Dawn breaks. An otherworldly chill leaked into the air. The smells wafted into the city from the sea. Smells of salt and fish. A few hints of something metallic, too. Oil? Blood? Didn't really matter. A faint, glowing mixture of orange and yellow flooded the furthest end of the tunnel. Not enough to light up the station, but enough to indicate that it was time to wake up. There are fewer deaths during the sunlight. They had 6 trials to prove that. Yet, plenty still remained. 13, to be exact, with Greg included, and he was thankful for that. A few were still sleeping, like Ronaldo and Kiki, for instance. Greg had slept for about 4 or 5 hours that night. His thoughts weren't being very kind. Connie's sleep schedule was messy, to say the least. Every time Greg was awake, Connie seemed to be just as well. Just as energized. Just as healthy. Just as gallant. Smiley was just beginning to wake up when Greg decided it was time to form a sort of posse to search for food. They only had some old, mushy fries and some pizza that was beginning to mold.

"Alright, everyone. Time to wake up!" Greg said. Ronaldo bolted up, while PeeDee groggily lifted himself from the ground.

"Reporting for duty, sir!" Ronaldo said, standing to attention like a soldier. Greg rolled his eyes. A soldier he was not. An asset, though… Greg thought. He took a second. On second thought, he's not really that either.

"At ease, or whatever," Greg said in a bored tone. "Smiley! C'mon, old man, we've gotta get going."

"'Old man?'" Smiley said, smirking. "Bitch, you're at least 2 years older than me."

"Yeah. But at least I don't show it," Greg replied, playfully punching Smiley in the shoulder. He saw the usuals in front of him. Kiki, who was just waking up, Ronaldo, PeeDee, Smiley, Onion, Connie, and himself. He felt like he was forgetting someone, though. Then it occurred to him, and his eyebrows lowered, commanding his mouth to frown just slightly. He was forgetting two someones. "Where are Bonnie and Clyde?" Greg asked, a bit annoyed.

"Those two? Probably in the bathrooms somewhere." Connie said from her usual spot on the bench.

"Yeah. Probably showering together or something." Smiley said with a chuckle.

"Hey, not cool," Greg said, accusatory. "They may be a couple o' shitheads but you don't need to insult them or anything."

"Besides, I don't think we have showers," PeeDee said. Then an idea came to him. "Unless…" PeeDee displayed a look of disgust and shook his head, trying to shake the thought from it. Greg rubbed his temples.

"Connie, are you up to check the women's?" Greg asked.

"Again? I guess so," Connie replied. Greg nodded, heading towards the men's. He turned on his flashlight, shining it underneath the stalls and on the mirrors as warnings. He didn't want to end up seeing something he shouldn't have. He then heard a shout of surprise from the other side of the wall, and then some more shouts that sounded more furious. Greg groaned, heading back out in a hurried walk. Connie exited, clearly a bit shaken.

"What happened?" Greg asked, concerned. Connie looked at him, a new emotion on her face. No...not new. Just uncommon. She looked like she was going to vomit. Soon, they exited the bathrooms as well. Sadie Miller. The "punk bitch" of Beach City. Her lips were chapped and her eyes held the blazing fires of Hell.

"What the fuck, guys?!" Sadie shouted before coughing. "Can't a girl get some fuckin' privacy?!" Lars wasn't too far behind her. Classic emo teen. Hair dyed black, skull earrings, and even skin that was paler than usual. Either he was hurting himself or he'd found some secret supply of makeup, it seemed. Then again, if he were hurting himself that badly, he'd probably be dead at this point. As usual, he simply looked at the ground and didn't speak, a blank expression on his face. Poor kid, Greg thought. He then noticed that his pants were zipped, but unbuttoned, and that he must've hurried to pull them back up. It was then that Greg put two-and-two together.

"And I thought you knew better," Greg said, subtly shaking his head. He'd actually expected this from her, but he wanted to see if there was some sort of emotion left in her other than anger.

"Than what?!" Sadie shouted back, her fiery glare shifting to Greg. Proven wrong, yet again, he thought. "Than to give a BJ in the middle of some depressing fucking times?!"

