Thomas wanted a plan. He felt he needed one. His father was giving him up to the Spotters. Throwing away the rubbish. Scraping off some shit from the bottom of his shoe.

No, Thomas didn't really believe that. He didn't think the man who'd brought him up alone since the death of his wife was casting him aside. He knew he was loved.

So, why?

A plan would have given him something to aim for. He'd know what the hell he was supposed to be doing. A plan evaded him. If there was a viable one that he could follow, Thomas couldn't see it. Not even a hint, something for him to hold on to until he could reveal its entirety. All he saw was the open maw of the fate his father had given him, waiting to devour him.

His father's insistence that Thomas stay with him was out of character. Yes, they spent time together. Yes, they watched films, cleaned house, worked out the safest routes to get to the various places they needed to visit – school, work and so on – but Iain was never one to insist. He would suggest, sometimes heavily, but he'd never push any more than that.

Thomas could have said 'yes'. He could have agreed and somehow figured a way out of his predicament. Perhaps, he might have been able to appeal to his father. Their bond should surely have been strong enough for the man to not give up his son so easily. But, what if it wasn't? He would appear on The Spot, a sane boy with no powers, rather than a dangerous lunatic with powers.

"But I need to get to school, Daddy. We have a test today."

"Thomas, you know tests and exams are no good anymore."

To a certain extent, Iain was correct. So few students finished school anymore, tests and their results became meaningless. Those that did go through the whole process were automatically thought to have what it took to work in the businesses that needed them. They hadn't just relied on their powers to get them through life. Thomas had yet to understand or even think about his future and how the current state of the world stage might affect that. Being ordinary, he wanted an ordinary life. He did, however, know that there was no such thing any more.

"But Dad, I can get a good job. Help you with the bills and stuff."

It was a meagre excuse, but it was all he had. The decay of the world was increasing and, when Thomas grew up, who knew what would remain?

"You don't need to worry about that, son. You don't have to think about jobs and boring stuff like that."

No. He didn't. He'd not be alive long enough for it to make a difference.

"Maybe not, Daddy. But you know I like to do good. Can I go do the test and then come home? I could say I'm feeling sick or something."

He could see his father thinking it over. Maybe Iain did want to spend time with his son. A last period of bonding before they were separated forever. From the conversation the previous night, he wouldn't know what time they would be coming. Could he risk his son being away from him for the first few hours of the day? Could he allow his son to have that last moment of potential glory – passing the test (which didn't actually exist) - before any chance of doing so was removed?

He didn't want to. Regardless of what Thomas might think, Iain had found it incredibly hard to make that phone call. It was not an easy decision, but it was one he knew he had to make. While Thomas still had a full grasp on his faculties, if not his abilities, he might survive longer on The Spot. He could make a name for himself. Be someone people talked about after they died. A legacy, of sorts. Iain wished his son had found his powers. He really did.

But he hadn't, and the longer he was without them, the closer and greater the chance he would turn. His mind would be lost, and then his life.

In the end, he couldn't refuse his son. Keeping him at home was for the benefit of Iain, not Thomas. Maybe giving him that chance would make both father and son feel better. Iain was entirely unsure if he'd ever feel good about himself again. He knew, if he upset his son and then lost him to The Spot, and the insanity, it would be worse. Completely selfishly, he wanted to be able to look at himself in the mirror and not want to smash it.

It was not much of a gesture, but it was something.

"OK, son. Get yourself off."

"Are you sure, Daddy?"

Thomas hadn't expected his father to agree to letting him go. He felt sure he'd be refused and would be confined to the apartment until the allotted time, whenever that might be. With him now allowed to go, supposedly, to school, he found himself to be floundering. If his father had resisted and said no, dad and son would have had the time to say goodbye, though not verbally. Thomas would have found a way to accept his father's decision. Not agree with it, but he knew the risks. He understood why the phone call had been made. He hated that it had. He hated, on some level, his father for making it. He hated the creator of the Outbreak for making it a necessity. He hated the public for their thirst for blood.

Death had lost its mystique. It had changed from being something that was feared to something that just was. Enhanced abilities caused countless deaths, some of which were intentional but many of which were complete accidents. Now it was a sport. Bloodletting for the masses.

"Course I am. We don't want you failing school, eh?"

"No, definitely not."

"Go on. I'll sort you a packed lunch while you get ready."

"Thanks Daddy."

It was Thomas's turn to hug his father rather more enthusiastically than was usual. When he stepped away, he turned quickly and went to his room without showing his face.

He dressed quickly, brushed his teeth and sorted his wild bed hair. He generally like it to be short, apart from his fringe being a little longer. It had needed cutting for the past week, but they hadn't had the chance to get it done.

Would it ever be cut again?

Thomas berated himself. He knew he shouldn't think about that, but he couldn't help himself. There was a cloud hanging over him. One that he doubted would ever clear to allow the sun to shine through.

Iain passed him the packed lunch he'd prepared and Thomas turned to leave. It was exactly what he did almost every day. This time, he felt as if he were being physically torn from his father's side. He wanted to rush back into Iain's arms and stay there until he really was torn from his father's grip. He walked to the door and placed his hand on the handle.

"Oh!" he exclaimed.

"You OK, son?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Dad. Forgot my school books."

Iain laughed. His son could be so absent minded sometimes. Thomas didn't laugh, nor did he see the humour in anything they were doing. He hurried back into his bedroom and retrieved his purchase. After checking it was still all there and was secure, he slipped it into his inside pocket and left.

He ran down the stairs without slowing and burst out into the fresh air. Even that tasted spoiled. He had to get away. Find somewhere secluded. Do what had to be done.

Before theyfound him.