Huddled around a fire of burning tires a group of naked children shiver in the unrelenting cold. Moscow was always a cold place in the winters, even in the old world, but ever since the sky turned gray and the sun stopped shining the weather because entirely unpredictable and seasons disappeared all together. Earthlier on this very day it was 120 degrees and then the temperature plummeted to far below freezing. The children are taking shelter in what remains of a an old abandoned building. The floor is littered with broken glass and shell casings from the water wars, the walls are riddled with bullet holes and covered in bad graffiti. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. The children squirm about, complaining about being hungry, thirsty, and cold in between horrid coughing fits. The air quality is so bad one can no longer see farther than 100 yards on a good day. Without warning, the temperature jumps to a comfortable 60 degrees and the children all release a sigh of relief. The ragtag bunch quickly leaves the building fleeing the unbearable fumes of burning tires. They hustle down to decrepit street outside and begin the arduous search for food and water. Before long the children find a puddle of what they hope is, at least mostly, water. After a few long, silent moments of picking countless small bits of plastic out of the black liquid, the group draws straws and determines the unlucky one to drink out of the puddle first. The children wait, holding their breath as one of the groups smallest, known as flower a word that has no meaning to these children, timidly kneels down and takes a drink from the puddle. After a few minutes tree lets the others know he feels fine and the water is safe to drink, the group begins to drink, knowing they may not find more for days. Before long the small puddle is bone dry.