(Wawanakwa Woods; Night 01)

An owl hoots as late night approaches. The cool, almost chilly breeze blows by in the woods as the moon shines brightly, acting as the only source of light. Nathan has his hands in the pockets of his worn and a bit torn jeans, looking as emotionless as usual. Unfortunately for him, he won't have the privilege of retiring with the rest of camp for tonight.

At least he doesn't have to wear his uniform anymore. His garb is as casual and plain as it can get: a gray t-shirt with a gaming controller graphic in the center, the aforementioned worn and a bit torn jeans, and the same gray sneakers since the start of his shift. But then again, his phone is almost dead, and he had never gotten a chance to charge it.

So combining the lack of music to listen to and having to work the graveyard shift, it's safe to say he's annoyed right now. "Why couldn't he have asked Chef or Preston to do this? They're the muscle." He mutters. His eyes are focused on the seemingly never-ending path in front of him; he wonders how far this place is from camp.

He sighs. "Whatever. I doubt anyone's going to enter a bank in the middle of the woods at this time-" His movement comes to a still, as does his voice. Another sigh from him, only more tense. The blood in his system turns as cold as the thing pressing against his head.

Said thing is a gun. A pistol, to be exact. The classic model often shown in media.

"I'd suggest removing that doubt, fatso." Another voice, masculine but more high-pitched than Nathan's, speaks. Nathan manages to get a better look of the gun wielder. Almost built like him - the difference being that the man's pudginess is more visible, he seems to have the appearance of nerd who never left his mom's basement until now. A man so terminally online, he forgot what grass looked like, let alone touched it.

"Pot calling the kettle black…" Nathan mumbles, lest he angers the man and loses his life. As he hoped, the gun wielder doesn't hear him. "How long have you been here?" He wonders, curious. Coincidence after coincidence so far in a span of a minute or two. Attempting to be as subtle as possible, his eyes land upon a simple "Hello" sticker, attached to the man's shirt - left breast. A name is written on there.

Simon. "Hello my name is Simon" name tag.

"Long enough to make sure I have power over you." Simon sneers, pulling the hammer of the pistol back - a click sound can be heard - and tightening his grip on it. Yet despite the increased intensification, his hands are also shaking. It's becoming too nerve racking for him to handle. "Now, both of us know what I want. Surrender the golden cannon to me and you'll never have to see me again."

"Sure." Immediate response from Nathan.

"I'm warning you- wait, what?" Simon hadn't expected an immediate acceptance, defaulting to his rehearsed line of giving him a final warning. He's surprised, caught off-guard. All of this planning, thrown out the window now. It's too good to be true. "You're handing it over like that? No pushback or even a question on why I'm doing this?" Suspicion kicks in; the paranoia makes him assume the emotionless man has an ulterior motive.

"Nope." No change in facial expression, tone, or body language. Just Nathan looking at him as a weapon that can kill him in one pull of the trigger is pressed against his forehead. "I'll take you to the golden cannon and pretend like nothing ever happened." He doesn't know where the place is, let alone the golden cannon, but he's confident he can figure it out.

All he has to do is not get shot.

"Hmm…" Simon gives the immediate acceptance more consideration. He tries to think of every possibility that has Nathan coming out on top. Nothing, so as long as he has the gun. Then a nod. "Very well then! Take me to the valuable!"

Just like that, Nathan finds himself being held at gunpoint, forced to do something's bidding. It's not on his to-do list, let alone his bucket list, that's for sure. He continues forward on the path, hoping a building will appear in his sight soon. Not a single word is exchanged between them. Nothing but tense silence.

At last, as he had hoped and expected, the two arrive at a small building. From an aesthetic standpoint, it seems worn and abandoned. The color scheme makes it look like a local prison. Consequence of combining brown and gray. There are also broken security cameras, scattered on the ground. Other than that, nothing else seems to stand out.

Fast forward to them arriving at the entrance, Nathan unlocks the double doors. He flicks on the lights and the two get a better view of the interior. In summation, it's an interior of a bank. Entrance to the vault on the other side, a few fake plants for decoration, and a teller station in the center, also on the other side. The security cameras here are working.

