"It's hard to decide the value of life. So, what if we just choose five to get the bullet instead."
"Let's give them a sure chance to live, and in exchange, they get to kill one of us."
There was a long pause after #41 spoke.
And then, from the side, someone raised their hand.
A woman with short, buzzed hair and sharp cheekbones.
"How are we supposed to decide that?" she asked. "What's the basis?" Her head tilted toward the crowd.
"By how many people we've killed?" she asked, her eyes flicking toward #25, who pursed his lips.
"Or by how many we've saved?" she continued, turning to #41. She knew that he was responsible for trying to save the most people during the First Circle—including her.
"Because if that's the case, you should be the last to go."
Eyes landed on #41.
"No," he said finally. "Like I said, it is hard to put value on a life. It's even harder to rank it."
He swallowed, voice trembling.
"But we're Desperates, and our desperation is what brought us here."
