This is probably the most significant chapter of this story so far. Warning now for descriptions of violence. More notes at the end of the chapter


THE NIGHTMARES I'VE BEEN HAVING HAVE ARRIVED

THEY'RE CHANGING MY FUTURE

SOUNDS OF MY CREATION AT MY DOOR

'HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HER?'

They walked through the corridors quickly, well aware that time was of the essence and the fact that they needed to get to Polis before sundown if they had any chance of saving their people.

"Who exactly is at this summit.?" Aerrow asked as they walked.

"Just Kane and a few guards." Bellamy replied casually over his shoulder. "They also have Clarke."

Clarke.

Aerrow stopped in his tracks. His whole body just completely froze.

Bellamy noticed immediately. "Aerrow we don't have much time!"

He made to pull the teenager along, but he held firm, completely ignorant of the world around him.

"Clarke..." Aerrow whispered, the words barely escaping his mouth as he began to hyperventilate, guilt and grief building up in equal amounts as the memories associated with her name came rushing back.

"Yes. Clarke. That's why we need to hurry, now come on!"

He completely avoided Bellamy's stare, instead staring blankly at the wall as water built in his eyes.

"Aerrow, what's wrong?" Octavia asked quietly as she came back to join them.

Aerrow again gave no response. He was too lost inside his own head. Clarke. Not since he had seen the drawing of her had he even so much as thought of her. There was a very good reason for that, one he was reminded of as all the memories came flooding back. The news... the argument... the tears... the blood...

"I'm not going." He rasped suddenly.

"What?" Bellamy questioned.

The sword in his hand began to shake slightly, before he released it. The sound of the coandite clattering against the hard concrete was uncomfortably loud, chilling almost as it echoed around them.

"I said I'm not going!" He shouted, clutching his head and leaning helplessly back against the wall.

Bellamy could only stare at him in shock. Never could he have expected this sort of a reaction, not from the mere mention of Clarke's name. Not from the thought of the girl he loved.

Or did he?

Bellamy suddenly froze as that thought entered his head. All the time, since Aerrow had returned and he had seen Clarke with that bounty hunter, he had been so focussed on getting her back, that he had never once stopped to consider why they weren't together. What on Earth had happened that led to them splitting up, let alone draw this sort of a reaction from Aerrow.

"Aerrow." He spoke quietly, but firmly. "What happened between you and Clarke?"

Aerrow gave no reply. He simply sunk to the ground, knees pulled up to his chest and his hands plastered across his face. He despite the water in his eyes, he cried no tears. As much as he wanted them to, they never came out, denying him the release of emotion his body was craving, instead torturing him even further. His whole body quaked and shivered in anguish.

Despite the sight in front of him, Bellamy continued. "Aerrow. She's in danger. I need to know why. Tell me. What happ-"

"I hit her." His broken voice sobbed suddenly, his body instantly still.

Everything came to a standstill.

Time itself seemed to freeze. The weight of what Aerrow had said hung heavily in the air, like a suffocating blanket. No one dared speak.

Bellamy paused, his mouth still open, his sentence forever unfinished. He had heard Aerrow perfectly, but he simply couldn't believe it.

After more than a few moments, he composed himself enough to form a coherant word.

"What?"

The accusation in his voice was deathly apparent.

Aerrow's tears had quickly dried, though his eyes themselves were bloodshot, filled with pain. He looked up pathetically at the two Blakes, his face twisted with mental agony.

"About a month ago, she came to me."

His voice was no louder than a whisper, and so croaky that it was barely comprehensible. He stared straight ahead, face totally blank as he recalled.

"She told me she was pregnant." The words simply slipped out, almost as if he hadn't meant them to. He sounded as if he was in still disbelief himself at what had happened.

Bellamy's eyes shot open, while Octavia clamped her hand over her mouth.

"I didn't believe her at first. She was meant to have an implant, like the rest of you. But somehow..." he trailed off as his eyes moistened again.

"She wanted to have it." He continued, before pausing. "...and I didn't."

Octavia couldn't believe what she was hearing. In a way, it was almost understandable, after everything that had happened with Sara. She still refused to believe however that anything could make Aerrow hit Clarke.

