Maya pulled Bellamy down a narrow, pipe-lined corridor, her eyes darting frantically toward every camera bubble mounted on the ceiling.
"There are three hundred and eighty-two people inside this mountain," Maya whispered, "If any of them look at you long enough to realize you're not one of us, you're dead. Right now, we're on level two. The dorm is on five. There's a camera in the upper right-hand corner of the lift corridor. Keep your head down, look at the floor, and don't speak."
They rounded the corner just as the heavy elevator doors began to slide shut.
"Hold the elevator!" a cheerful voice called out from behind them.
A young man in standard civilian clothing slipped into the lift just before the doors sealed, breathing a sigh of relief. He smiled warmly when he saw Maya. "Hey, Maya. You know, I missed you in my expressionists class today. Professor Keating was asking where you were."
Maya forced a rigid smile, her hands tightening around her datapad. "Yeah. I, I had some work to do down in medical. Shift ran over."
"Ah. Don't worry about it, I'll get you the notes," the man said smoothly. His eyes casually drifted over to Bellamy, who was standing stiffly in the corner with his guard cap pulled low. The man's smile instantly vanished. He leaned in closer, his brow furrowing as he pointed. "Hey... you're bleeding. Under the sleeve. You okay, man?"
Bellamy's jaw clenched, his hand instinctively twitching toward the concealed blade in his jacket.
Maya saw the blood dripping past Bellamy's cuff where the tracking chip had been cut out. Desperation flared in her chest, but she forced her voice into a sharp, authoritative professional tone. She grabbed Bellamy's arm, turning him toward her to block the man's view.
"You were exposed," Maya said loudly, her eyes wide with manufactured panic as she stared at Bellamy. "We need to retrace your steps right now and find the breach. If there's an air leak in Sector 4, the whole floor is compromised."
She whipped her head back to the civilian, her voice rising with urgency. "You better go. Get off on the next level."
The man blinked, thoroughly spooked by the mention of a radiation breach. He quickly pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and thrust it into Bellamy's hand. "What about you?"
"This is my job," Maya insisted, her hand firmly pressing the elevator button for the next floor. "I'll be fine. Just go!"
The doors hissed open on level three. "Keep the handkerchief," the man said hastily, stepping out of the lift and sprinting down the hall without looking back.
The doors closed again. Bellamy let out a ragged breath, wrapping the cloth tightly around his leaking wrist. "That was entirely too close."
______
Command Center
Row after row of monitors flickered with live satellite feeds and thermal data.
"Eyes on the Ark camp, sir," a technician called out, adjusting the contrast on a screen displaying the perimeter fences of Camp Jaha.
Cage Wallace stood behind the console, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes fixed on the empty trails. "Still no word from Emerson?"
"Uh-uh. Total radio silence since he went over the ridge."
Cage's eyes narrowed as a dark spark of frustration ignited in his chest. "There's something wrong. The assassination team at Tondc hasn't checked in, either. They should have neutralized the targets hours ago."
Hearing footsteps from behind him, Cage turned around, expecting a courier. Instead, he froze.
President Dante Wallace walked into the room. He didn't look like a statesman anymore; he looked like an executioner. His face was entirely blank, but his eyes were burning with a cold, terrifying fury that Cage had never seen before.
Cage swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure. "Everything okay, Dad?"
"Tell me Dr. Tsing was working alone," Dante said, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with a quiet rage that made the technicians at the desks stop typing.
Cage looked at his father, his posture hardening as he threw all pretense aside. "I can't do that. We've accomplished great things today, Dad. The marrow treatments—"
"You've accomplished nothing!" Dante roared, stepping directly into his son's space, his hands trembling with rage. "You are a stain on our legacy!"
"Our legacy?" Cage shouted back, his own built-up resentment finally boiling over. He gestured wildly to the screens around them, to the images of the radioactive wilderness outside. "We've been bleeding people to stay alive for generations, Dad! That is our legacy! Murder by inches! What Tsing and I have discovered is actually going to get us out of this prison forever! How could you not want that for our people? How could you choose to die in a hole?"
Dante stared at his son as if looking at a monster. "You betrayed me," he whispered, his voice cracking. He looked around the room at the silent officers. "You betrayed us all."
Dante drew himself up to his full height, turning to the heavy security guards he had brought with him from the executive levels. "Take him into custody. Lock him in solitary."
The command center fell into a suffocating, dead silence.
None of the guards moved. They stood like statues, their rifles held tightly against their chests, their eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
Cage looked at his father coldly, "I never wanted it to be like this, Dad. All I ever wanted was to give you your dream. To let you walk in the sun before you die."
