Despite his wanting to go with them, Murphy was told to stay behind once again when the Governor left to meet with Rick. He knew his purpose was to assist once they finally attacked the prison, but even though being left out and in the dark wasn't something he enjoyed, he knew that as soon as he was put in the same area as Rick, things would spiral very quickly. And so, he waited. The men returned soon enough, and within the next following days, weapons were being loaded into the backs of trucks, and the Governor's group were being briefed on what would happen.

This was where Murphy was brought in; he was to give them the Prison's weak spots, the easiest routes in and out, and the general layout of the populated cellblocks. And he did, with a deadpan expression and emotionless tone of voice, as if it wasn't really him putting Rick and Beth and Glenn and Carl into no man's land. As if the fact that they would more than likely lose people meant nothing to him. He could easily narrow down who it'd been that had shot Connor, though he didn't know how many of them had been in the group that had attacked Woodbury in the first place. Part of him felt that he shouldn't have been helping. That anything that happened to the people at the prison would now be on his hands, and for once the blood that already stained them would no longer be justified.

But Connor's voice grew quieter and quieter by the day, and although their rosaries still swung side by side around Murphy's neck, Murphy still felt himself doing things without thinking. Making decisions without really giving them much consideration, not because he was reckless, but because the longer he was alone, the less he felt he had to lose. Connor hadn't only been his brother, but he'd been the one constant – his best friend, his moral compass between prayers. And once you lose that so suddenly, it changes you. Great personal loss either knocks you down and refuses to let you stand again, or it changes you. How you use that change depends on the person you are – but when it came down to it, with Murphy's temper and his general nature, grief of this severity caused him to turn it on himself, become destructive, and look at the Governor as a catalyst for revenge, and the vehicles of weapons and fight-hungry men as opportunities to extract it.

And Murphy wasn't the only one who was angry; he'd heard how the Governor spoke to his men, rallied them together with stories of how Rick's people were interested in nothing but taking Woodbury down. Something had changed in him since the attack, but Murphy daren't ask what had happened. It was none of his business, and whatever it was, he wagered that he wouldn't want to talk about it. God only knew he didn't want to talk about Connor.

He left his room and headed out into the street, pulling his jacket on as he made his way towards the cemetery; it still felt strange calling it that, only when he turned the corner from the arena this time, he wasn't alone. The same mother and daughter that he'd seen before were there, though once he'd been noticed, they quickly took their leave. Evidently, he wasn't the only one who felt awkward paying his respects in the company of others. Connor's was the only grave with no flowers or any kind of decoration; not because Murphy hadn't been bothered, but because he was still hesitant to really call it a grave at all. Just seeing it served as a reminder, not only of what he'd lost, but of what he needed to do now. Taking a seat down on the grass a few feet away from the stone, he pushed his fingers through his hair, which had gradually been becoming long and unkempt.

"Hey, Conn'…I'm, ah…I'm sorry. I haven't been here in a few days. To be honest, I haven't known what to say. I've done fuck all lately, and whenever I've thought about coming here, I figured you wouldn't wanna hear me bitch and complain. Figured you had enough of that by now…"

Even now, it still felt ridiculous, being sat out here and talking to himself – he hadn't prayed since things had changed, not properly, or with much conviction - the conflict with his faith, and his hatred and anger meant that just the act of praying and asking for guidance alone now left him feeling more lost than ever. How could he expect to have the God he'd loved listen to him now, or mean anything he asked of him after such an injustice had been served? It was an awful thing, not only to suffer the loss of his sibling, but also of his certainty. His utter confidence in there being an omnibenevolent higher power had been thrown into the wind, and left him questioning everything he and Connor had done. It'd turned them into nothing more than serial killers, without cause and without reason.

"Listen…I'm leavin' in a while. Going back to the prison… I know you'd say that I shouldn't, tell me that I'm being a prick and that makin' them suffer won't make me feel better. But every time I think about it, every time I think about them all there, hanging around, thinkin' they got away with it…it makes me so fuckin' angry, Connor. I feel so angry, s'like a disease, just eatin' at me, and I don't know if shootin' and killin' anyone's gonna make a difference…but I want them to hurt. I want them to suffer. And I know you wouldn't want that. But this isn't you. You're not here. And they're not gettin' away with it."

Although he felt he should stay longer, he was restless, and just wanted to leave, get it all over with. Hesitantly, he pulled out the twin rosaries and left the grave with a personal prayer in the air. Even if God didn't deserve his loyalty anymore, Connor still did.

Making his way back into the town, he came to a stop near where the trucks were being loaded up, and where the group were either being briefed on what would happen, or were preparing guns of their own. The fact that some of them looked much younger than the rest didn't escape Murphy's attention – one or two only looked about fifteen. Only continuing on his way when Martinez caught his eye, it wasn't long before he was being stopped again, this time by a woman – the same one from before, back in the Governor's office. The blonde with the intense eyes and confident stature.

"You're Murphy, right..?"

"Aye. Who's askin'?"

He didn't know what her connection was to the Governor, or why she was speaking to him now. But when she ushered him off to the side and lowered her voice, he made sure to listen.

"I was at the prison yesterday – you came from there, before Woodbury?"

"…Yeah. Why?"

Or at least, he would have listened if the Governor hadn't cut her off right before she could get to the point. With a firm hand on Murphy's shoulder, he seamlessly interjected into the conversation, managing to stop her from finishing her sentence as he began his own.

"Andrea - sorry to interrupt, but I'm afraid I have to borrow our friend here." With a look at Murphy – the kind that leaves no room for argument – the Governor gave him a small nod.

"I need a word."

"If we could just have a minute, I need to talk-" She replied, somewhat taken aback by his bluntness. This was shot down just as fast, however, as the Governor addressed Murphy again, despite his eye never leaving Andrea's.