"I couldn't bare the thought of it, not after what happened to Sienna. I asked her if she would consider instead taking the herb that would... abort it... but she refused, as she had every right to I suppose. And so we argued. Loudly. And I... I-" he wasn't able to finish as the tears came back again. No one said anything until he had regained some sort of composure.

"She miscarried the next day. She left the day after." He finished, the tragic story bringing everyone to the verge of tears. No one knew what to say.

"I'm a monster." He added quietly, eyes downcast. His voice was scarily calm. "If I were you I'd put a bullet in my brain and dump me to the wolves. So I can never hurt anyone again."

Octavia simply stared him in disbelief. Suddenly, it all made sense: why he had been wandering alone in seclusion, the mental agony, the self harm. He was punishing himself for what he did. She had no idea what threw him overboard and caused him to it, and she had no idea how to feel about it either.

Meanwhile, Bellamy, still utterly shell shocked, could only wipe his hand across his face, if only to do something. Everything he thought he knew about Aerrow just came crashing down around him. In a way, he sympathised with him. After already losing a child within Sienna when she died, and then being turned physically into what that child would have been, he could understand why Aerrow wouldn't have even wanted to think about the concept of being a parent, but to hit Clarke? To cause that sort of pain and bring her into the hands of a bounty hunter? That was something he just couldn't forgive.

Pike came up behind him and slowly put his hand on his shoulder. He hadn't heard much of the conversation, but he'd heard enough to get an idea.

"Bellamy. We're running out of time. We need to move, now." He said as gently as he could.

Bellamy forced himself to pull himself out of his thoughts, and nodded in understanding. "You're right." H

Gathering himself the best he could. He turned back to Aerrow, still crouched miserably on the ground. "Stay here, help Raven with the launch codes. We'll keep in radio contact."

He tossed a spare walkie to the stricken teenager Aerrow. He made no movement, and the unit simply clattered to the ground beside him.

He turned away and followed Pike down the corridor. As he did so, he gathered all thoughts along the lines of 'brother' and cast them from his head.

Octavia meanwhile lingered a little while longer. Staring at him, she could scarcely believe that who he had become, that this was how far he had fallen from the warrior she had previously idolised.

He looked so weak and pitiful in front of her. Part of her wanted to hate him, not just because of what he had done to Clarke, but he had done to himself, but another part simply felt the worst sort of pity towards his broken soul. She wondered why things had to turn out they way that they did. Why he had to endure so much suffering, and at that thought, could almost bring herself to understand why he had done what he did.

She gave him one last, sad look, before she bowed her head and walked off after Bellamy.

Long after Octavia and the others had left him behind, Aerrow still remained where he was, propped pathetically up against the wall, barely breathing, sweating, and quivering under the agony of unshed tears, unspilt secrets, and unwanted emotions.

He remembered it like it happened yesterday.

He could still recall the shock of Clarke's news hitting him harder than that giant Gorilla had, the disbelief at a conception that shouldn't have been possible. Still heard the sting of his own acidic words, telling her that he couldn't raise a child, not after what had happened. Her pained scream still echoed in his ears, the shock and horror of what he had done tearing a hole right through his mind. He closed his eyes to try and rid himself of the picture of waking up the next day to find Clarke no longer in the bed next to him, replaced instead by a huge, foul stain of blood.

Most of all though, he still felt the impact of his fist into her stomach, felt the violent compression of hard knuckles into delicate flesh. The moments immediately before it happened were much more vague. He could only recall the sounds of their argument fading away into blackness, and then replaced by more rapid flashes, this time of a moment of the purest intimacy under the soft blue light of a Glow-worm lined roof, the ecstasy of consummation, and finally the image of a tiny shard of bone attached to a charred and blackened skeleton.

And then... nothing. The next thing he knew Clarke was recoiling from his blow, and his fist was clenched tightly by his side.

He held that same fist in front of him. He hated it. Enough to want to grab the sword at his side and slice the fucking thing off. But he couldn't. Such was his grief, that he was simply unable to embrace the hatred enough. He could only stare at it in apoplectic despair.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered to himself. "I'm so... so sorry..."

