Ruthless Son

George heaved a deep sigh.

"Sometimes, it's better to believe a beautiful lie than to embrace a horrifying truth," he grumbled. It was that simple; most of them wouldn't make it.

Murphy gently patted Pearl's shoulder. Her small body shook against his side, quietly sobbing despite the warmth of his presence. It was a light touch, subtle enough that only Pearl knew of it as it drifted to and fro above her, her wordless new anchor to keep her from sinking into the sea of despair.

George watched them.

"So," he inquired coolly,

"What of the other two groups? Especially the last... well, the one that is supposed to be for one person."

Murphy's lips were tight. His eyes turned to Pearl's mother, a lingering glance, softened by grief and steeped in silent communication. George followed his eyes, uncertain. Why was Murphy staring at her?

It confused him. Only seconds ago, the woman had adopted him as kin. Became her son. Inducted her daughter as his sister. And now? He was willing to leave her for last, in a place where delay meant death?

What is he thinking?

George weighed the question, mulling it over in his mind.

I could make the trip back, at least once, without any problems arising. I've judged the propagation of the tunnel vibrations, the signs of the approaching Favourites. If we hold out another hour, they'll be able to reach us. And I've made it through worse with less.

He contemplated the side effects of mid-grade C-stones. His physical form might have been battered, but it still worked. And he wouldn't risk the life of May or Murphy against anyone else.

Extras, he thought coldly. Extras can be left behind when things go wrong.

Still, Murphy's logic didn't track. His first step proved to be a wise one, tactically wise: He brought the unstable survivor with him to avoid sabotage.

Pragmatic, George thought. Calculated.

Then he found another family to embrace. And now? he was willing to say goodbye to that mother figure.

"Just what the hell is he thinking?"

But Murphy, as it happened, saw it rather differently.

He looked at Pearl's mother sorrowfully. She returned his look, eyes full of resignation as she studied her daughter, cradled by a boy no older than twenty at the most, but burdened with the body of war and rottenness.

She remembered how they met. He was gaunt and filthy; his skin scarred with crimson rot, how she'd scolded him in the beginning for his foul tongue, how she'd overheard him talking to George. Their laughter. Their silence.

George is strong and blunt, but ultimately respectful of the relationship between Murphy and May. And Murphy? That boy understood family better than most men she'd ever met. If he pulled through, Pearl would be taken care of.

And if not … There would be nothing.

And her husband must have surely fallen to the madness of the silent night, overtaken even before they were captured. She had no kin waiting above. No community. No contingency.

Murphy could be that future. That lifeline, she thought.

Though what he was asking wasn't much better than death... she'd been overly bold herself just several minutes ago and asked him to hold her daughter and make her a family.

"Was this the price?"

A tear fell silently down her cheek.

"I will be the last," she called out.

Silence took the room.

Everyone stared. Eyes narrowed.

Ruthless, they thought. He's abandoned his new mother.

All the while, Murphy's face remained unreadable. But inside him, reason reigned.

He hadn't thought he would find a new family and hadn't planned on another sister. But the gravity of new bonds didn't erase the arithmetic of survival. From his time in medicine, he'd confronted countless ethical dilemmas.

Life versus life. One ventilator. Two patients. Who gets the bed?

There were never clean answers. Only choices. And consequences.

Murphy had known how to deal with them; he slept with them, even when they clawed at his soul. A few haunted him more than others. But his guiding truth was this: With the same data and circumstances, he would make the same decision again.

Choosing to leave Pearl's mother for last was a deliberate decision.

The lesser evil. The lesser risk.

The remaining group had to feel as if it was part of a plan. Taking Pearl first was morally right. Leaving her mother behind was tactically right. Otherwise, panic could ignite. Resistance. Despair.

And their best fighter, George, was already injured. Not once had he used crimson stones during his few fights. Raw power was his only friend at this point. Saving the madness for necessary encounters... like this one. If he went down now, they were done for. No amount of righteous morality or filial duty would change that.

They were going against a chimera, a bunch of newborn beasts, and an Infant Wretch.

Everyone must be at the top of their game.

Murphy exhaled slowly, his thoughts sharp, somber, and final. In life, any one of them is capable of acting like a madman if driven to the edge, so this heartless decision had to be made to ensure everyone's survival.

George looked at Murphy again with newfound respect.

"He's not just a hardworking, self-sacrificing brother," he whispered.

"Someone who raised a girl like May … that kind of man sure is not simple."

He gave a nod, approving Murphy's plan.

"About the rendezvous," George asked.

"You said there's a stream?"

Murphy nodded.

"It curves away behind the crumpled tunnel wall, thirty meters past the feeding beast, likely the work of subterranean melt-off."

George thought carefully.

"If the flow's not running fast enough or if it's not deep enough, you just hide in it when you hear a crimson creature. No heroism. No action."

Murphy had no arguments. He was no hunter. No training. Just a dog and a cripple. The only reason he hadn't collapsed from pain and exhaustion was the body he now wore, a body supported by unnatural preservations. Had this been his original body, he would have collapsed by now.

"All right," George said.

"We move now."

"Once I trigger the cloak, we become one body. You lose touch—you're gone. We all might be."

He tore off a piece of his robe and helped Murphy get May onto his back. He then took Murphy's hand and bound it tightly to May's lifeless wrist with cloth, knotting it twice for good measure.

Then... came Pearl.

George attempted to hand her off to the other man- Robert, but she refused with a fierce glare.

George sighed and ripped another piece off his garment. Secured Pearl directly to Murphy's side; her small frame nestling between the cloth bands. Murphy shifted, placing an arm protectively but subtly around Pearl's waist to keep her steady.

Then Robert reached for Pearl's other hand...

But she yanked away, her face showing irritation. Her mother, anxious, stepped forward to settle the situation.

"Pearl, stop playing. It's important—"

But Pearl broke in, her voice soft and fiery.

"He's a bad guy. He pushed and hurt big brother earlier. You told me to stay away from bad guys."

Her words were simple. Innocent. But unmistakably brutally sincere.

The group erupted in soft laughter, echoes of strained humor in a desperate world.

The expression on Robert's face turned sour, his pride hurt beyond repair, as Pearl's mother sighed in defeat. She turned to George and Murphy but all she received was wry smiles that offered no remedy.

Murphy coughed politely.

"It's okay. If Pearl doesn't want to hold the bad guy's hand, she doesn't have to."

George chuckled and adjusted. He pulled Robert to the front of the line, held his hand, and offered his other hand to Pearl. She offered her hand without hesitation. Her mother came forward, using a handkerchief to bind Pearl's hand, not too tight, but firm enough to hold.

She then helped George attach a few C-stones to his bare chest and blood-slicked back, loosely wrapping them in cloth, then stepped back.

George inhaled. Long. Slow.

Then he opened his eyes, as his legs began to turn black.