Nathan enters first, then waits for Simon's arm that's holding the gun to follow suit. As soon as it reaches through the crack, he shuts the door with as much force as possible.

*BANG*

Out of instinct, Simon pulls the trigger, screaming and writhing in pain as he drops the gun and retracts his arm. His other hand grips it in an attempt to alleviate the pain. What he sees in front of him is Nathan, not dead, but rather having crouched down to dodge the bullet. Angry, he tries to punch and tackle the emotionless man simultaneously.

Unfortunately for him, his strength modifier is in the negatives. As a result, he does tackle Nathan to the ground, but doesn't do any damage at all. He's trying to get hits in as the emotionless man focuses on retrieving the gun. Although unfazed by the punches, Simon's weight is another story. There's also nothing near him to help.

So he takes out the key and swipes the teeth part across Simon's chin. Another scream from him, buying Nathan enough time to grab the gun and fire a warning shot. Getting back onto his feet, the former gun wielder tries to do the same, only to now find himself on the receiving end of the pistol. As expected, he plumps to the ground and trembles in fear.

"Sorry. I'm only doing what I'm told to do." Still no change of tone. Cold, remorseless, as if he's a robot, disguised as a human. He stares the pleading and now crying man in the eyes.

"N-No no no no no no! Please no!" Simon is desperate. It's surprising he hasn't peed his pants. Tears are running down his face, all of his confidence from earlier is now gone. An absolute 180. "Please don't shoot me! I-I'm only doing what I'm told to do too!" He closes his eyes and hugs his body, waiting for the inevitable.

Only except, Nathan empties the magazine. After a bit of time has passed, Simon realizes nothing has happened, so he looks and gasps. He couldn't believe it. "H-Huh?" The former gun wielder watches the bullets roll and scatter around. "Why the hell are you unloading the gun?" Not that he's complaining, but he demands answers.

After a moment of silence, Nathan discards the gun, tossing it behind him. "I hate killing."

Then more silence. Simon doesn't know what to respond with. He doesn't know if he should thank him, be upset that he's being pitied, or take advantage of this. After all, those bullets on the ground are strong enough to damage a human when thrown.

*BOOM*

An explosion from inside the vault. The alarm is going off. Rubble now covering part of the main hall. Both men focus on the source. But that doesn't matter for Simon because there's something more important in front of him.

The golden cannon.

"Yes! I knew my queen would come to my rescue!" He cheers, now almost crying in tears of happiness as he rushes to the vault. Nathan tries to stop him and he can stop him, but in the midst of chasing after him, he slips on the scattered bullets, faceplanting onto the floor.

He mumbles obscenities as he tries to get back up. His eyes land upon another person, a woman. Wearing a fur coat over a red dress, she seems to be rushing a group of men and berating Simon at the same time. Dirty blonde hair, large red hoop earrings, Nathan recognizes this person from years on the internet.

Mildred, a.k.a. Blaineley.

Desperation becomes despair as he watches the golden cannon being taken away. Once all is said and done, he collapses on the floor, groaning. Physical pain is the least of his worries.

He's going to be in a lot of deep shit with his boss. Knowing him so far, he's sure Chris won't be forgiving and will fire him with scathing rage. Maybe humiliate him in public.

Author's Note: Let's do this one more time. I'm starting over again for both stories because of a few reasons. Only one of those reasons I can say because the rest are personal. Said one reason is that the more I planned out a hypothetical 16-person cast, the more I realized the plans were better than the ones for the 18-person cast. Who am I to not take advantage of a golden opportunity? That being said, I do apologize. Maybe saying sorry won't be enough, but if it helps, I have the entire season planned out, as far as the big plotlines go. But not to the point of scene-by-scene.

So 18 chapters in total, and one is done. Even though this isn't a prologue per-se, one can make a case for preview scenes to be part of that category. I wanted to keep it simple; one scene from a future chapter that focuses on the C-plot. The A-plot is the competition and the B-plot focuses on Chris McLean and Chef Hatchet.

Not sure when the next update for this story will be. As for my other story, expect the prologue for that one to come soon. Maybe this weekend.

See you in the next chapter!