He made himself stand up in the end, even though his legs still felt weak. There was running water in a public bathroom two streets away.
Morgan washed his hands under the stream and watched as the red water went down the drain, then the pink water, and finally the clear water. But he kept scrubbing even after the blood was gone, and he couldn't stop.
The water's heat and friction made the skin on his hands turn red. Morgan looked at them under the bright fluorescent lights and saw blood that wasn't there anymore but was still in his mind.
He scrubbed harder, his nails digging into his palms, trying to wash away the guilt that wouldn't go away no matter how much soap he used. "Fuck... fuck... fuck..."
He said to his reflection in the dirty mirror, "This is who I have to be."
The face that was looking back seemed haunted and older than seventeen, even though it offered young features. Morgan knew that look from his past, from the months and years of fighting and surviving that had made his face hard.
He thought that going back in time would let him get away from that person and give him a chance to be someone who hadn't been hurt by the end of the world. But there he was, covered in blood from another person, having just killed someone on purpose.
The end of the world had turned him back into a killer, but he was now killing different people for different reasons. This time it was planned instead of desperate, cold instead of hot, and done with professional efficiency instead of survival instinct.
Morgan whispered, "I'm not stopping the end of the world."
"I'm just picking what kind of monster I want to be."
He felt the weight of inevitability settle over him as he realized it. There was no easy way out of this, and he couldn't save hundreds of thousands without becoming a killer himself.
The math was correct, and the logic was solid, but that didn't make him a hero. It just made him a different kind of threat, someone who killed before they had to instead of after.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Morgan took it out with hands that were still shaking a little bit.
The motion was robotic and distant. The caller ID showed Father Murphy's name, and the timing was so perfect that it seemed planned.
Morgan answered, forcing his voice to stay steady even though everything inside him wanted to break. "What?"
"Son, bad news." Murphy's voice was appropriately sad, like a pastor telling sad news. "David Chen was killed tonight."
"I just got a call from the police because I'm his emergency contact through the church."
"What...?" Morgan's shock sounded real because he had been lying and manipulating people for years. "That's awful."
"What happened?"
"They think it was a robbery that went wrong."
"Someone broke into his apartment and stole his valuables. It was such a pointless tragedy." Murphy stopped, and the quiet felt planned in some way. "It was weird that it happened right after he joined the Council."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Morgan's heart rate shot up, even though he had trained for this.
Every alarm in his mind was going off. Murphy's tone had changed slightly. He was still worried, but there was an edge to his voice that made it sound like he was testing or warning.
The silence lasted a long time, with both men holding the line but not saying anything. Morgan could almost feel Murphy on the other end.
He could picture the wheels in his father's head turning as he made connections and came to conclusions. They both knew a lot more than they were saying, and they both knew that this conversation had more than one meaning.
Morgan's mind raced with ideas. "Is he aware?"
"Is he putting me to the test?"
"What did Chen tell him about private meetings?"
"This is the first step. Yet... he is watching now."
Murphy finally broke the silence at just the right time by saying, "We'll be holding a vigil tomorrow night."
"I hope you'll come."
"The Council needs to see that people are working together during these hard times."
Morgan heard the clear subtext in the innocent words. "Let me see your face."
"Let me check to see if you're involved."
"The Council is weak right now."
"Stop making mistakes."
"Of course, Father," Morgan said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'll be there."
"Okay. I knew I could trust you, son." Murphy's tone got a little friendlier, but the calculation underneath stayed the same. "We'll talk more tomorrow."
Morgan was left staring at his dark phone screen in the bright fluorescent light of the public restroom after the call ended. Chen's blood was gone from his hands, but no matter how hard he scrubbed, it stayed under his nails. His reflection in the mirror looked empty, worn out, and changed in ways that couldn't be undone.
Morgan took the list out of his jacket pocket. The paper was now wrinkled from being carried around and looked at all the time.
There were still eleven names left, which meant eleven more people were going to die trying to save hundreds of thousands. There was a line through Chen's name, the first person to die in a war that only Morgan knew was going on.
He whispered to his reflection, "Eleven more."
"Eleven more times I have to do this."
"I have to kill eleven more people to stop mass murderers."
There was a text message on his phone. Claire, answering his earlier message about joining the Council. "Okay. I believe in you."
"Whatever you think is right, I'll do it."
The words made Morgan want to throw the phone across the room and scream at the universe for all the impossible things it kept making happen. Claire had faith in him.
Chen had faith in Murphy. People kept putting their faith in the wrong people for the right reasons, and the outcome was always the same. Manipulation, betrayal, and death are all okay if you have noble intentions.
Morgan put the phone down and looked at the list one last time before folding it up and putting it back in his pocket. Murphy knew, or at least thought he did.
The careful way he spoke, the perfect time for the call, and the way his words hinted at things. This was the first move in a game they both knew they were playing.
Now it was a race. Could Morgan get rid of the rest of the Council before they got rid of him?
Could he keep up the act of being normal while systematically killing people his father had chosen and blessed?
Could he do this eleven more times without losing all of his humanity?
The math of sacrifice required blood. Twelve lives are needed to save two hundred fifty thousand.
Morgan had paid the first installment tonight, which meant he had crossed the line between wanting to kill someone and actually killing them. The equation needed eleven more payments to be even.
He walked home through dark streets after leaving the bathroom. Chen's blood was still under his nails even after he scrubbed them.
He will go to a vigil for the man he killed tomorrow. And tomorrow, he would stand next to Murphy and act sad for the benefit of those who saw it. What's worse is that he would look Claire in the eye, knowing that he had put her in more danger for tactical reasons.
But tonight, Morgan was just a killer walking alone through the dark, carrying the weight of one death and the horrible knowledge that eleven more were coming. The butcher had done the math, and the equation needed more blood to be balanced.