----Episode 14---
Falling Apart
(The scene slowly fades into a dark basement. Byron stands above Christopher, who is splayed on the floor. Thomas and Michael stand in a corner, with Michael holding onto his brother for support.)
Thomas:...Stop...Please...For Michael...(He protectively holds Michael in his arms. The young boy is shaking as he looks at Byron’s cane.)
Byron: (He slowly turns around to face Thomas.) Are you telling the man that raised you what to do? You, the spurned middle child?
Thomas: (Hurt flickers across his face but it is soon replaced by an incredulous smile.) You...? Raise us?! Ha! That's like saying I'm a proper British boy with manners! (His smile turns into a sneer.) You abandoned us.
Byron: If I remember correctly,
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The entire room silences, everyone looks at him in mute surprise.) You never would have changed into the bastard that we're all trapped with! My God! (He trembles half in fear, half in anger.) Where the hell did our true father go?! Every day all of us live in fear like rats! (Tears fill his eyes.) How long before one of us goes to hang ourselves on a nearby tree or jump out the second story window?! (The tears fall out of his eyes.) Are you even our father…?
Byron: (His eyes widen in shock. His expression darkens. His voice comes out unsettlingly soft.) Is this what all the unrest is about? Me, changing for the greater good?! In those 5 years wandering that desolate, warping hell, it dawned upon me that the good people are the first to die. The ruthless majority will take advantage of them. Like how all the weak creatures are disappearing, the good people are too. Only the strong will survive, and I intend to see through this
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What is this, a zoo? (He lowers his eyes onto Christopher) You have become such a slovenly mess. You have even neglected to tie up your hair. Instead, you let it sweep down your back and allow the wind to toss it back and forth as it pleases. Man is not to bow down before nature, Christopher. He must adapt in order to overcome it. (He lifts his cane and grinds it upon Christopher's hand.) I would rather have a son with broken fingers than a broken set of morals. Pity. Your hands always did resemble your mother's in her later years. Soft and