The crowd of mutants froze in stunned silence.
Then confusion erupted.
"Who said that?"
"Which idiot?"
"Who would make such a foolish decision?"
Heads turned sharply toward the source of the indifferent voice.
What they saw only deepened their disbelief.
Steven's group.
More precisely—
The small, indifferent seven-year-old boy standing slightly ahead of them, dressed in black, dirty, ragged clothes that hung loosely over his thin frame.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
Steven himself was surprised.
But the surprise never reached his expression.
His face remained stoic, eyes unreadable, posture relaxed as though this development had been expected all along.
Brant blinked once before a slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
Intriguing.
He folded his arms casually, watching like someone observing an unfolding play.
If even Steven hadn't reacted immediately, then this meant even he was also surprised.
That alone made it interesting.
Veronica's eyes widened briefly.
Then narrowed with curiosity.
She looked at the small boy.
She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him act on something resembling kindness.
Had he always been this way?
Or had she simply forgotten?
One himself stood quietly as the weight of hundreds of eyes settled onto him.
Only now did the reality of his words sink in.
What did I just do?
He tried to retrace the impulse.
It wasn't kindness.
It couldn't be.
He had witnessed far worse in these lands.
Massacres.
Starvation.
Children devoured by stronger mutants.
He hadn't reacted.
He hadn't felt anything.
So why now?
His thoughts churned beneath his calm exterior.
Veronica stepped closer, her voice soft but direct.
"Do you really want to help the girl?"
There was no anger in her tone.
No reprimand.
Perhaps because she had known him for a long time.
Or perhaps because she sensed this wasn't impulsive stupidity.
One lifted his head slightly.
"I felt… disturbed," he replied.
The word sounded foreign even to him.
But inwardly—
It was more than that.
He could feel it.
The girl's emotions.
The overwhelming tide of negative energy clinging to her.
Despair.
Terror.
Betrayal.
They coiled around her like suffocating smoke.
And beneath that—
Something else.
Purity.
Her hands were not stained deeply.
He could sense it.
Maybe one or two lives, likely in self-defense or under coercion.
Nothing compared to the thick, suffocating blood aura most mutants carried.
She was still… relatively clean.
Still innocent by wasteland standards.
And something about that felt wrong to him.
Wrong to watch her be traded like livestock.
Wrong to watch her die in such a miserable way in a world already drowning in darkness and pollution.
But he didn't voice any of that.
Outwardly, he remained indifferent.
"Don't worry about it," he said calmly. "I'll hunt the abomination myself."
A murmur rippled through the watching mutants.
"I'll also hunt the second one needed by our group for tomorrow's submission if we're going to stay here, we ougth to follow the Heat Emperor's rules," he continued evenly, "as punishment for my lack of self-control."
He didn't look at anyone in particular.
"All I need is someone to escort me back to the mechanical vehicle so I can retrieve my weapons."
The settlement grew quieter.
A seven-year-old.
Speaking of hunting abominations.
As if discussing chores.
Veronica studied him carefully.
Then she nodded slowly.
Satisfied.
He had already learned to shoulder the consequences of his actions.
At such a young age.
She turned to Steven and gave him a subtle look.
Support.
Approval.
Steven exhaled softly.
A faint sigh barely audible beneath the distant settlement noise.
"I'll escort him to the vehicle," he said.
That alone meant his support.
Because there was little he could do now.
Veronica had agreed.
And arguing with the group's only healer over something like this?
Unwise.
He stepped forward, his expression returning to complete indifference.
Turning back toward the Peters family, he spoke clearly.
"Our group will make the trade."
The father's grip loosened instantly.
"The abomination head will be ready within three hours."
The crowd exploded into noise.
Shock.
Disbelief.
Speculation.
"A child hunting?"
"Are they insane?"
"Who are these people?"
Even the girl's father wore a stunned expression.
He had only been trying his luck earlier.
Desperation had driven him to madness.
He never truly believed someone would accept.
His legs gave out.
He fell to his knees.
Then began bowing repeatedly.
His forehead struck the dirty ground over and over.
He even rolled partially in the dust, sobbing uncontrollably in gratitude.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"
The daughter stared blankly at the small boy who had just changed her fate.
Her eyes were red.
Her neck still marked by her father's grip.
But beneath the lingering fear—
A fragile spark of hope flickered.
Around them, the wasteland continued breathing.
Watching.
Waiting.
And somewhere deeper within the settlement—
News of this decision was already spreading.