The makeshift holding cell wasn't much of a cell at all, just a heavily reinforced storage room with a reinforced titanium door and a newly installed deadbolt.
As Jason strolled through the corridor, his boots clicking softly against the concrete, he found three figures standing vigil. Two Ark guards stood rigid with rifles, while a hulking Grounder warrior leaned against the opposing wall. The moment Jason's shadow fell across the floor, the Grounder straightened up, his eyes widening slightly, and immediately stepped to the side, clearing a path.
Jason paused with a look of profound amusement dancing in his eyes. He turned his gaze to the two Ark guards, who were still standing frozen in front of the door.
"Well," Jason murmured, tilting his head with a polite, razor-sharp smile. "Are the two of you going to follow our local friend's excellent example, or do I need to ask you nicely to step aside? Because I must warn you, my patience is rather thin today."
The guards didn't say a word and after a while, they looked at each other and unlocked the bolt of the door, swinging it wide open.
"Splendid," Jason said softly, patting one of them on the shoulder as he stepped past. "Thank you for your cooperation."
Inside, Carl Emerson sat strapped securely to a heavy metal chair, his high-tech environmental suit stripped away, leaving him in standard military fatigues. He looked up and his jaw tightened as Jason entered.
Jason didn't loom over him. Instead, he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, smoothing down the lapels and offered Emerson a warm, deeply unsettling smile.
"Do accept my sincerest apologies for the rather... unceremonious way I introduced myself on the ridge," Jason said, his voice dropping into a smooth, refined, and chillingly polite cadence. "Knocking you unconscious was a matter of unfortunate necessity, you understand. I am Jason. But then, you already know that, don't you?"
Emerson remained stubbornly silent, his eyes tracking Jason's movements like a caged animal watching a predator.
Jason didn't mind the silence. He began to pace the room, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "I must confess, I find your entire operation fascinating. I am well aware that you and your people in the mountain have been keeping meticulous tabs on us. And really, who can blame you? It is entirely logical for a farmer to keep a watchful eye on his livestock, ensuring they don't wander too close to the slaughterhouse fences before it's time for harvest."
He stopped, turning his gaze back to Emerson. "I am certain you have every square inch of this terrain perfectly mapped out. You've watched our struggles, our battles, our little attempts at diplomacy. Which means..."
Jason stepped closer, leaning in just enough to let the light catch the cold, dead vacuum in his eyes. "...you also have a very beautiful, very precise idea of exactly what I am capable of. You've seen the others. You've seen their fear, their morality, their hesitation. And you know, deep down, that I am nothing like them."
Emerson's jaw clenched. The absolute certainty in Jason's voice finally cracked his military discipline.
"Oh, we know a lot about you, Mr. Jason," Emerson spat, his voice raspy out with a ting of defiance. "In our logs, you're classified as a special threat. The highest tier."
Jason tilted his head, a soft, genuinely delighted hum escaping his throat. "Oh? Is that so? Do tell. I so rarely get to read my own reviews."
"You have the highest kill rate of any individual we have ever recorded," Emerson said, staring directly into the devil's grin. "And considering most of these Grounder clans have been butchering each other out there for a as long as we've known, that is saying a hell of a lot, Mr. Butcher."
Jason smiled softly at that and a chuckle warming his features as he absorbed the title. He looked down at Emerson, "Well, then," Jason whispered, "Since we understand each other so perfectly, and since you are fully aware that you are sitting in a locked room with a man who views your life as a minor inconvenience... I do believe this conversation can be remarkably brief. Tell me what I want to know, Captain. Let us not ruin a perfectly good afternoon with the unpleasantness of a slaughter."
"Tell me everything you know about your base," Jason said, demanding for the answers.
Emerson kept his chin raised. "Emerson, Carl. Captain, Security Detailed Services. Serial number—"
"Oh, please, let us not bore each other with the predictable repetition of military protocol," Jason interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. A soft, humorless chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped closer. "You see, Carl, this is where our little encounter could become incredibly awkward for you. Your compatriot, the sniper with the rather unfortunate knee injury is currently receiving excellent medical treatment just down the hall."
