The silence that followed Bobby's declaration was thick with tension and anticipation. Bobby noticed Mic's eyes darting around the room, his nimble fingers already twitching with nervous energy.

"You're right," Mic said, his voice quavering. "We can't go in unprepared. But maybe..." He trailed off, his gaze fixing on the fire axe Bobby had propped against the wall. "Oh! Oh, maybe we can, um, what's the phrase? Even the odds? Yes, that's it!"

Bobby watched, a mix of fascination and concern on his face, as Mic scurried over to the axe, his eyes alight with a manic spark of invention. The gnome ran his hands along the handle, muttering to himself and occasionally letting out a small giggle, before turning back to Bobby with a lopsided grin.

"I think I can... oh, yes, I can definitely work with this," Mic declared, his words tumbling out in a rush. "We're going to give this axe some real... um, what do you humans call it? Oomph? No, no, fire power! That's it!" He rummaged through his tool belt, pulling out an assortment of gadgets and components, dropping a few in his excitement.

Over the next few hours, Bobby watched with a mix of amazement and trepidation as Mic transformed the simple fire axe into something that looked like it belonged in a mad scientist's laboratory. The gnome attached a small canister to the handle, ran tubing along the shaft, and fitted a trigger mechanism near the grip, all while muttering, "No, not like that... oh, maybe if I... ah, perfect! Or is it?"

"It's not pretty," Mic admitted as he made the final adjustments, his brow furrowed in concentration and a smudge of grease on his nose. "But it should do the trick. I think. Yes, it should! Press this button here - no, not that one, this one - and it'll spray a burst of flame from the axe head."

Bobby hefted the modified axe, marvelling at how it felt both familiar and alien in his hands. "This is... incredible, Mic. Thank you."

Mic's eyes lit up. "Oh! Oh yes, I almost forgot!" He fumbled with his tool belt, pulling out a small, cylindrical device about the size of a drinks can. "This, my friend, is a miniature plasma converter. Well, what's left of it. It's nearly depleted, but it should have just enough juice for our flaming axe."

Bobby leaned in, examining the strange device. "Plasma converter? That sounds... advanced."

Mic nodded enthusiastically, his head bobbing so vigorously that his goggles slipped down over his eyes. He pushed them back up with a nervous laugh. "Oh, it is! It is! You see, it converts ambient energy into a plasma state, which we can then use as a highly efficient fuel source. Or, in this case, a rather impressive flame thrower! Ingenious, isn't it? Though I must admit, I'm not entirely sure how it works. I mean, I built it, but the specifics are a bit... fuzzy."

With the axe modified, Mic's attention turned to the rest of the pub.

"Oh, we can do so much more! So much more!" He scurried behind the bar, pulling out bottles and various cleaning supplies. "With these, we can make some rather impressive boom-booms... I mean, explosives!"

As Mic set to work, Bobby explored further. "I'm going to check upstairs, see if there's anything useful."

"Yes, yes, good idea!" Mic called after him, already engrossed in his new project.

Bobby climbed the stairs to the adjoining flat, finding it in a state of disarray. As he searched, he came across a sturdy hiking bag, still in good condition. "This could be useful," he muttered to himself.

Digging deeper, he discovered some camping provisions - dried food, a first aid kit, and a water purification system. In a closet, he found a pair of khaki-coloured combat trousers, which looked far more suitable for their mission than his current attire.

As he changed, his eyes fell on a broken crossbow propped in the corner. It was missing its string and had no bolts, but Bobby grabbed it anyway, thinking Mic might do something with it.

Stuffing some spare clothes into the hiking bag along with the provisions, Bobby made his way back downstairs. As he descended the stairs, he was hit by a pungent smell - a mix of harsh chemicals and something sickeningly sweet. Mic sat amidst a clutter of bottles and strange contraptions that Bobby couldn't quite identify.

"Mic," Bobby called, holding out the crossbow. "I found this upstairs. Any chance you could do something with it?"

