Listening quietly to all this, Rachel feels exactly ninety-seven per cent more useless than she did upon arriving. She's in with a group of people who seem to have, like, actual experience doing this kind of thing, or who at least have relevant skill sets. She's got nothing. And it's probably compounded by the fact that she doesn't want to say what she does have up her sleeve, or use it, ever, so she must seem like even more dead weight.

Still, she puts on her bravest face as she rummages around in the crate. She chooses several devices that approximate flashlights, stowing them all in her bag. No guns, no knives, just lights.

"I will gladly leave the shooting and blowing up of things to those of you who actually know how to do it," she notes. "Has anyone here actually, like, been to the Spatters?"