Jason rested his hands behind his back, leaning in slightly, his posture radiating the terrifyingly calm eloquence of an executioner. "The simple truth of our reality is that we only actually require one of you for information. Not two. Personally, I would much prefer it to be you. You strike me as a man of intellect, a man who values survival over a glorious, bloody end in a dingy storage room. But if you choose to remain obstinate, one of you will inevitably receive the very short end of my patience, and the other will talk anyway. It is entirely your choice who plays which role."
Emerson's chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, his eyes locked onto Jason's unblinking stare.
Jason stood up straight, smoothing the front of his jacket. "I shall leave you with your thoughts for the moment." He walked toward the heavy steel door, grasping the handle before pausing to look back over his shoulder. "Think about it very carefully, Captain. Loyalty is a beautiful trait, but it is remarkably useless to a corpse."
With a final, polite nod, Jason stepped out, the heavy lock clicking into place behind him.
——-
In the intensive care sector of the camp, Marcus Kane and Abby Griffin stood side by side behind the reinforced glass view-shield of the decompression airlock. Inside, the second Mountain Man lay under heavy sedation, a network of tubes monitoring his vitals.
"Raven did a good job," Kane noted, his arms crossed over his chest. "The airlock is entirely radiation-free. When will he wake up?"
"I don't know. Soon," Abby replied, her eyes tracking the dark, rich crimson of the Ark blood flowing through the IV lines. "Our blood heals them. It's incredible. The cell regeneration is already sealing the entry wound, though his knee joint is completely shattered. It will take a miracle for him to ever walk properly again."
"Yeah," Kane murmured grimly. "That's why the kids in Mount Weather are in trouble. They aren't just prisoners to those people; they're medicine."
"My kid is in trouble," Abby said, her voice cracking under a wave of maternal fear. "They tried to kill her today, Marcus. A targeted hit in our own woods."
"But they were completely unsuccessful in that attempt," Kane reminded her gently. "And instead of catching us off guard, they got caught by Jason."
Abby shook her head, a deep line forming between her brows as she stared at the glass. "Jason is... different. He was a target today too, but we all know he can take care of himself. Clarke can't. She's trying to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, but she's not that strong. Not like him. The Grounders look at her like she's our leader, and now Mount Weather does, too."
"Clarke and Jason are both holding this alliance together," Kane said firmly, turning to look at her. "Without the two of them acting as the bridge between our people and Lexa's army, the war is lost before it even begins."
"I just didn't know I'd lose my daughter over it," Abby whispered, clutching her coat tightly around herself.
"You haven't lost her, Abby. She's just growing into the leader this world demands," Kane said softly.
He stopped as the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Jason approached the viewing window, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, his expression entirely unbothered by the gravity of the room.
Kane turned to him, his brow furrowing. "So? Did you get anything out of the captain?"
Jason let out a soft, theatrical sigh, tilting his head toward the glass. "Let's just say he's currently relying heavily on his military training to keep his jaw locked. We might need to change our interrogation tactics soon if we want results before Bellamy's clock runs out."
——
Maya had helped Bellamy out of his cage by tricking Sergeant Lovejoy. Bellamy had knocked him unconscious and stripped him down and took his military wear to disguise himself.
"You've done enough," Bellamy whispered, turning his gaze to Maya. "You should walk away."
"You don't know where you're going," Maya countered immediately, her chin lifting with a stubborn defiance.
"So draw me a map."
"No. I'm in."
Bellamy stared at her for a split second, calculating the risk before nodding tightly. "Okay. I need to get to the radio so I can contact Clarke. We heard Jasper's SOS."
"I helped them set that up," Maya said, her voice dropping to an urgent murmur. "I know where it is. But Bellamy... your people are disappearing. Two so far. Monty and Harper. I thought they'd be in here, but—"
"I want to see the others. Now," Bellamy interrupted, the protective instinct for his people flaring in his chest.