"'Depressing' and 'fucking' are two words that are rarely in the same sentence!" Smiley cracked, laughing to himself. The most he got was a smirk from PeeDee, who then uncomfortably lost his reaction after seemingly figuring out what he meant.

"Sadie?" Called a familiar voice from the back of the tunnel. Greg's heart sank. Until then, they'd been able to tone Sadie's behavior down and not talk about it around her mother. Yet, here she was. Emerging from the back of the tunnel like death itself coming for their souls. "What are you talking about? Why are you shouting those things?" Sadie rolled her eyes, turning her head away from her mother.

"Nothing, mom. Nothing at all." Sadie looked at Jenny, who simply watched from the sides, serving only as an unemotional audience to her outburst. Without paying Lars any mind, Sadie began to walk over to Jenny. Greg looked back into the tunnel. The orangy-yellow from before was beginning to fade into pure white. Considering dawn was at 6, Greg guessed it must be getting closer to 7. People would be wanting breakfast soon.

"Greg? What the hell was she on about?" Barb asked, walking up to him.

"Can't talk now, Barb. Sorry," Greg replied.

"Why not?"

"We need to head out for food. We're running low on vitamins, sugar, all that jazz."

"Yeah, why can't I come with?" Connie said, her tone skating the edge of calm and irritated. Greg looked at her blankly. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many that he could have, and maybe even many that he should have, but instead he replied with:

"You can barely handle seeing Sadie's...behavior. I just don't think you're ready for that yet." Connie merely stared at him, her eyes conveying more than her face. She looked like she really wanted to respond, but thought it over and decided not to even bother. Greg didn't have time for this. He needed to get out there and get enough food for everyone in the time that they had as soon as possible. "Alright," Greg said, turning back towards the group. "Who's coming with?" Nobody instantly raised their hands, and Smiley was the first one to do so, of course. Then it was Ronaldo. Then Lars. Then Dewey. Then Kofi. Greg even saw Jamie's hand slightly raise, though it soon went back down. "So, 6 of us, then? Alright. Pack up any stuff you think you'll need. It'll be a bit before we get there." Greg headed about halfway into the tunnel, slowing to a halt to see how his posse was doing. Ronaldo was right on top of things, being the first out of the station. He wore his army uniform and cap, as well as some goggles probably salvaged from a garage sale. The most concerning thing to Greg, though, was a small lump spanning from Ronaldo's left ankle up about a quarter of his leg. It could have simply been padding of some sort, and Greg hoped that's all it was. The rest of the group soon followed after, with Kofi seemingly carrying the most baggage as he hauled a backpack as big as his torso. The 6 of them headed towards the end of the tunnel, which emerged not far from Dewey's old house. It had been so many weeks since Greg last saw the world. Last felt the rays of sunlight kiss his cold and paling skin. The moment he stepped into the sun's sightline, however, a strange shiver coursed through his body. Such warmth and energy had since been alienated to his body. Aside from that, though, an aching pain emanated from his eyes as he squinted through the dense projection of their celestial light bulb. It hurt so much that he actually had to rub them after turning away. "Forgot how bright that was," Greg said, chuckling at such a stupid statement. After his eyes had adjusted as comfortably as they'd allow, he turned back around to exit the tunnel and view what had become of their beautiful city yet again. They walked about 5 feet or so before reaching the edge of the forest, emerging behind the since-collapsed water tower. Not much change since last he had seen it. More plants had grown, that was for certain, but the buildings had still maintained a look of ruin and loss of soul. The visitor center was still completely caved in, the storage units had begun to crumble, and even the good old car wash had become dirtied and soiled.

"So, what's the plan?" Ronaldo asked, equipping his binoculars. Greg took out an old map that was beginning to fade of Delmarva, seeing the directions and roads they'd have to follow to get where he had in mind. Beach City was no longer of use. All the food that could have been salvaged had already been about halfway through their refuge, and what remained was nothing but spoiled, rotting old nutrients for the flies and rats to enjoy. Catching a quick glimpse of Vidalia's old house made Greg choke up just a bit. He'd salvaged only one of her paintings. It still hung on one of the station walls.

