Everything was static. Everything was pain. Marcus refused to let his fingers shake as he held the small frail life in his hand. Their son. The son Clara would never get to meet.

Alexia stood in the corner, doing her best to log the newborn's information despite the tears in her eyes. June had the unenviable task of wrapping Clara up and wheeling her out. It had been just under an hour since she'd passed, a perfect marker for the final push that had brought their boy to the world. Their Ronan...

His mother gripped his shoulder hard enough to bruise, just to break him out of his drain-swirling thoughts. Her voice was tortured, even more so than when she'd been given her diagnosis before the Fall. "You need to let them check him over. He... He's being too quiet."

Marcus could hardly feel his body as it moved. His muscles puppeteered themselves to pass the baby to Ava, who in turn took his Ronan to Alexia. The moment he was out of Marcus' hands, however, the baby squalled. Something stirred in Marcus, then, as he heard that cry, and all the cold and dark things he'd been contemplating vanished to be replaced with warmth. It didn't last.

"Mrs. Metier, the General is requesting your presence," Tripsen said, walking into the room with no regard for everything going on around him. To the Private's credit, he did pale as he recognized the landmine he'd stepped on. If the sheet-covered body and wailing infant weren't enough, two pregnant women and a fledgeling grandmother bore holes into him. If the medical professionals weren't busy tending to new life, they would have added their eyes to the count.

As for Marcus... it took everything he had not to look at the man. The warmth his son had kindled from the ashes of despair in his heart blazed as someone dared to encroach on his family. He didn't know when he'd stood up, or when he'd managed to pin the soldier up against the wall, but he didn't feel even remotely bad about it.

"You tell that sniveling coward to come and tell my dead wife he wants her mother-in-law to abandon her grandchild," Marcus spat in his face. Had Agatha not rushed forward and grabbed his arm, he was sure he would have crushed the Private's windpipe. If she hadn't been so visibly pregnant, he might have even shaken her off and done it anyway.

As it was, Marcus released him and he slumped to the ground. With a fearful look at the grieving madman, Tripsen scrambled away. The peace after that did not last, but Marcus hadn't been blindsided that time. He gently removed Agatha's hand from his arm, which she'd kept there intentionally to try to dissuade him from acting, and walked out of the recovery room. On the way out, his mother ran her hand along his back for a moment but pulled it away when she saw the look in his eye. He'd had enough.

The possibility that Clara might not have had to die had Starden not insisted on his mother researching something other than organic adaptabilities to the radiation buzzed in the back of his mind. It wasn't a guarantee, not even close when it came to understanding the new extraplanetary force that was part of their lives. Yet, it was something he could latch on to. A target and justification for what he planned to do with the strength he'd inherited from his family.

Tripsen hadn't made it far. There was already a pair of soldiers waiting for the private as he left the medical area. They rushed forward, batons at the ready. The world, as it often did, slowed to a crawl as Marcus considered his options. It was painfully many, considering the people before him had been deemed worthy to survive the end of the world. They had a role to serve, skill sets and discipline that might serve the Bunker. He didn't feel worthy himself, but he'd come to terms with the switcheroo his father had made in order to save him. And his father would not stand the abuse the soldiers were laying on the other survivors. That thought simplified his options significantly.

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The two soldiers rushed forward and Marcus sidestepped the first. His fist, still covered in blood from his wife, found the man's throat and he crumpled. The next managed to strike across his shoulder, but the muscle and adrenaline dulled most of that pain. His fist broke the man's nose before following it up with a hit to his solar plexus, both leaving the soldier gasping for air.

Marcus heard the thundering of steps and turned just in time to see the tazer gun leveled at him. He sacrificed an arm to take the taze on his palm, which left him enough time to clock the shooter. Another soldier brought out his and Marcus caught that one too. His breath shuddered as his heart skipped a beat, but it didn't stop him from headbutting the second shooter on the chin.

Down on one knee, he plucked the tazer barbs with shaky hands and panted as his muscles protested his demands. When Tripsen returned, pistol raised, Marcus knew he'd drawn the short stick. When the man continued closer, placing his gun against Marcus' head while keeping his body far away, the fire in the Metier flared.

"You stupid musclebound id--." Tripsen didn't get to finish as Marcus grabbed the gun and aimed it up. Two shots rang out, raining concrete dust on the two of them. The burn of the barrel barely registered on his palm, because Marcus had struck the Private's bruised throat again. He did not get up and Marcus stared mutely as his chest stopped rising and falling at all, nail marks lining his throat where he'd attempted to catch a breath while Marcus watched on with dead eyes.

He barely moved as a full squad arrived, tazed him right over the heart, and drug him up the stairs to the top level. The man he'd really wanted to remove from his mortal coil was pacing in front of an inconspicuous blank wall. Marcus knew the truth of what the wall actually was, and for the first time since his wife had passed he knew fear.

"You can't take me away from him!" Marcus roared, muscles straining against the handcuffs and men holding him down. Despite everything, the men holding him had to call in support when he kicked the knee out from the closest guard. The snap of the joint was sickening and the soldier howled in pain. "You killed her!"

A fist crashed against his face, throwing up stars as he tried to realign his thoughts with the murder coursing through his veins. "And you killed that Private."

"All you fat pigs are doing is strangulating this Bunker. One less of you will only improve all your chances," Marcus snarled, face pinned to the ground as the soldiers dogpiled him.

He was burning sadness for energy by the minute, the pale face of his wife and her final smile as she gazed at Ronan for the first and last time. It was too much. One of the men above him managed to dislocate his shoulder and the last of his fight went out with the injury. Yet, he didn't cry. Those feelings were for Clara, and for his family, not for the corrupted dregs of the old society that had somehow made it into the Bunker.

When Starden saw the fight gone out of him, he motioned at the wall. The feet-thick slab rose silently, revealing the small rising chamber beyond. "Your mother determined that the radiation has stabilized on the surface. We felt it prudent that someone go and investigate before we risk our people. Thank you so much for volunteering, or should we call it a punishment?"

"Big words for such a small man," Marcus said, glaring as the soldiers threw him roughly to the other side of the wall.

The General made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and a pack was thrown at Marcus' feet. The look of pure disdain on the man's face soured any hope Marcus had of remaining with his son. "This should keep Ingrid happy. Don't bother coming back until you have enough intel on the surface to make me forget you murdered one of my men."

Marcus burned the faces of each soldier into memory as he sat still beyond the wall. It shut, once again silently, but all Marcus could picture was a tomb closing over his family. He knew he would come back, and when he did there would be hell to pay.

"Because the life of one of your people should never have a price." His voice was eaten up by the concrete and the darkness, but it didn't make the strength of his commitment any lesser. His voice dropped down to a whisper as he pictured the people in the medical room. "Please take care of him, mom. Do what I was too bitter to do properly."

That was when the tears finally fell.