Dante's chest heaved. He turned to his personal security detail, his voice shaking with absolute betrayal. "I gave you an order! Arrest him!"
The lead guard slowly raised his head, his face etched with a grim, apologetic sorrow. "I'm sorry, Mr. President..."
Cage stepped forward, taking his place at the center of the command console. He looked at the entire room, his voice ringing out with absolute authority.
"They take their orders from me now," Cage said, his tone final and unyielding. "Everyone wants to go to the ground, Dad. You can't blame them for wanting to breathe real air. Put my father in quarantine. Seal his access codes."
The guards didn't hesitate this time. They stepped forward, placing their hands on the old man's shoulders.
"Yes, Mr. President," the guard replied.
———-
Inside the makeshift infirmary, Finn walked slowly along the row of cots, his left shoulder heavily wrapped in clean white bandages. His movements were stiff, but the color had finally returned to his face.
"Well, I gotta say what from all you just told me," Finn said, leaning carefully against a support beam as Clarke approached. "You guys have been busy while I was out."
"We don't have a choice," Clarke sighed, checking the fluid levels on a nearby IV stand. "We're trying to get whatever information we can from Emerson, but he's a brick wall. And the other guard isn't talking either."
Finn let out a grim, hollow laugh. "The one Jason impaled through the knee with a Grounder arrow?"
Clarke nodded silently.
Finn sighed, rubbing his temples with his uninjured hand. He looked at her, his eyes clouded with doubt. "Are you sure sending Bellamy in there was the right thing to do, Clarke? We don't even know what's happening inside that mountain. We don't know if he's safe, if he's compromised..." He shook his head. "Honestly, I can't believe Jason even agreed to a plan that relies so heavily on luck."
"What would you have us do, Finn?" Clarke turned to him with her voice tightening with a mixture of exhaustion and defensive anger. "It's not like we have a lot of options left. Our people are locked in cages being drained of their blood. Bellamy was our only shot at a backdoor."
"I know," Finn said quietly. He glanced toward the heavy exit doors. "Where is Jason now, anyway?"
"He went down to the holding cells to speak with the other guard. Emerson."
Finn's expression shifted, a sudden, heavy darkness settling over his features. "Huh. I wonder what he'll do to him."
Clarke paused, her hands freezing on the medical tray. "What do you mean by that?"
"Come on, Clarke," Finn said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You've seen him. Jason... just like the rest of us, he's changed ever since we came down to this world. Surely you've noticed it."
"Jason has always been willing to do whatever it takes to get results," Clarke countered, though her voice lacked conviction. "He does what needs to be done, no matter how ugly it gets. He does it to keep us safe."
"That's exactly what I mean," Finn said, staring directly into her eyes. "I'm sure it's nothing, but... I wouldn't count on either of those Mountain Men staying well and breathing for very long if they don't comply with exactly what Jason wants."
Clarke opened her mouth to refute him, to argue that they were still civilized, that Jason wouldn't just slaughter a captive under their own roof. But the words caught in her throat. Deep down, she knew Finn was speaking the absolute truth. Jason had changed, perhaps more fundamentally than any of them. The boy who had protected them in the first weeks had forged himself into a weapon, and weapons didn't have a conscience. They just cut.
In another part of the ark ship, the injured Mountain Man, the sniper, sat strapped to a heavy chair and his breath rattling violently. Sweat poured down his face, pasting his hair to his forehead as he stared at the figure pacing before him.
Jason circled him slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, a soft, pleasant smile resting on his lips.
"You see, my friend, we've arrived at a rather dull crossroad," Jason murmured with a smooth and silky voice. "You are either going to talk to me, or... well, you are going to talk to me. The end result remains entirely unchangeable. The only variable in this little equation is whether you choose the easy path, or the delightfully bloody one."
The guard swallowed hard with his eyes darting frantically around the airlock room.
Jason strolled over to a steel tray glittering with an assortment of Jackson's salvaged surgical equipment. He picked up a long, curved bone saw, tilting it to let the harsh fluorescent light catch the teeth. "I must say, your people have such a lovely appreciation for machinery. Though I do find these manual tools have a certain... old-world charm that a laser just can't replicate. Don't you agree?"
The guard remained frozen, "No? Still not going to talk to us?" Jason sighed dramatically, putting the saw down and selecting a small, razor-sharp scalpel. He turned back to the captive, his smile widening just a fraction. "Well then, I assume you won't mind terribly if I take off a few layers of your skin? Just a small piece to start. A little token of our friendship."
"Please..." the guard suddenly whimpered, his voice cracking through the respirator. "Please, don't."