"We need to head southwest," Greg informed. "There's an old family barn there that should hold some fresh vegetables, if not some canned food."

"Oh, that old place?" Dewey asked, ignoring the situation for a moment. "Should've torn that thing down years ago." He muttered. Greg looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed, yet the rest of his face was devoid of emotion.

"It belonged to my aunt and uncle. The Daring DeMayos. Daredevils."

"Yeah? I wonder where that got 'em. Probably a hotspot in the big city. With bunkers and military protection."

"Well, my aunt left after a legal dispute, and my uncle died when I was 27." Dewey looked at Greg, his expression blank yet his mind abuzz with guilt. Greg blinked harder than usual, before returning his focus on the map. "At any rate, they liked to keep a lot of stuff in that barn, and I'd be willing to bet they kept a lot of supplies there. They basically lived there for a few years. If we take 1A up to Chuckwood and Pikesfield, then turn left and follow that road, we should reach it in about…" Greg calculated for a moment. "4 hours. Give or take."

"Walking?" Kofi asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. If you need someone to carry your bag for you, though, don't be afraid to ask."

"Ask? Bah! What do I look like, some sort of weakling?" Nobody spoke, merely looking at Kofi, who looked off to the side in slight embarrassment.

"Just sayin'," Greg added. He took a quick glance at the sun, which left a light-blue squiggly trail just in the center of his vision. Through that, he could confirm that 7 am would be upon them in a matter of minutes. Best to move as soon as possible. If it's an 8 hour round trip, they'd need a lot of time. "Alright. Let's get a move on." Everyone turned towards the road, briskly walking there. Greg stopped as soon as he reached it, looking at the lighthouse that towered above their fallen home. A beacon of safety that had lost all hope. He saw small figures, merely grains of dark sand, moving around in front of it. He knew what they were. He had a fair idea of who they were. And he knew that they were of no use to anyone other than themselves. He spat on the ground in front of him disrespectfully, before walking back into the group, trekking down the road that stretched towards the horizon.

November 16th, 1998. Jersey, USA.

Greg sat on his mother's old couch, strumming his guitar while wearing his black "Pearl Clam" shirt and torn jeans. The couch had begun to tear over years of use, though only around the edges. The house still had the smell of her $5 perfume in it, and he could've sworn that there were hints of the Apple Pies she'd made not 10 years before. He loved those pies. A car pulled up in front of his house, and its brown paint job gave away just who it was. He kept a calm demeanor, though his heart and dried mouth told a different story. He heard the front door knob jiggle fiercely, before someone knocked on the door. Reluctantly, Greg got up from the comfort of the couch and opened the door. There he saw just the person he'd been dreading.

"Hey, cuz," Andy greeted, a solemn tone directing his behavior. "How're ya holdin' up?"

"Well, if you don't factor in how I've stayed in the house for the past week or so, cry myself to sleep every other night, and am too afraid to talk to any other human being for fear of me breaking down or having a panic attack, then I guess you could say I'm fine," Greg replied, his expression firm.

"Look, I don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything," Andy said. "I just wanted to check up on ya. Fill you in on what's been goin' on."

"I don't need you to 'fill me in,' Andy. I need to be left alone."

"No," Andy said, entering the house. "You wanna be left alone. What you need is some human contact. Trust me. I'd know." Andy looked around the foyer, inspecting it and admiring it as though he were in a museum or department store. "Not much change since I was last here. How long has it been? 5 years? 10?"

"10 years." Andy shrugged. He sat down on the couch where Greg's guitar still rested.

"Still inta music, eh?" Greg nodded bluntly, picking up his instrument and sitting down on the floor. He silently caressed the strings, the notes only audible to mice. Neither of them talked for a good minute.

"What do you mean 'you'd know?'" Greg asked, looking up at Andy. Andy looked back uncomfortably, looking off to the side as he responded.