"Now."

When she didn't add anything else, eventually they went their own ways, the Governor's hand not leaving Murphy's shoulder until they were a good distance away. He didn't know what she'd wanted to say, or why she'd wanted to say it to him – after all, he'd never really spoken to her before - but as the day came to a close and he was asked to go over the plan with the others one more time, her need to speak to him quickly sank to the back of his mind.

The evening before the day of reckoning, Murphy was invited to the Governor's office – to talk, probably. To make sure he wasn't having second thoughts. But when he was just offered a seat and a glass of whiskey was placed in front of him, he quickly came to realize that this was more social than anything else. When they'd first arrived here, the Governor's general demeanour had had Murphy on guard, but now, all he saw was a man with the same goals as himself; defending what was his, and avenging the men he'd lost. The conversation was light at first, and one sided; the Governor caught on quickly that Murphy wasn't one to warm to people quickly necessarily, so he was happy to carry the conversation for a while. It wasn't until Murphy noticed the photograph on his desk that he decided to test the waters, if anything just to satisfy a curiosity.

"…That your family, there in the picture?"

The tension that ran through him was all Murphy needed as an answer, and when he next spoke, there was an element of coldness that he hadn't picked up on before.

"…They killed her, you know. One of the people at the prison. A woman named Michonne, just…murdered my little girl, the night they attacked."

"Jesus..."

"You're not the only one who lost a loved one that night, and that's why I need you. Your brother; he was a good man, and I regret that I didn't know him longer. He would have been a fine addition to this town, as you are. But he didn't have your temper, and your anger? The rage you feel now? I need that – I need my people to be angry about this. About the fact that these people killed my men, some of which had families, and that they want to try again. I need people like you to fight with me. So…I need to know. Are you with me in this?"

The notion that they would kill a child made Murphy feel sick to his stomach, and although he hadn't met Michonne before, he saw no logical reason why he'd lie about his daughter dying. And while he hadn't disclosed the fact that he had no intention of staying in Woodbury once this was over, he figured that was a conversation for after the bloodshed was done. Leaning forward, he looked the Governor in the eye as he nodded.

"I'm in."

X

By the time they were due to leave, he'd forgotten almost completely about what Andrea had needed to say to him. The atmosphere around the gates was anxious and animated, with guns being checked and people gathering around the trucks as the Governor approached, pulling on his coat as he began a new speech. His voice was commanding and impassioned, forcing people to pay attention as he reminded of them of why they were doing what they were doing. The fact that they'd lost lives, and how they ran the risk of losing everything they'd worked so hard to build. It didn't take much more than that, because on his word, the gates were being opened for them, and the road soon rumbled with the weight of the convoy. With the speed they were going, the air that had once been dry and stifling now rushed past them all as they drove, forcing them all to look either at the floor or behind them to keep dust from the cars in front from getting dust in their eyes and mouths. Before long, the prison loomed ahead, and without hesitation, they ran down the fences like they were made of toothpicks. From this distance, Murphy couldn't see anyone in the yard, though after the first wave of bullets tore through the walkers and buildings alike, there wouldn't have been much hope of survival either way. When given the word, they jumped down out of the back of the truck, and followed it through into the main body of the prison yard as the gate was torn down.

It was quiet; far too quiet. As they moved in, the only sounds around them were those of boots scraping across the ground and the hurried, hushed breaths of some of the less experienced members of the team. They could have been hiding, of course – but Murphy knew Rick, knew his group. They would have shown themselves by now. Even once they were inside the cell blocks, there wasn't a trace that the place had been inhabited by anyone in months. While they spread out, Murphy took the opportunity to venture up to the cell he and Connor had shared. He wasn't expecting to find anything; it wasn't as if he'd turn the corner and find his brother sat on the bed, waiting to greet him. It was just a cell now, and on the Governor's word, Murphy was back down the stairs, leading the group down into the tombs with the Governor at his side.

"Where are they?" He asked, his voice low and serious. Murphy only glanced back at him as he opened one of the barred doors leading further in.

"I don't know. Might've had second thoughts an' fucked off..?"

He didn't get a reply; instead, the Governor just pushed on ahead, leaving him to nod the others in after him.

For the most part, the corridors had been cleared of walkers. These passages were the most commonly used, and so were generally the safest. And for the first few minutes following their descent into the darkness, they were just that. Until a loud BANG caused them all to startle back, smoke rapidly filling the space as the Woodbury residents rapidly succumbed to panic. Once another smoke bomb had been let off, red light cut through the smoke as the cell block alarms began to sound, loud and clear as air raid sirens. And of course, there was little time to calm everyone down before a fresh herd of walkers came stumbling around the corner, the activity and noise attracting them like flies to rotting fruit. They were taken care of soon enough, and amongst the confusion and screams, Murphy managed to get enough people's attention, directing them to follow him as he lead them back outside. None of them were prepared properly for this; even the men seemed rattled by it.

As it turned out, going outside had been exactly what the prison group had wanted. Because as soon as they began to run and scatter, bullets started to fly and they were forced to take cover behind whatever they could. From his hiding place, Murphy could just about see one of them up on the catwalk, clad head to toe in stolen riot gear. He couldn't tell who it was behind the helmet, but when a second person knelt up and began to take shots, he felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach, or simply stop altogether.

He rubbed his eyes hard and forced himself to take a breath before looking back, fully expecting the image of his brother to have been replaced by Glenn or Rick. But when he looked back and only saw Connor taking refuge behind a piece of sheet metal, a lot of things began to fall into place. Sitting up, Murphy aimed his gun at the catwalk and shot, catching Connor's attention long enough for him to yell out to him, making sure it would keep his attention, make him listen;

"CONNOR – if that's you, brother – don't you fucking dare shoot me"