Jason paused, holding the scalpel aloft. He blinked, a look of mild confusion crossing his face as if he had suddenly remembered an entirely unrelated thought. "You know, it's funny. I was just thinking about how much I despise processed meat. It's the texture, really. Just utterly dreadful."
He shrugged carelessly. Before the guard could even process the bizarre comment, Jason's hand blurred.
Thwack.
With terrifying precision, Jason flicked his wrist and threw the scalpel. The blade buried itself deep into the guard's already shattered, bandaged knee.
"AAAAAHHHH!" the guard screamed, his body convulsing against the leather straps as fresh blood immediately began to bloom through the white gauze.
"Oh, please, let's not be dramatic," Jason chided softly, stepping closer and resting his hands on the back of the chair. "It's a minor puncture. It's not that bad. If you keep screaming like that, you're going to give me a headache, and I assure you, a grumpy butcher is bad news for everyone in this room."
The heavy iron door of the cell groaned open. Indra stepped into the room, followed closely by a tall Grounder scout. Her eyes immediately locked onto the fresh blood dripping from the guard's knee, and then up to Jason.
Jason didn't even blink. He completely ignored her arrival, not giving her so much as a glance or a nod of acknowledgment. Jason leaned in closer to the weeping Mountain Man, his face splitting into a warm, deceptively bright smile that didn't reach his hollow eyes.
"Do you know," Jason whispered in a soft voice "that your life has already been forfeited by your dear captain? Yes, Emerson. Your leader."
The guard's eyes widened with his pupils diluting in terror.
"You see, I told him quite clearly that only one of you would be leaving this camp alive," Jason continued, tilting his head with an air of mild pity. "I told him I'd have to kill one. And do you know what Emerson did? He immediately assured me that he possessed far more valuable information than you. Which means, by logical deduction, he was practically begging me to cut your throat so he could keep breathing. He made sure I knew you were expendable, just so he could save his own skin. And you... well..."
Jason rolled his eyes and let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "You're sitting here playing the loyal little soldier for a man who traded your life like a worthless piece of copper."
The guard's chest heaved, a look of profound, crushing betrayal fracturing his expression. Jason watched the realization sink in, systematically dismantling the man's psychological defense mechanisms piece by piece.
"It's truly tragic," Jason murmured, his voice softening into a tone of gentle sympathy. He reached down and gripped the handle of the scalpel still buried in the man's shattered knee, slowly, deliberately pressing it deeper into the joint.
"ARRRGH! NO! STOP!" the guard shrieked, his head slamming back against the headrest as tears blinded him.
"Shh, shh, look at me," Jason said softly, his eyes locking onto the captive's agonizing gaze. "This isn't me, friend. This pain you're feeling right now? It is entirely the fault of Carl Emerson. He is the one doing this to you by keeping his jaw locked. I'm just the messenger. I genuinely sympathize with you, I do. It must be awful to be discarded so easily."
Jason casually reached back to the steel tray without breaking eye contact. His fingers brushed against another gleaming scalpel. With a sudden, fluid strike that was entirely unprompted, he drove the blade deep into the guard's lower side area, piercing the flesh between the ribs.
"AAAAAHHHHH!" the soldier bellowed, his voice cracking from the sheer, blinding intensity of the secondary wound.
Jason instantly pulled his hand back, flashing a wide, boyish grin. "Oops! My bad. Sorry about that, truly. But hey! Look on the bright side, at least I missed your kidney, right? So that's a total win for team survival!"
Behind him, Indra stood perfectly rigid, her arms crossed. Her hardened expression betrayed a rare, subtle flicker of genuine disturbance at the utter detachment with which Jason operated. Jason caught her reflection in the dark glass of the door and merely rolled his eyes, utterly unbothered by her judgment.
He turned back to the trembling, bleeding captive, leaning his forearms on the armrests of the chair to bring his face inches from the man. "Now... let us try this one more time, shall we? What is it you are going to tell me, hmmm?"
The room fell into a suffocating silence, save for the guard's ragged, wet wheezing. Jason straightened up, his voice shifting, expanding so that it rang clearly off the concrete walls and ensuring every syllable was heard by Indra and the Grounder scout standing at the door.
"If you think for a single fraction of a second that this is just a facade," Jason said, his voice dropping into a hard, resonant, and chillingly absolute register, "if you truly believe I wouldn't kill you right here and paint these walls with your blood, then I strongly implore you to give in to common sense. You see, I am Mr. Talk and Mr. Do."
He gestured vaguely toward the upper levels of the camp with a cold, mocking smirk. "Unlike the rest of the pathetic pacifists running this camp, I have absolutely no qualms with slaughtering as many of your people as I can until I get what I want. And believe me Mr discarded trash... I always get what I want."
———
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