectly planned, looks amazing. Now is the time to set everything into motion. I hastily retreat behind the makeshift bulletproof window, made from discarded military hummer windshields and press the big red button. I start the countdown in my head, still frowning about the feeling of discomfort.
10.
9.
8.
7.
I put my hands inside my pockets, feel something hard and roundish.
6.
5.
4.
I take it out of my pocket, examine it.
3.
2.
It looks like a bolt. A bolt? Where the hell did that come from?
1.
Oh God, i'm going to regret this one.
0. | 