Even he had no idea who he was actually apologising to. There were so many people he owed repentance to. His parents and Arianna... for being killed so that he could live and become the degenerate he was now. The same thing of Sienna, and for setting her on the path that led to her death. Clarke... For literally everything. Such had been his mental fragility that he hadn't been able to even consider what might have happened to her after she had left, how she might have been feeling after what he had done. In order to survive, he had been forced to lock each and every memory he had of her far away in his mind, locked securely behind thick steel and airtight locks in a mental twin to his physical time in solitary confinement.

Finally, he apologised to Octavia. He cringed as he remembered the tone in her voice when she'd told him only moments ago that she needed him. It was somewhere in the middle of desperation, thinly veiled hope and barely suppressed affection. He had no idea that she felt anything along those lines towards him, and clearly they weren't anywhere near as strong as her feelings for Lincoln, but they were still there.

He flashed back briefly to when he first got to know her, trapped by acid fog in a tiny fissure, after he had just saved her from a horribly perverted act committed by one of the more vile delinquents. Even way back then, after she had just witnessed him slice the mans throat without the faintest hint of remorse, she had been the first to recognise him as something other than a murderer. She'd been the first to see him as a person. Back then, he'd had a chance to form something with her, but he hadn't, choosing instead to fall for Clarke and later Sienna. Briefly, he wondered if things would have turned out differently had he chosen Octavia in the first place, or would it instead be her who was the source of his nightmares?

Either way, he would never know. All he knew was that somehow, through everything - Clarke, Sienna, Oblivion, even fighting for her life against him - the dark haired girl had never lost those initial, inexplicable feelings of attraction they had both felt. He was sorry that she still harboured them for someone as hateful and pitiful and unworthy as him.

Eventually, he found the fortitude to get back to his feet. With Bellamy's instructions of helping Raven ringing vaguely in the back of his head, he shakily gathered Octavia's fallen sword off the ground and staggered through the corridors of the bunker, in what he could only guess was the right direction.

He was barely able to walk, such was his suffering. Instead, he limped along, eyes blank, his shoulder rubbing heavily against the wall. Along the way, he passed a couple of members of farm station. Each of them did a double take when they saw the state he was in, looking back at him with utmost pity for whatever it was he was evidently feeling. Even though he knew they had no idea of the sins he had committed, with each set of eyes he felt burn into his back, he felt the hole beneath him open up a little wider, and swallow him even further.

After some time, he heard Raven's unmistakeable fiery voice coming from a room up ahead.

He stumbled through the door and found himself in what may as well have been an exact replica of the command centre at Mount Weather. The room where he had captured his friends as Subject X, and brought them into the horror that had been Oblivion. He steeled himself and forced the associated feelings down as Raven snapped at Sinclair, saying it was going to take her a minute to figure out the twelve digit launch code. All three though stopped what they were doing and stared at him as he stopped awkwardly just inside the entrance.

"Aerrow, I thought you were going with Bellamy?" Raven was the first to speak.

Aerrow simply eyed her guilty and shook his head, unable and unwilling to find the words to describe why he hadn't gone to Polis.

Raven walked up to him, not quite picking up on the grief that lingered in his eyes. "Okay, well, looks like we need some more help here anyway. Figuring out this damn code is like looking for a needle in a-"

"Haystack." Gina interrupted. Everyone turned to look at her in surprise.

"How is the president going to remember a code that long?" She asked rhetorically.

Everyone was silent for a moment before realisation dawned.

"Not well." Raven thought out loud.

"Want to bet he wrote it down somewhere?" Gina continued.

Raven shook her head. "Maybe in Mount Weather... But not here."

She bashed her fists against a desk in frustration.

"Still... Its better than anything we've come up with so far." Sinclair pointed out.

"There is a president's office in this bunker. I'll try there." Gina said as she walked out.

Aerrow meanwhile had been silent the whole time, barely even paying attention. It was only Raven's repetition of his name that dragged his focus back to the present.

"Aerrow, there's an archive room on the lower level, go check that out. There might be a file with the launch codes or something."

He never even made eye contact. "Okay..." He said absently.

This time the mechanic noticed something. She walked over and stood in front of him, eyes soft with concern.

"Are you okay?" She asked softly.

He angled his head away, unable to bring himself to face her, instead staring sideways at her through some messy strands of hair that that fallen in front of his face.