"The dorm is on the way to the radio."
"Okay."
Maya suddenly reached into her tech-pouch, pulling out a small, metallic scanning device. "Wait. Everyone here knows everyone. Put this on. Roll up your sleeve."
Bellamy glanced down as she grabbed his forearm. "Tracking chip."
"It'll trip alarms once we start moving. We have to take it out."
"Do it," Bellamy growled, bracing himself.
As Maya precisely sliced into the skin to retrieve the small piece of tech, she looked up, her brow furrowing. "How'd you know what my name was before I told you?"
A faint, fleeting smile crossed Bellamy's grim face. "Clarke. Clarke said Jasper couldn't stop talking about someone named Maya."
Maya bypassed the final alarm wire and pulled the chip free, wrapping it in a sterile cloth. "Put this in your cage."
"I'll come back for you, I promise," Bellamy said fiercely, stepping back out into the open hallway. "Now, take me to my friends."
In the extraction chamber, Harper was strapped to a cold steel table, her breathing came out in terrified gasps as Dr. Tsing hovered over her, a gleaming scalpel in hand.
"Please stop," Monty begged from his barred enclosure, his hands clawing at the reinforced glass. "She's too weak. You're going to kill her!"
"Don't... Don't... Not again," Harper whimpered, twisting her head away as the mechanical hum of a nearby medical drill began to whirr to life.
"No! No! No!" Monty screamed, slamming his fists against the partition.
Suddenly, footsteps came from the front of the lab as President Dante Wallace stepped into the room, his face was dark with absolute fury.
"Put that down," Wallace commanded, his voice booming over the sound of the machinery. "Get away from that girl."
Dr. Tsing froze, lowering the scalpel. "Mr. President."
"Monty!" Jasper's voice echoed from the doorway as he rushed into the room behind the President.
"Jasper!" Monty cried out, tears spilling over his cheeks.
President Wallace gestured sharply to the guards. "Release him."
Jasper scrambled over to the cage as the lock clicked open, throwing his arms around Monty. "Open it! Open it! I was so worried..."
Dr. Tsing stepped toward Wallace as her expression hardened into a mask of cold, utilitarian zeal. "The ground is our birthright, sir. You cannot keep us from that. The marrow from these kids is the only way."
"Watch me," Wallace snapped, his gaze unyielding. "Lock her up. Return her to the dorms."
"Yes, sir," a guard replied, moving quickly to unstrap the trembling Harper.
Wallace turned his attention back to Jasper and Monty, his voice softening only slightly. "Go back to the dorm and tell your friends to pack their things. You're going home."
Jasper's eyes widened in profound relief. "Thank you."
Wallace didn't reply to the gratitude. He turned back to the guards at the door, his jaw set in a grim line. "Take me to my son."
Back at Camp Jaha, Kane and Abby stood directly in front of the titanium chair where Carl Emerson sat strapped down. Clarke stood slightly to the side, her expression strained, while Jason leaned casually against the far back wall, his hands tucked into his pockets and a soft, infuriatingly pleasant smile playing on his lips.
"Please answer the question," Kane said, his patience visibly wearing thin.
Emerson didn't even blink. "Carl Emerson, Mount Weather security detail."
"As you already said," Kane muttered, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees to bring his face level with the captive. "You don't seem to be grasping the situation here, Captain. You should have died out in those woods. We saved your life. Why not help us bring an end to all this?"
Emerson completely ignored Kane. Instead, his gaze drifted past the older man, locking directly onto Jason at the back of the room. The absolute silence coming from the "Butcher" was far more terrifying than Kane's interrogation.
"Carl Emerson," the captain repeated, his voice rigid, "Mount Weather security detail."
Jason let out a soft, melodic chuckle that cut through the tension like a razor. He straightened up, stepping away from the wall with a slow, deliberate grace that drew every eye in the room toward him.