Mic's eyes lit up at the sight of the crossbow. "Oh, oh yes! This is perfect! I have just the thing!" He grabbed the crossbow and began tinkering with it, attaching a small motor from one of his gadgets and changing the firing mechanism.

"There!" Mic declared proudly, holding up the weapon. "It's not quite a crossbow anymore. More of a, um, circular projectile launcher? Yes, that's it! It can fire small, round objects at high speed. Very versatile!"

Bobby nodded, an idea forming. "I saw a courtyard out back covered in pebbles. Those could work as ammo, right?"

"Brilliant!" Mic exclaimed. "Yes, pebbles would be perfect! Oh, this is all coming together so nicely. Or is it? Do you think it's enough? Maybe we need more..."

Bobby placed a reassuring hand on Mic's shoulder. "This is great, Mic. Now, let's go grab those pebbles and start planning our approach to Mike's house."

Bobby led the way to the courtyard, the crossbow tucked under his arm. As they stepped outside, the cool air was a stark contrast to the stuffy, chemical-laden atmosphere of the pub. The courtyard was small, surrounded by high brick walls covered in ivy. A layer of smooth, round pebbles covered the ground.

"Perfect," Bobby muttered, kneeling down to scoop up a handful. He tested the weight of the pebbles in his palm, then loaded a few into the crossbow. "Alright, Mic. Let's see what this thing can do."

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Mic bounced on his heels, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Yes, yes! Try it out! But, um, maybe not at anything too... breakable?"

Bobby nodded, aiming at a weathered wooden fence panel at the far end of the courtyard. He squeezed the trigger, and with a soft whir of the motor, a pebble shot out at tremendous speed. There was a sharp crack as the pebble punched clean through the wood, leaving a jagged hole about the size of a coin. Bobby blinked in surprise, then walked over to inspect the damage. On the other side of the fence, he found no trace of the pebble - just a fine dust scattered on the ground, all that remained of the projectile after the high-speed impact.

"Well," Bobby said, turning back to Mic with raised eyebrows, "I think we can safely say this packs more of a punch than I expected."

As they gathered more pebbles, Bobby's mind turned to their impending mission. The weight of what they were about to attempt settled heavily on his shoulders.

"Mic," he said, his voice low and serious. "We need to talk about our plan. We can’t face that thing, that person without one."

Bobby and Mic made their way back into the pub, their arms laden with pebbles. They settled around a worn wooden table, the weight of their impending mission hanging heavy in the air. Bobby set the crossbow on the table with a soft thud, while Mic fiddled with one of his gadgets.

"Alright," Bobby began, leaning forward in his chair. "We need to think this through. We can't just barge in there and face Mike and his raider girlfriend head-on. That's suicide."

Mic nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with worry. "Oh yes, quite right. Very dangerous. But... but how do we get to them, then? They're not likely to come out for a friendly chat, are they?"

Bobby ran a hand through his hair. "That's the problem. We need to draw them out somehow, but I can't think of a way that doesn't end with us getting killed."

They sat in silence for a few moments, the gravity of their situation sinking in. Mic's fingers tapped an erratic rhythm on the table, his brow furrowed in concentration. Bobby's eyes wandered around the pub, taking in the abandoned bottles, the dust-covered surfaces, the utter desolation of it all.

Rem's voice echoed in his mind,

As Bobby pondered Rem's words, he noticed Mic tilting his head curiously, his eyes darting around as if searching for something.

"Um, Bobby?" Mic started, his voice quavering slightly, "Did you... uh... hear something just now? A sort of... whisper, maybe? Or am I just, you know, going a bit loopy?"

Bobby blinked in surprise. "You sensed that? That was Rem, my... well, it's complicated."

"Oh! Complicated? I like complicated!" Mic's eyes lit up with excitement. "Well, not when I'm trying to fix things, but... oh, you know what I mean. Tell me, tell me!"

Bobby took a deep breath and explained about Rem, the System, and his encounter with the Archivist. As he spoke, Mic's eyes grew wider and wider.

"Wow!" Mic exclaimed when Bobby finished. "An Archivist? And you beat it? At such a low level? That's... that's amazing! You must be really, really good! Or really, really lucky. Or both?"