"I'll never be okay." He rasped miserably.

Not giving Raven a chance to respond, he quickly turned on his heel and walked out.

Finding the archive room wasn't particularly hard, nor was getting access - his razor sharp coandite blade sliced through the aged steel lock like it was nothing. The door creaked open on its rusted hinges and he found himself in a darkened room, illuminated only by the eerie blue light filtering down the stairway from the level above. All around him were shelves upon shelves of documents, files and letters containing long forgotten information. Though it had only been a supply bunker, the absence of dust upon the faded pieces of paper indicated that this room had remained in use until very recently.

He went to work straight away, opening boxes and flicking through files. He wasn't actually trying to find anything resembling a launch code. He couldn't care less about that. In fact, He didn't even want them to find the launch codes. If the grounders attacked – which they had no reason to do – then they attacked. There was nothing Arkadia would be able to do about that. But using the missiles? Becoming the Mountain Men? It was like history repeating itself, and considering what had happened last time, that was something he really didn't want to be a part of again.

Anger and grief continued to whirl around inside his head, escalating to the point where he was simply throwing boxes of files around, their contents fluttering slowly to the ground as he screamed, releasing his built up stress. On one such throw, he happened to hit a section of the surrounding wall, at the back of the room, and he froze immediately.

When it hit the wall, the box hadn't made the same dull 'thud' that the others had. This one was different. It was hollow.

There was something behind the wall

Cautiously, he moved towards it. As he got closer, he noticed a small blank pad on the wall. He brushed his hand against it and frowned. It looked a lot like a-

"Identity confirmed." A robotic voice suddenly sounded. "Subject X"

The pad glowed green, and a pneumatic hissing could be heard, before a crack of light appeared in the shape of a door, and an entire section of the wall slid into the floor, revealing a much smaller room, again filled with documents.

A hidden room.

Aerrow remained where he was, eyes wide with shock. Not at the sight in front of him, but what the automated touchpad had said.

"Subject X"

He stared at the room in front of him in disbelief as he realised. This wasn't just any secret room. It was Oblivion's secret room.

He briefly wondered how he had been recognised, but then he remembered running his hand along the touchpad. It must have been a fingerprint sensor, one that Hans Van Dyke had evidently programmed to recognise his fingerprints. Just why the old scientist had done so was unclear. Perhaps he'd prepared it as a secondary facility in case his mountain base was compromised, or as an outpost for their planned takeover.

Aerrow eyed the folders in front of him uneasily. His every instinct was screaming at him not to go in, not to discover what information they contained, for the sheer sake of preserving his metal state, yet his body acted on autopilot. He had to know

He walked slowly forward, as if guided by some invisible force. Once inside, he pressed his hand absently to the touch pad on inside of the room and the door slid back into place, locking Cleo outside. The confused reptile scratched anxiously at the door, but Aerrow didn't re-open it. Some things, he had to face on his own.

He took in the blank screens of computers sat on the desk running down the length of the room. He ran his fingers lightly over the single keyboard in front of them, his index finger hovering hesitantly over the 'enter' key before jamming down on it.

An electrical whir filled the room as the computers powered up, ancient software coughing back into life. Aerrow clenched his jaw grimly. At least he could perhaps gain some more answers beyond the indoctrination Van Dyke had subjected him to - and with that, maybe, just maybe, he could find closure as well.

While the computers booted up, he grabbed the nearest folder, flicked it open and skimmed his eyes through the contents. It seemed to be mostly generic information of human genealogy and genomic sequencing. The jargon flew right over his head, so he tossed it aside and grabbed the next.

He flicked his eyes up as the computer beeped, and he froze as the screen loaded a series of video diaries created by Hans Van Dyke himself, explain the roots of the program, its origins, its evolution, its core ideals. Using them, Aerrow identified which folders he needed to read.

And during the following minutes, he wished he had never discovered the secret room.

Each folder contained new information, things he couldn't believe were true, refused to believe were true. And yet they were. Each and every one of them.

Information passed through his brain in a blur of horrific words and sentences.

Project Synergy:

Serum created by Robert Van Dyke, enables perfect bonding of parent DNA to produce subject with the purest aspects of ancestral advantages defined by culture. The serum MUST be injected the moment a subject is birthed, before the DNA has time to solidify within the cells, otherwise the subject is worthless.

