This is going to be an obnoxiously long author's note so just skip to the line break if you'd just like to read the chapter.
Now, for all of you guys still with me. Hello! So, yes, this story hasn't been updated in seven months but I have a good excuse! Alright, that's a lie. I don't. I've hated that I haven't had time to update this story or write for it. The second semester got so busy and my writing took a bit of a back seat to studying. I honestly planned to really start on this story again in the Summer.
So Summer break came and I started working on it again. On June 14th, I finished All the Little Things in Between, a collection of short stories I had been writing since February of 2014. As bittersweet as ending it was, I was optimistic for the future. I had many writing projects planned out that I was very excited to share with you guys, including The Darkest Hour. But then five days later on June 19, I received some unexpected news that affected me very personally. That afternoon, I found out that Anton Yelchin had died and it honestly felt like everything came crashing down. I still cannot find the right words to describe that level of grief and sadness I felt in those days following his death. Literally everything came to a halt, especially my writing. I just couldn't bare to see anything associated with him or his characters. My stories were only unavoidable reminders of what had happened.
So I stopped writing all together. I posted a single tribute to Anton on June 20th and that was that. For weeks, I refused to even log onto my account here. I felt so lost and hurt and couldn't find a reason to make myself revisit my writing. It didn't seem worth it anymore. All I could think about was how I would never be able to write again without feeling heartbroken. The projects I was in the process of writing all seemed pointless, so they remained half-composed and archived on my computer.
Then, just a little over a month after everything happened, I found myself in a movie theater, anxiously awaiting the movie I had been waiting for what felt like a lifetime to see. I was so afraid that I wasn't going to be able to watch Star Trek Beyond and enjoy it as I once hoped I would. I thought that every time I would see Anton as Chekov, the only thing I would feel was grief. I was wrong.
I laughed and applauded my way through that entire movie and enjoyed the hell out of every single second Anton was on screen. I couldn't have asked for more. I left that theater feeling lighter; like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. For the first time since Anton died, everything felt normal again. I felt better. I felt happy.
I know nothing is every going to bring Anton back. There's nothing I, nor anyone else, can do to change the past. But what I know I can do is help carry on the hope he gave to so many people while he was with us. I can keep writing, keep going. I can continue on. Live life with an unbated passion that he seemed to so effortlessly have. I'll never be able to thank Anton Yelchin for all the hope and happiness he gave me, so instead I'll honor him by doing the only thing I can: live my life in the happiest way I can imagine and keep my head held up high. That's what I choose to do, and it's what I hope all of you choose as well.
As far as future projects go, I fully intend on finishing this story and have a few other things in mind that I plan to post as well. Thank you, everyone, for all your love and support. It really means the world to me.
So, as always, if you like the chapter, let me know what you think and I hope you all have a very wonderful, very fantastic day.
"What do you mean they're gone?!" Kirk yells incredulously into the comm at the navigation console.
"There's no sign of them, Jim," McCoy replies, "not even on the locator. They're just…gone".
Captain Kirk furrows his brow, contemplating what that means. There had been intruders that somehow boarded the Enterprise; thus causing a ship-wide panic. Security placed their positions right outside the training center: the place Kirk knew Sulu and Chekov would be at that time. He ordered the men to get there as soon as they could, but when they arrived there was nothing; not a single trace.
And now there's no sign of Chekov or Sulu. Kirk's quickly connecting the dots as to why that might be, and he doesn't like the answer he comes up with.
"Have you tried either of their comms?" Kirk asks McCoy, desperate. "Maybe if we can get a hold of-"
"Captain!" A new voice shouts as the doors to the bridge quickly slide open.
Kirk turns to see Scotty frantically sprint to him, gasping and out of breath.
"Mr. Scott," Kirk says bluntly at first sight of the disheveled engineer. "What's going on?"
Scotty gasps every few words as he tries to catch his breath. "The-the video…pull up…the video feed…from the gym," he manages.
Kirk gives a curt nod to one of the crewmen at his right, who quickly begins typing away. In a few seconds, the video feed from the training center is up on the viewing screen.
"Go back…ten minutes," Scotty instructs, still struggling to take in air after sprinting all the way from engineering. The crewmen controlling the feed does so and at sight of both Chekov and Sulu on the screen Kirk yells out for the video to be stopped and then played.
Everyone aboard the bridge watches silently as both the pilot and navigator look up in surprise at the sound of the emergency alarm. The two men exchange glances before the door on the far right of the screen suddenly explodes. Kirk can't see what both his friends cautiously back away from at first, but as the video feed continues, he sees three figures step into view: all masked and barely visible in their dark clothing.
