But then had come the voice that said, "Come on, you little freak, wherever the hell you are,
whatever the hell you are, let’s get this done with.

But hey this was the FAYZ, where all you could really hope was to delay the pain.

A white van drove slowly—as slowly as only an inexperienced and frightened driver could go—
down San Pablo Avenue. It came to a stop at a distance, and Caine found himself hoping it was
trouble. Trouble he could handle. A fight would be a wonderful relief from the tedium.

Delay of pain: that was the meaning of life, wasn’t it?
“I’ve made some bad decisions,” Caine said, not really meaning to say it out loud.

It’s not about the powers, man; it’s that we aren’t kids anymore. Look what we’ve been through. Look what we’ve done. Look at yourself, surfer dude. We’ve done something none of our parents have even come close to. We didn’t take over their boring world; we took over a world about a thousand times tougher. If we walk out of this alive, we won’t have to bow our heads to anyone.

Endgame,” Sam muttered, not really expecting Caine to hear.
“Yep,” Caine said. “That’s right. Endgame. The FAYZ barrier is coming down; at least that’s my
bet. But there’s also a ninety percent chance you and me both end up dead. Ten percent chance we
both actually get out of here alive. In which case we end up sharing a cell somewhere.” He laughed.
“Kind of unfair, really, what with me being evil and all, and you just so darned virtuous and heroic.