"Oh, the lovely monotony of military brainwashing," Jason murmured, his voice dripping with a lazy, playful malice, "He really doesn't want to talk, does he? Well at least we've tried to be civil. So tell me, why do we continue to bother with the tedious formality of polite conversation when we could simply go for a much more... festive alternative option?"
Clarke turned her head, her brow furrowing. "What alternative option?"
Jason looked directly at Emerson, his eyes bright with a manic, terrifying warmth. "Torture, of course. I mean, really, what is wrong with a bit of the classics? Hanging him upside down by his ankles, bleeding him out drop by drop until the room smells like a butcher shop... I find it remarkably effective for loosening the tongue."
Emerson's chest heaved and a momentary flash of genuine terror broke through his stoic mask. "You wouldn't..." he rasped. "Your people... they have rules."
Jason tilted his head, his smile widening into something truly devilish. "Oh, they have rules, yes. But you see, Carl, you're forgetting a very crucial detail. There are two of you remember? Your friend down the hall is currently being patched up. If you break, you live. If you don't... Well, I only really need one of you to survive the afternoon to give us the map."
Emerson completely froze, his jaw tightening as the cold math of Jason's threat settled into his mind.
"Enough!" Abby barked, stepping between Jason and the prisoner. "We are not doing that. Jason, step back."
"I hate to agree with Jason," Kane sighed, running a hand over his face, "but he's right about the urgency, Abby. We need to know what this man knows. Vulnerabilities, troop numbers, patrol schedules... everything."
Clarke shook her head, her voice firm as she backed her mother. "No. She's right. Torture doesn't work. It just makes people tell you whatever they think you want to hear to make the pain stop. We need accurate intel."
Jason rolled his eyes dramatically, letting out a soft, theatrical sigh as he leaned back against the wall once more, thoroughly amused by their moral hand-wringing.
"Clarke, Jason is right that we need to do something," Kane pressed, turning his attention to Abby. "Getting that information could save your friends inside that mountain."
Abby whipped around, her eyes flashing with absolute authority as she drew herself up to her full height. "I'm the Chancellor here, Marcus. Not you." She then snapped her gaze over to the back wall, her finger pointing sharply. "And certainly not you, Jason."
Jason merely held up his hands with a soft, compliant chuckle, bowing his head slightly in mock submission. "Message received, Madam Chancellor. The floor is entirely yours."
"Then act like one!" Kane yelled, his frustration finally boiling over as he stepped into Abby's personal space. "I told you I would support your leadership as long as I believed that you were doing the right thing for our survival!"
"I am!" Abby shot back, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. "And if you disagree with my methods, Marcus, then convene a council vote and take my place!"
"I don't give a damn about the title!" Kane roared. "I just want to save our people!"
"So do I!" Abby shouted, her breathing ragged as she finally mastered her temper. She turned to the guards at the door, her voice dropping into a hard, unyielding command. "I want this man under twenty-four-hour guard. Total isolation. Is that clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," the guards replied, immediately moving to secure the door as Abby and Kane stormed out of the room, their angry whispers fading down the corridor.
Clarke remained in the room for a beat, her fingers tracing the edge of a strange, complex frequency device she had taken from Emerson's belongings on the ridge. She stared at the digital display, her mind racing.
Jason watched her, his smile fading away as he strolled over to stand beside her. He looked down at the device, then up at her tense expression.
"You know," Jason said softly, his voice devoid of its earlier mockery, "the funny thing about parental protection is that it usually comes about five minutes too late on this planet. They're arguing over the morality of the cage, Clarke, while you and I both know the real monster is already inside the mountain."
Clarke didn't look up from the flashing frequency lights. "Bellamy will make it to the radio, Jason. He has to."
"Let's hope so," Jason murmured, giving her shoulder a brief, reassuring pat. "Because if he doesn't, my alternative option is going to start looking a whole lot more practical to everyone in this camp."
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