For artificial splicing, the serum must again be injected, otherwise the splice will break down, killing the subject.

...

Project Update: Each of the 12 countries joined. Project may commence

Physical attributes:

Venezuela: Physical Endurance

Canada: Intelligence

Japan: Balance

America: Strength

Brazil: Memory

China: Resistance to pain

India: Co-ordination

Russia: Tactics

Australia: Adaptability

France: Reflexes

Britain: Immune response

Uganda: Linguistics

30/09/2128: MISSION ALERT: Ark station reports birth of subject Bravo, However data indicates Serum injection failed. Subject aborted

UPDATE: Subject Bravo has been taken care of, mission timeline set back but still on course

16/12/2131: Ark Station reports birth of subject Alpha. Serum injection successful

12/12/2133: Ark station reports birth of subject Sierra. Serum injection successful.

21/10/2147: Ark station reports culling successful. Union of Alpha and Sierra has begun

16/12/2149: Drop ship released. Landing successful. Data reports from agent Griffin confirm survival of both subjects Alpha and Sierra. The hundred are on the ground.

05/01/2150: Data reports suggest that subject X had been successfully conceived. Project nearly complete

14/01/2150: PROJECT FAILURE! REPEAT, PROJECT FAILURE! Data indicates Sierra is deceased. Subject X lost.

UPDATE: Mission still active. DNA successfully recovered from neural tissue of subject Sierra. Awaiting acquirement of subject Alpha for DNA fusion.

With each folder Aerrow went through, his horror built, but he found himself unable to stop! It was just like with the alcohol. The information was like a drug, one which he did not want or need in any way, but he took anyway in order to punish himself.

Suddenly though, he opened a final folder, and there it was.

A photograph of Sienna.

He stopped what he was doing instantly at the sight of her face.

It had been so long... so long since he had seen her. Actually seen her. The photograph had evidently been taken while she had been training. She was dressed in just her fraying, figure hugging pants and her plain grey singlet, revealing her toned, athletic physique. In her hand was a silver staff. His staff. Even for someone as young as she had been – just sixteen years old – she wielded it with such strength and confidence, a fiery glint in her eyes and the happiest of smiles on her face that ripped his heart in half. She was there. So real... so alive...

Desperately, he ran his fingers along the photo, as if trying to convince himself that he was actually touching her again, feeling the warmth of her skin, the lines of her muscles, her lean curves and the affection from her lips as she kissed him.

At that moment the video diaries finished playing, and were replaced instead by scream of pain. Tears forming in his eyes, he looked up, wondering what was being shown, and he instantly regretted it.

On the screen, he saw himself. Fastened down to a table as that hellish fucking apparatus descended upon him, stabbing him on all sides with vicious black needles.

He recognised the scene all too well.

He was watching himself being combined with Sienna's DNA. He was watching himself get turned into what their child would have been.

"No..." He growled desperately at the screen. "Stop. STOP!"

But it didn't stop, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from the images until finally, the screaming stopped, and the machine withdrew, revealing the exact image he'd been so desperately avoiding. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Fair, unscarred skin. A spitting image of Sienna.

The image on the screen overlaid with his broken reflection staring at it, and everything he'd done to avoid the truth - all the smashed mirrors, skirted lakes, uncollected water, crushed charcoal and self harm - shattered into a million pieces of finely spun glass.

The tears welled up in his eyes, but this time, they didn't stop. They spilled over, cascading down his cheeks before dripping onto the picture of Sienna on the table below him.

Cleo's frantic scratches at the door were drowned out as he screamed at the top of his lungs and flung objects violently around the room, shattering the screen and denting the walls, destroying Oblivion's room, as he himself was destroyed by everything they had done to him, everything they led him to become.

Finally, when there was no paper left to tear, and his throat was too sore to scream anymore, he simply collapsed against the wall and sunk to the ground, sobbing violently the entire time.

And there, deep underground, in the room containing all the secrets he never wanted to know, all alone, Aerrow Eroxin broke down.

"Aerrow." Raven's voice suddenly crackled out of the radio on his hip a long time later. "Aerrow are you there? We need you back in the control room."

