Michael's henchman thrust the stone knife into Dex's trembling hands. Blood rushed in his ears as his fingers closed around it—cold, jagged, merciless. Though medical knowledge eluded him, his body moved with terrifying autonomy, muscle memory he never knew he possessed guiding each savage cut. The woman's flesh parted beneath the crude blade, rivers of crimson streaming across her distended belly. Her teeth ground against a leather strap until they cracked, eyes bulging with silent agony, every fiber of her being channeled into one primal purpose: force life from death. Michael watched, knuckles white, sweat beading on his forehead as he whispered, "God forgive us all."
Dex's scalpel sliced through the woman's abdomen, parting flesh and fat with surgical precision. Blood welled up around his gloved fingers as he separated the abdominal muscles, exposing the glistening dome of the uterus. His hands trembled slightly as he pierced the amniotic sac, releasing a gush of warm fluid that splashed against his forearms. The infant emerged silent and blue-tinged into the harsh light. "What a tragic end," Michael whispered, snatching the newborn and thrusting it into his henchman's waiting arms. "What are you going to do with the baby?" Dex's voice cracked. Michael's lips curled into a smile. "Well, you enjoyed the meat, didn't you?" The words hit Dex like a physical blow. His stomach heaved as realization dawned. "Take the mother," he pleaded, gesturing to the corpse. "A fresh body doesn't decompose for eighteen hours. You have plenty there." Michael's eyes narrowed. "Kindness is never rewarding. You'll regret this." Dex thought of his friend, now gone. "I already live with regret," he murmured, blood dripping from his gloves.
Michael led Dex down a narrow corridor to a room isolated from the other killers. "Your accommodations," Michael said with a thin smile. "Just returning a favor. Remember, kid, nothing is free, and nothing costs more than free things." Dex mumbled thanks while silently cursing his dependence on this monster. The ancient oak door looked ready to crumble, yet when Dex tested it after Michael left, it wouldn't budge—a prison disguised as sanctuary. He paced the small space, torn between gratitude for shelter and rage at his captivity. Exhaustion eventually won. In his fitful sleep, fragments returned: "Do you like the skies?" asked the white-haired child, voice barely a whisper. "You're my only friend. I'm giving you my most precious gift." Dex jolted awake, head pounding, to find Michael sitting before him—both savior and jailer with action of a murder but look of a kind man .
"I don't give a damn about your nightmares or the gibberish you were muttering," Michael hissed, his breath hot against Dex's face. "It's morning. We're moving out, and I thought our self-proclaimed 'doctor' might enjoy the bloodshed." His wink felt like a threat. "After dark, this place crawls with things that'll tear your flesh off strip by strip. We stay put at night—though that's when the best resources appear. No one knows why. Now move before I drag you." A henchman with rotting teeth leered. "What's this, boss? Trading women for boys now? I'd love a taste of something fresh." Michael's stone knife flashed, slicing a crimson line across the man's ear. Blood spurted as the henchman howled. "Show some respect to our doctor," Michael snarled. "He might be all that stands between you and death." Another man stepped forward. "That was excessive. Having power doesn't mean treating us like dogs for every stray you collect." Michael's face contorted with rage before his blade severed the man's head clean from his shoulders. The head hit the ground with a wet thud, eyes still blinking in confusion. Dex froze, unable to process how Michael had moved so impossibly fast—as if reality itself had fractured. Michael wiped the blade on his pants, blood still dripping from the steel. "Shall we proceed, doctor?"