Rem interjected, a hint of indignation in his mental voice,

To Bobby's surprise, Mic's head snapped up. "Oh! Oh my gears and sprockets, I heard that! Like, in my head!"

Rem explained, his voice now projected to both of them.

"That's... that's... oh, what's the word? Incredible! No, wait, fascinating! No, no, both!" Mic was bouncing in his seat. "It's like... like having a tiny communicator in your brain! Oh, the things we could do with that!"

Bobby couldn't help but smile at Mic's enthusiasm. "It's certainly useful. Now, about our plan..."

Rem chimed in.

"Oh, yes, yes, you're right," Mic nodded. "But how do we... um... what's the saying? Smoke out the... the... oh, I can't remember!"

"I think you mean 'smoke them out,'" Bobby supplied. Then, an idea struck him. "What if we actually did that? Set fire to the house?"

Mic's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Set fire to... oh my! That's... that's... well, it's something, alright! But then again..." he trailed off, tugging at his beard. "I suppose... well, desperate times, right? Or is it desperate measures? Both?"

Bobby nodded, his expression grim but determined. "Alright, setting the house on fire it is. It's risky, but it might be our best shot."

"Oh, yes, yes!" Mic exclaimed, his fingers already twitching with excitement. "I can whip up some chemical explosives. Very potent, very... um, boom-y? And, oh! We'll need some flammable mixtures too. To splash around, you know? Make things extra burny!"

Rem chimed in.

"Brilliant! Oh, this is going to be quite the fireworks show. Or... inferno, I suppose. Same difference, right?"

As Mic bustled about, gathering materials and muttering calculations under his breath, Bobby felt a mix of anticipation and dread settling in his stomach. This plan was dangerous, possibly even suicidal, but it was all they had.

"One more thing," Mic said, pausing in his work. "If we can sneak up... you know, all quiet-like... we might get in some critical hits. Do enough damage before they even know what's happening. Might be the difference between... well, you know."

Bobby nodded solemnly. "Between life and death. Got it."

As they finalised their plans, Bobby's stomach growled loudly. Mic looked up, his own expression sheepish. "Oh, um, I suppose we should... eat something? Can't save the world on an empty stomach, right? Or is it 'can't fight evil'? I always mix those up."

Rem chimed in, his voice now clear in both their minds.

Bobby nodded, heading back up to the flat. After some rummaging, he returned with his arms full of tins. "Found some spaghetti and baked beans. It's not gourmet, but it'll do."

They heated the food on a small camping stove Mic had in his pack.

As they sat around the table, spooning lukewarm spaghetti and beans into their mouths, Mic looked up at Bobby, his eyes wide with a mix of excitement and fear. "So, um, when do you think we should... you know, do the thing? The fire thing?"

Bobby considered for a moment, feeling the weight of the decision. "Honestly? I think we should do it tonight. The longer we wait, the more chance something goes wrong."

Rem chimed in.

Mic nodded, his spoon hovering halfway to his mouth. "Oh, right? Yes, that makes sense. Tonight. Wow. That's... that's soon, isn't it?"

As they finished their meal, the gravity of what they were about to do settled over them like a heavy blanket. Bobby could see Mic's hands shaking slightly as he packed away his tools and explosives.

"Alright," Bobby said, standing up and grabbing the fire axe. "Let's gear up."

He slung the hiking bag over his shoulder, now containing only the first aid kit and Rem's soul-bound book, with the crossbow strapped to his back, loaded and ready.

Rem's voice echoed in their minds,

They stood at the pub's entrance, the night air cool on their faces. The streets were eerily quiet, the only sound the faint whisper of wind through abandoned buildings.

"Ready?" Bobby asked.

Mic gulped. "As I'll ever be, I suppose. Let's go... um, you know."

With a deep breath, they stepped out into the darkness. The night ahead promised fire, danger, and possibly death. But somewhere in that chaos lay their one chance at survival, at rescuing Mic's daughter, at making sense of this new, terrifying world.