"My mom left 2 years ago. I didn't come to see you until now because I hadn't gotten over it until just a little while ago. At least, not enough to actually contact you about it. After she left, though, dad tried to get the business goin' again. Go back to the great times of makin' engines and planes. Doin' tricks and spins with a crowd o' fans. He was bedridden in a week."

"What for?" Andy looked at him, his eyes becoming glossy. "Sorry, I don't mean to push."

"Nah, nah," Andy said while wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Nah, you're fine. It's why I showed up, right?" More silence with Andy taking quick glances at Greg's guitar. "He, uh...he and mom worked around a lot o' smoke, y'know? Smoke and metal. They even put some asbestos in the barn down in Delmarva. Keeps the fires from burnin' too much. All that stuff is Hell on your lungs." Greg knew what he was talking about, and felt even worse for even bringing it up. "W-We don't really have much left. We tried a bunch o' treatments already, but these fuckin' doctors keep leechin' off us. They ask for more and more each time knowing that my dad's life is on the line!" Andy gradually began to yell the more talked, his eyes becoming merciless rainclouds for the land beneath them. Greg's heart ached. His residual depression from the preceding days was beginning to leak into many other parts of his familial thoughts. Most of it had been redirected towards his poor cousin.

"Aw, Andy. I'm so sorry; I didn't know," Greg said, looking at his hands uncomfortably. "If you need anything, or if I can do anything to help, I'll do it. We're runnin' outta family, y'know?" Andy wiped the tears from his face, the invisible strings of a smirk just vaguely tugging at the corners of his mouth. He nodded profusely, sniffling large clumps of sorrow down through his nose.

"There...uh, there actually is somethin' you can do, Greg." Andy looked at Greg, who returned the gaze with curiosity and determination. "I think you'll like it, too."

"Lay it on me."

"Right now, dad needs, like, 10 thousand bucks for the next treatment. He says it should actually be able to keep him goin' for a good 20 years after! We just need another 8 thousand and he can stick around 'till we're wrinkly old prunes!"

"So what should I do?"

"You like music, right? Well, how about I try and find you a job? One tha-that's well payin' and puts ya in the hall o' fame with the likes o' Pearl Clam and DC/AC! Then everyone's happy!" Greg's excitement elevated at this proposition, he'd admit. But the more he wrapped his brain around it, the less it made sense.

"How much longer does Uncle Steven have on his own?"

"That's not important! What's impo-"

"Well, it is kinda important if I'm gonna make enough money before he's too far gone. I gotta know just how much I'm supposed to be workin', here." Andy stared at Greg, an expression of happiness that masked vital information. Information that could bring everything down. He shrugged.

"Eh...about7monthsorso," Andy mumbled.

"What?"

"7 months! He's got 7 months before it's too late!" Greg looked on in disbelief.

"7 months...are you high? I can't rack up 8 thousand in 7 months! I could barely make any when I tried it solo!"

"Don't think like that! Here, I'll even help ya get started!" Andy took out a 20 dollar bill from his wallet, handing it to Greg. Greg stood up, snatching the bill and looking at it with disdain.

"How am I not supposed to think like that?! It's reality! What else am I supposed to think, Andy?!"

"Just shut it, okay?!" Andy shot up at Greg, the two of them only a few inches from each other. "You are gonna make this money. You are going to leave behind a legacy that isn't just sittin' around and fuckin' mopin' all day, you hear me?! I don't wanna live knowing that my cousin's a washed up crybaby! If you actually give a damn about your family anymore, you'll do this. If not," Andy stepped back, looking Greg dead in the eyes with furrowed brows. "Then you don't have to be a part of it anymore." Andy turned towards the front door, and stormed towards it, the anger of a devil tailing him. "Call me when you're ready to talk, Greg." Andy slammed the door behind him, and drove off in only half a minute. Greg could only stand there, his muscles still tensed up. His chest was filled with a poisonous cocktail of emotion, intending to make him vomit it all out in some way. Greg never liked aggression. Or anger. He was raised to be polite and cheerful. To live a happy and successful life. But, perhaps for the first time in his life, Greg screamed at the top of his lungs.