Kirk watches as Chekov makes his way to the back exit of the gym, only to be stopped by two other men entering in through those doors. The captain holds his breath; both his friends are back to back, waiting in anticipation for the impending attack.
The fight is short: Kirk winces as Sulu's nailed with a knee to the chest and sent straight to the floor. Kirk finds himself gripping the helm fiercely as one of the masked men, arm wrapped around Sulu's neck, calls out to Chekov. In a flash, the boy is on the floor after taking a hit to the face.
The fifth intruder, who did not participate in the fight, approaches the man incapacitating Sulu from behind, and strikes the younger helmsman in the head with a phaser. Chekov screams out to the unconscious man as golden light begins swirling around every occupant in the room. In a single second, they all vanish; beamed away to who knows where. The training center is vacant. It's only a few seconds later that security bursts into the room and finds it completely empty; not even a remaining trace of evidence that anyone was there, save the few chilling drops of blood leftover from the fight.
Kirk lifts one hand to signal the playback be stopped. The crewman controlling it does so and a hushed silence remains stagnant across the bridge. They all wait; too unsure of what to say. Kirk doesn't really blame them: he's positive he doesn't know what to say right now either. His mind is too busy creating nightmare scenario after nightmare scenario of what could be happening to his two helmsmen right now. He shakes his head free of the torturous visions; he's captain of this ship, this crew, and damn it, they need him.
Kirk lifts his head, turning to Scotty beside him.
"I want security scouring every inch of that training center," he instructs evenly. "Tell them to look everywhere. To find anything that could help us figure out who invaded my god damn ship and took my crew".
The head engineer replies with a firm nod before turning on a heel to follow the captain's instruction. Kirk turns to address the rest of the bridge formally.
"Go over all the data we've collected in the past twenty-four hours. Sensor readings, energy levels, proximity scans. There has to be something we missed. Don't let anything go unanalyzed, understood?"
He receives a full chorus of "yes captain" before everyone on the bridge promptly gets to work. Kirk nods, satisfied. As he steps forward, his hand brushes across the helm for a moment, the smooth feel of warped glass gliding under his fingers. He turns and observes the pilot and navigator seats; each currently filled by their respective secondary officers. Both crewmen are working diligently to fulfill their captain's orders.
Usually Kirk wouldn't think twice about the presence of these two officers seeing as their attendance is required when the senior officers are off-duty. But in light of recent events, Kirk can't help but feel a knot form in his stomach for glancing at the helm and not seeing Sulu and Chekov there like normal.
Dread, guilt, and anger all pull at him fervently, but he decides that the best thing he can do now is work; lead. Be the captain his crew needs. As his fingers leave the helm, he utters a silent vow to both himself and his missing friends.
I'm coming to get you, he promises.
It's a promise he doesn't plan on breaking.
Chekov is running, heart beating out of his chest and lungs working furiously to let him breathe. He throws a glance back at his pursuers; they are drawing dangerously close. His gaze snaps forward as he runs along, trying hurriedly to evade the cadets chasing after him. He doesn't understand why they hate him so; he only knows they despise him for his age. That's been more than enough for them to torment him endlessly, it seems.
He makes a sharp turn down one hallway and rips open the nearest door. It leads into the Academy gym. Desperate, he latches the door shut behind him and makes a fervent sprint across the room. He can hear the door swing open; can hear them shout to each other. Chekov doesn't look back for favor of continuing forward.
He realizes far too late that he should have been looking down to observe his route and, quite suddenly, he's falling forward, having tripped on a pile of badly placed routing cables. Immediately, he feels a throbbing pain in the shoulder he lands on. He grabs at it instinctively and rolls over onto his good side.
There's no use in trying to stand. His pursuers are already upon him. One hauls him to his feet and, without a single word, they proceed to pummel him mercilessly; delivering blow after forceful blow. At some point, he's shoved roughly to the ground and there's only a moment between then and the sudden crack that emanates from his left leg.
There's so much pain all at once that it's all he can think about in that moment. It's piercing, throbbing, and horrible. He screams. To move even a centimeter is more of an agonizing pain than he's ever felt in his whole life. He can't even reach forward to cradle the injured limb; every movement makes his head spin.
Vaguely, he hears a familiar voice yell out.
"Hey!" It screams ferociously. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
His attackers make a break for the exit and Chekov is left there, seething in pain as his attempts not to move go unrewarded, and each second that passes is more terrible than the last.
He hears footsteps draw rapidly closer as the last of the attackers leaves the gymnasium.
