Jackson's eyes felt like they were on fire. They flickered open and all he could see was a haze around him. He had no clear recollection of anything but bits and pieces of memories started flowing back, each more painful than the last. He remembered the lottery, pulling names out of the bowl, the bowl smashing; the names going everywhere.
He tried to sit up, noticing some similar movements around him. Others were trying to wake up. His brain had come back to him just enough to realise the symptoms; they'd been gassed. Skaikru had held this gas; they'd been gassed by their own people.
Abby was stirring in front of him. He put his hand gently on her shoulder, though it felt like it weighed a tonne. She turned to look at him, then the rest of the room. The previously crowded room looked empty.
"The list," whispered Abby. They looked up to see Kane and Jaha standing on the raised walkway. Their faces were made of stone. "The list of the 100. They used it."
Jackson's heart dropped as he tried to remember who was on that list. He tried to look around but the gas had left his vision blurred. He stumbled to his feet, and the room swayed around him.
The bodies looked almost indistinguishable but then he saw it; a black man wearing the uniform of the guard. He stumbled to the body and dropped to his knees beside him.
"Nate," he whispered, rolling him onto his side.
The man's eyes flickered open slightly. "Eric? What happened?"
Jackson had run out of words. He just shook his head.
Nate sat up with Jackson's help. "Where is everyone?"
"Gone," whispered Jackson. "They had to decide."
Nate realised what he was saying and his eyes widened in fear. He looked around hurriedly. The man he was looking for was missing.
"Maybe he's with Kane," he said wildly, but the fear on his face was eloquent; he knew it was too late.
Jackson looked up at Kane and Jaha on the raised platform and Nate followed his gaze. The younger man's eyes filled with tears.
Kane saw them looking and moved down the walkway. The pile of names had been picked up and almost reverently placed in a pile. Kane picked up two slips and made his way to Nate. He wordlessly handed him the pieces of paper and then walked away. His face didn't change.
Jackson could only watch, one arm bracing Nate, as he read the names.
Nate Miller, said the first one, in Nate's own handwriting. The next one said the same, but it wasn't the same handwriting. David had never had a chance in the lottery.
Nate crumpled into Jackson's arms. His friends had not returned, and his father had not been chosen; had not wanted to be chosen. All Jackson could do was hold him steady, hoping that he would be enough to get him through the end of the world.