"On three. Ready?"

Garret Hill's palms were heavy with fatigue. The calibre handgun wedged between his thumb and the palm of his hand didn't help balance the weight.

"One."

He was only ten, the freckles on his face were still considered adorable. His face hadn't really developed yet, no signs of spots from puberty, or anything. And he was still on the front line in a major battle; bound to lose, bound to die. The boy had learned not to think about that, though.

"Two."

Garret watched with a dazed intrigue at Edilio Escobar, right at the front of the hoard of scared pre-teens, trying to resist the urge to comfort them but knowing that they were too young to know how to grow up. Garret's hands shook painfully.

Edilio stopped counting, knowing that they wouldn't get an opening like that one again. Also knowing that the opening would be useless without Garret taking advantage of it.

"Garret, I'm sorry, but you get why, right? Why I have to make you go?"

Garret nodded quickly, crouching down behind a boulder a good distance away. He couldn't let the others be seen by the troops patrolling the plant. He knew why. He was the most qualified shooter, and the fastest runner by a long way.

"Okay, man. It'll never be completely clear, but when you see a good opening, go for it."

The boy looked at his commander, reluctant to leave, reluctant to abandon his team and become a shooting target.

"Thanks, Edilio," he said.

"Thank me when you get back," Edilio said confidently. Garret shook his head.

"If I don-"

"I don't wanna here it, man."

"Will you tell them what I did?" He asked.

Edilio crawled on his hands and knees towards the boy and placed a strong hand on his shoulder. "You can tell the-"

"Please."

Edilio didn't know what to say. Something that showed his faith that this plan would work would be good, but he couldn't think of anything. And he wasn't entirely sure if this was a good idea anyway.

Garret saw an opening and left in seconds, threading through guards - who weren't much older than him - until he got to the side entrance of the power plant. Sam's heated hole was blackened around the edges. Garret had heard the stories, back when the FAYZ was just starting to fall to pieces. When he was a useless kid, crying to get food instead of working like everyone else.

He turned to face the two outstanding boulders, where most Edilio's men were panicking or awaiting his return.

He balled his shaking hands into strong fists, stepping though the hole to reach his target.

Garret wanted Sam Temple back.

Drake Merwin tried to sleep in the plant's head office. Caine was outside, in the main control room, and this was the best place to get a good night's rest.

But Drake couldn't sleep. For some reason, he found himself; his body, his mind, totally restless. He rolled over in a fruitless attempt to slow the pace of his heart, thrumming like a large percussion band in his chest, shaking his ribcage.

He raged at his lack of sleep. As well as the continuous vibrations from the plant's inner systems. The office might have had the most comfortable bed, but it definitely wasn't as quiet as the storage unit.

The door burst open to Drake's annoyance, and Diana waltzed smoothly inside, inspecting a fingernail casually.

Drake saw through the movement easily, Diana's fingernails were nothing but stubbs from days of near-starvation, and her pretty face was sweating and nervous.

"Caine wants you, something about a perimeter check?"

Drake smiled, a devilish, hopeful grin that made whatever fatigue he had left run away. He reached for the rifle on the small office table, holding it close to his torso. Whilst his whip hand wrapped itself comfortably around his waist.

"Perfect."

Drake Merwin headed for the main entrance, looking forward to squishing some running insects.

Dean Winchester followed the line of the highway down and took an abrupt left turn into a dessert, letting the weak pull of something starving guide him along. He was half asleep, carried only by the voices and the invoulentary muscle movements, until he reached the entrance to something dark and cold. A small draft spawned goosebumps on his arm, exposed thanks to a hefty rip on the right sleeve.

He thumbed a lighter in his pocket, needing the small amount of light to see. He held it in front of his face, into the cave. What little light it had to offer, the cave was pitch black.

He turned the lighter off.

"Come to me."

"I have need of you," said the dark.

Dean blindly followed the voice and it's godlike echo. It made him shiver, his irrational fear of the dark consumed him and he turned the lighter on again.

"Lord, we pray thee. We thank thee for thy grace, beauty, and blessing of life. We thank and respect ourselves..."

He stumbled into the cave's entrance, feeling cold but unable to shield himself from the intense breeze. The flame shook like his nervous breath. He'd forgotten the rest of his phoney prayer.

"Amen." His voice shook as he finished. The lighter blew out as his skin grew colder. The cave smelled like damp, enclosed all around him.

"God, help me."