"Yeah that's right! Run you asssholes!"
Chekov turns, the very movement sending a stabbing sensation all the way up his lower back, and is all too relieved to see Sulu upon him, face plastered with concern.
The older man takes a knee next to the injured fifteen-year-old.
"Shit," he mumbles angrily as he takes in the sight of Chekov's leg. Sulu looks around for any kind of help and is frustrated to find none. He resigns to turning back to his injured friend and instructing his plan evenly.
"We've gotta get you to medical," he tells Chekov.
The boy nods, pain overtaking his ability to respond.
Sulu nods back. "I'm going to have to carry you, okay?"
Again, Chekov only signals he's in agreement with a quick nod before squeezing his eyes shut at the pain coursing through him.
Sulu slips an arm under the boy's shoulders and another under his knees, just a few inches above the break on the left leg. Chekov winces and Sulu gives him fair warning before he finally lifts the injured cadet into the air.
Chekov does his best not to scream out as a fiery pain lights up his leg once more, and he bites his lip so hard he draws a bit of blood.
"You good?" Sulu asks.
"Da," Chekov replies, wincing.
Quickly but steadily, they begin their trek towards the medical wing. Chekov could almost hide his face at the looks he receives as others watch him being bridal carried across campus. He elects to try and ignore it. He's lucky his friend is here for him. He makes a point to let Sulu know that.
"Thank you for helping me, Hikaru," Chekov says.
"Ah, don't worry about it," Sulu replies with a smile, easily noting the boy's embarrassment. "I'll be your knight in shining armor, Pav".
Chekov would have hit the older man had he the capacity to. Instead, he settles for a humiliated groan.
Sulu just laughs.
Chekov wakes slowly; blearily, as a bright light shines down over him. He squeezes his eyes shut against the harshness of it and attempts to shield his face using his hand. Only he quickly comes to realize that he can't: his arm is held fast at his side, as is his other one on the opposite side.
Once his vision adjusts, he surveys his predicament. He's strapped down to a medical bed, a thin tube protruding from his left arm. He cranes his head to look around and finds he's in a very simple, small room. The only things occupying it are the bed he's currently on and a small, liquid-filled bag that the tube running from his arm connects to. The bag hangs loosely on a metal rod attached to the bedside.
The door to the room opens, and in strides Doctor Everit. Chekov immediately fights against the restraints that hold him down.
"Now, there's no need for that," Everit chides as he rounds the bed, "you're only going to hurt yourself more, my boy."
The older man begins fiddling with the bag hanging from the side of the bed.
"This will only take a moment," he says; pulling a syringe from his pocket. Everit then sticks the needle into a small valve connected to the bag and pushes the plunger of the syringe down slowly; releasing the contents into the suspended liquid.
Seeing this, Chekov makes a frantic attempt to remove the tube protruding from his arm, but to no avail. With his hands useless at his sides, there's nothing he can do in way of moving. The liquid in the bag turns a sickly red, and Chekov watches as it slowly begins to inch its way out and into the tube that leads directly to him.
The serum flows quickly, and it's reached him in a matter of seconds. He can feel it the instant it hits his bloodstream. It's such a sudden rush of adrenaline that he loses his breath for a moment. By the time he's regained it, he can feel the icy cold rush of the serum pumping through his veins. It's painful; almost unbearably so, but he doesn't want to give Everit the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He clenches his fists, determined to fight the urge to yell out in pain.
Another wave of adrenaline washes over him and the pain increases ten fold. He can't help but let out a small cry as the it rushes through him. It's everywhere; all at once. As if needles are pricking every cell in his entire body. The sensation travels all the way up through him and for a moment he feels as though his body might give out as it strains against the serum coursing through his blood.
And then quite suddenly, it's over. Chekov lays there, breathing evenly. All the pain has suddenly subsided and a feeling off utter calm has washed over him. He doesn't quite understand. That is, until Everit speaks up.
"See, that wasn't too terrible now was it?" The man asks. Chekov, still reeling from what's just happened, ignores him, turning away. This, apparently, does not sit well with the aged doctor.
"Pavel," he says, tone low and threatening, "I asked a question, to which I expect a response. You will answer me. Now, again, that wasn't too terrible, was it?"
And Chekov, despite every part of his sanity telling him not too, responds back quickly and diligently.
"Nyet, sir," he replies. "Not terrible at all".
The boy lays there in disbelief at the words that have just left his own mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees Everit smile.
"Very good," the doctor praises. "Very good, indeed."
