Felipe stood with his arms crossed, frowning as he stared at the closed door. "How old is that kid? Ten? Eleven? And you are just letting him..."
"I saw him handle those cultists." Guillermo's expression had gone dark. "He did not hesitate. He threw those spikes and cut them down like it was nothing." He drew a finger across his throat to finish the thought.
"I am grateful. He saved all of us. I know that. But this..." He glanced toward the door. "This is not something a child should have to do. No one should. He seems like a good kid. If anyone is going to hate it, it would be him."
"He was running around before, helping with our wounded," Felipe added, his voice carrying an edge of guilt. "And now he is in there alone, doing this kind of dirty work. Even if it is to save Rick and the others, it is still wrong."
Glenn's expression grew heavier with every word. They were right. Lucien was shouldering darkness that none of them should have allowed him to carry.
"Maybe I should do it instead. Even if it takes longer, we cannot just—"
He turned to open the door and found it locked from the inside.
He rattled the handle. "Lucien? Hey, open up!"
Nothing.
Guillermo tried it as well, putting his shoulder into it. The door did not budge.
They exchanged looks.
"He locked us out," Felipe said quietly.
Glenn pressed his forehead against the door, hands flat against the wood. "Lucien, come on. You do not have to do this. Let me handle it."
Still nothing.
From inside the room, they heard movement. Something scraped across the floor. A muffled curse came from the prisoner.
Then everything went quiet.
"What is he doing in there?" Felipe asked, though nobody had an answer.
---
Inside the storage room, Lucien had no idea what kind of guilt-driven turmoil was unfolding beyond the door.
He was too busy setting the stage.
He walked to the medical kit and removed a bundle wrapped in cloth. After placing it on the table in front of the prisoner, he carefully unfolded the fabric.
The bundle did not contain bandages or antiseptic. Instead, it revealed an orderly row of surgical instruments: scalpels in several sizes, hemostatic forceps, and a long metal probe. For added effect, he had also included a small hand-cranked bone drill he had found in the nursing home's old medical storage.
He had no intention of using most of these tools. But the prisoner did not need to know that.
The cultist's eyes flicked to the instruments, then back to Lucien's face. He spat on the floor between them.
"That is supposed to scare me? You are just a kid playing pretend, you little shit."
Lucien did not react to the insult. Instead, he picked up a syringe and drew clear liquid from one of the vials Jenner had given him.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding the syringe up to the light.
The cultist sneered. "Some bullshit you made up."
"It is a strong sedative," Lucien continued as if the man had not spoken. "If you cooperate, this will help you relax. The whole process will be over in a few minutes. I promise you will not feel anything unpleasant. But if you do not cooperate... Then it just makes sure you stay still. So your movements do not affect my accuracy when I start cutting."
The cultist's sneer faltered slightly.
"Well," Lucien said softly, "it seems you have made your choice."
He stepped forward, ignoring the man's sudden attempt to thrash against his restraints, and drove the needle into his arm.
The cultist cursed, but the drug was already entering his system. Lucien stepped back and tossed the empty syringe aside.
"Let us hope your secrets are not hidden too deep." He picked up one of the scalpels and examined it thoughtfully. "For example... inside your bones."
The cultist's eyes began to glaze as the sedative took hold. Under the man's increasingly unfocused gaze, Lucien slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew his wand.
Recently, he had mastered a particularly useful spell. Hermione had used it in the books to extract memories. True Legilimency was still beyond his abilities, but he had developed a modified variation that simply encouraged the subject to verbalize their thoughts.
That much was within his reach.
Especially with a little chemical assistance.
---
Meanwhile, deeper in the factory complex, the holding area was exactly as grim as one would expect from fanatics with guns and no oversight.
The space had been a loading bay once, judging by the concrete floor and high ceiling. Now chain-link fencing divided it into cages.
Lori, Jacqui, Carol, and the other women had been shoved into one corner section. The children pressed against their mothers, trying to make themselves small. Around them, guards with rifles stood watch.
Heavy boots echoed on concrete.
A man walked in. He had a scar that ran from his left temple down to his jaw. Several guards flanked him.
"The Shepherd is merciful," the scar-faced man said.
He stopped at the fence, close enough that Lori could smell tobacco and gun oil clinging to his clothes. His eyes moved slowly over the women.
"You are not like those men," he continued. "They are sinners. Beyond redemption." His gaze lingered on Lori's face before drifting lower. "But you still have a chance to atone."
He smiled, and it was the worst smile Lori had ever seen.
"Serve the Lord's warriors with your bodies. Prove your devotion. And maybe the Shepherd will show you mercy."
"You animals!" Jacqui surged forward, grabbing the chain-link with both hands. "You sick fucks! We are not—"
Bang!
The man slammed his rifle butt against the fence right where Jacqui's hands were. The impact sent vibrations through the metal, and Jacqui jerked back with a cry, cradling her bruised fingers.
"Shut your mouth, bitch!"
He was not smiling anymore. He yanked the gate open and stepped inside.
"Seems like you want to take the Corpse's Kiss along with your men." His weapon swept across the huddled group. "Fine. We will start with the kids."
"No!" Lori threw herself between Carl and the gun. "No, please, he is just a boy, he has not done anything—"
"Wait!"
Carl forced the word out.
Carl was trembling so violently that Lori could feel it through her hands, yet he pushed against her arms and stepped out from behind her.
"You need people, right?" Carl's voice wavered, but he kept going. "I can join you."
Lori felt her heart stop. "Carl, no—"
The man lowered his rifle slightly, studying the boy with new interest. "Huh. Got some balls on you, kid."
He called over his shoulder without taking his eyes off Carl. "Rat! Get your ass in here!"
A teenager stepped inside, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. He had the solid build of someone who had been eating regular meals while others went hungry. An oversized military jacket hung loosely from his shoulders.
Rat looked Carl up and down. "Him? He is tiny. Looks like a fucking girl."
He leaned in close to Carl. "Though maybe that is not so bad. Clean you up nice, some of the older guys would pay good for—"
Carl's whole body went rigid. He kept his eyes locked on the man.
"He is right about one thing. I am young."
Rat's smirk faltered, like he had not expected Carl to agree.
"That is why I would be useful," Carl continued. "No one would see me as a threat. They would lower their guard around me"
He kept his eyes on the man and caught the faint flicker of dismissal in his gaze. That was the wrong angle.
He adjusted immediately. "What I mean is, I can test them. I can find out who is good and who is evil."
The man's expression shifted slightly.
Carl knew he had it. "If a camp turns away a kid like me, or tries to hurt me..." He swallowed. "Then they are exactly the kind of people you want to judge. Right?"
"Still running your mouth?" Rat shoved Carl hard in the shoulder. "Look at you shaking! You would just slow us down, you little—"
"Of course I am shaking! Your guns are real! Only an idiot would not be scared!"
He forced himself to meet the man's eyes again. "A real coward would be crying and begging right now. Not standing here trying to make a deal."
For a long moment, nobody moved.
Then the man started laughing.
"Alright, kid. I like your guts."
He drew a heavy pistol from his waistband and tossed it onto the ground between them. Before Carl had time to react, the man's boot struck the back of his knee.
Carl collapsed, his kneecap slamming against the concrete. Pain flared up his leg, but he clenched his jaw and refused to cry out.
"Pick it up," the man said coldly.
"What are you doing?!" Lori screamed. "He is just a child. You cannot do this!"
"Prove your value." He ignored her completely and grabbed Carl by the collar, attempting to haul him upright. Carl struggled to stand, but his injured leg buckled beneath him.
"Come with me."