Chekov stares at the ceiling, still stunned that he so willingly responded to the doctor's command. It felt grossly involuntary. Like it was second nature. The very knowledge that he was unable to stop himself from doing something scares him. He remembers the way Sulu pointed a gun at him without a single ounce of hesitation. The thought of what else these people could make them do is almost too much to think about.
"Now then," Everit says, pulling Chekov back into reality. "Seems it's time for your training to begin. We'd better hurry, your first mission briefing is tomorrow".
The doctor reaches for the restraints binding Chekov to the bed and promptly begins to unfasten them. Chekov prepares himself to attack; to run. But before he can, Everit speaks again.
"You won't harm me once you're free," he instructs, loosening the last of the bindings. "Now, follow me. I'll show you to the training facility".
The doctor turns toward the door, back fully exposed, and Chekov realizes the prime opportunity to attack is at hand. But rather than lash out, he finds himself very pointedly sitting up, sliding off the bed, and following orderly behind Everit as they make their way out of the room and into the hall.
Chekov wants to scream out; to do anything that gives him the slightest hope that he's still in control of his own body. But he finds he cannot. There's no fighting back, no escaping; he's a captive in his own mind. The very notion of such a thing is one of near incomprehension, but he's living it, unable to so much as speak on his own terms.
Everit leads Chekov down a short series of corridors before coming to a halt in front of a large, metallic door.
"This is your stop," he tells the boy as he types away on a keypad located next to the entrance. "Sigmen will be your training officer until your first mission. You remember him don't you?"
Chekov nods; again, the response is involuntary. "Da, I do," he replies evenly. Sigmen was the guard who'd accompanied Everit the last time he was in his cell.
"Excellent. Now, good luck in there." Everit grins. "You'll be on your way to your first assignment in no time".
He reaches a hand out and brushes off the tops of Chekov's shoulders and then readjusts the collar of his shirt a bit; as if he's some kind of parent giving last minute advice to their child before the first day of school.
That notion makes Chekov feel nauseous, but he's unable to show it. If only he could cringe at being touched, he would. But he can't. He glances down and notices he's dressed all in black; just like Sulu was the last time he saw him.
Everit steps back, surveying him a moment.
"You'll do great things, Pavel," the doctor says as the door beside him begins to rise. "You may not think so now, but give it time. I'll be back to collect you after your lesson is over. Until then, happy training, my boy."
The doctor turns and takes his leave, disappearing down a corner toward the end of the hall.
Chekov, having his orders, takes a step through the open door. Immediately, he's in awe of everything around him. A dozen or so people, dressed identical to him, all milling about; either working individually or sparring in pairs. There's equipment as far as he can see, much of which he's never encountered before in his life.
He hears a sudden "heads up!", and he turns in just enough time to see a throwing knife flying straight toward his face.
In an instant, he reaches up and catches the knife by the hilt. A sharp exhale escapes him.
How in the hell did he manage to do that?
Chekov sees a tall man approach him, the one who must have thrown the knife. Upon closer inspection, he realizes it's the guard Everit had mentioned: Sigmen.
"Pretty good reflexes," the man comments, nodding towards the knife in the boy's hand. "That serum must have done a number on you, then".
Curiously, Chekov looks over the knife still gripped firmly in his hand. The serum did this?
"Combat enhancement," Sigmen says, answering the question Chekov never actually asked. "Hones reflexes, increases fighting skills. It shouldn't take long to get used to it. It's the obedience aspect that takes a while to adjust to. A lot of people find it…difficult".
Chekov's gaze flickers over the tall man and, for a brief moment, he sees something flash across Sigmen's eyes; something akin to…sympathy. It lasts only a second; but a second is all it takes for a shrivel of doubt to emerge.
The older man sees the boy staring and suddenly stands straighter; as if to correct a mistake he made.
"Ah, er-yes then," he says, formality overtaking his tone again. Any inkling of hesitation Chekov had seen in the man's eyes is gone. Authority has returned in its place. "You can follow me. We'll get started on hand-to-hand combat first".
And Chekov does so, falling in step behind Sigmen as they make their away across the expansive gym. He sees fighting all around him; lethal fighting. Not friendly sparring like he's experienced before. People are dodging left and right, throwing punches and knives like nothing.
He sees all this and he wonders if any of these people were ever like him; lost and afraid and unsure of what's to come. How long ago was that for them, he wonders. How long have they been here, fighting? Unable to leave due to another's command. How long would he be here, suffering in the same silence, seemingly trapped inside his own head without any means of escape?
Chekov decides he doesn't want to know the answer.