Pulling his hands away from his head, Aerrow absently grabbed the radio and took a deep breath.

"On my way." he whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Slowly, he got to his feet and gingerly pressed his hand against the touchpad, wincing as the automated voice stated his identity, the simple phrase threatening to throw him overboard all over again.

As soon as the door opened, he exited the dreadful room as quickly possible. He was greeted on the other side by Cleo, who raced up his leg instantly. He clutched the big reptile like his life depended on it. Clinging to her soft scales hopelessly, he cradled her close to his chest in sheer desperation. Seeming to understand his anguish, the lizard hissed softly and nuzzled her nose against his cheek, her forked tongue darting out to flick his nose.

He simply dropped his head against her in gratitude for her unconditional friendship, deeply regretting leaving her behind and beyond thankful to have her back with him.

He took one last look back inside, before jamming his thumb against the pad. He glared as the door slid back into place, finally sealing Oblivion away from the world once more.

He turned and walked away, determined to keep it that way, for eternity.

.…

"What's going on?" He asked quietly as he walked back into the control room.

"Did you find anything?" Raven inquired impatiently.

He closed his eyes, Sienna's photo burned into his memory. He had found too much...

He shook his head sadly.

"Dammit!" The mechanic swore before reaching for her radio. "Gina, you got anything?"

There was no answer.

Raven tried again, to the same response. Silence.

Aerrow frowned as she tried over and over again to make contact. Something wasn't right.

Suddenly, the radio burst into life.

"We've got a problem." Gina said. Her voice was oddly broken. It sounded as if she was in pain.

What she said next made Aerrow's blood run cold.

"A grounder set off a self destruct sequence. He has the codes on his arm, you have to get them!"

Aerrow looked up at Raven, mouth agape, and they exchanged a look of horror as they both realised what that meant. Echo had lied. The assassin wasn't at the summit. He was here, inside the bunker! Somehow, he had access to the presidential codes, and had set off another self destruct mechanism. What was with these fucking government facilities and their fucking self destruct sequences?

He realised another thing. Raven was incapacitated by her leg, and Sinclair was no soldier. They only had one option. He needed to stop the assassin. He needed to fight.

"Go Aerrow!" Raven told him urgently, but he couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the ground.

"GO!" She shouted again. The desperation in her voice shattered the cocoon around him, and he snapped to attention. Raven's voice had ignited something within him. She needed him. Just like Octavia had needed him.

He grasped the sword that he had left on the desk earlier, and took off down the corridor.

Aerrow ran.

Fast.

He knew full well that there was only one exit to the bunker. Once the assassin reached it, he would disappear into the night. And the bunker – and everyone inside it - would be history.

"Forty five seconds, Aerrow!" Raven shouted frantically through the radio.

Suddenly, the assassin flashed across the junction ahead of him. He narrowed his eyes and flew around the corner, and there in front of him was the open door, leading back out into the wilderness.

No!

Knowing he couldn't let the assassin escape, he upped his pace and sprinted after the fleeing figure. He caught up just as they burst out into the night, and crash-tackled the grounder across the clearing.

They both stood quickly and sized each other up. The grounder's face was covered in white warpaint, but his Azgeda scars were clearly visible. His arms were thick with muscle, and in his hands were two wickedly sharp looking daggers. The assassin twirled them as Aerrow raised his sword, and they charged towards each other, colliding in a furious clash of steel.

Whoever he was, the assassin was supremely skilled and unrelenting in his attack, leading with fast and viciously precise swipes with his daggers.

Aerrow parried the blows with equal skill, his Qinta training and heightened abilities quickly gaining him the advantage. He knocked one of the man's daggers away before leaping into the air and delivering a brutal spin-kick to the side of his head.

His opponent was quick to gather himself, flipping back to his feet just as Aerrow came at him again, forcing him onto the back foot, not giving him any chance to recover. He was running out of time! He had to end it now!

Gritting his teeth, he allowed the assassin the next attack. Switching his form. he flicked his sword around in his grip to hold it backhanded and he let the man's dagger skim across the inverted blade. Caught off guard by the defensive stance, the assassin overbalanced and in that brief moment of fault, Aerrow seized the advantage back ruthlessly. He flipped sideways, righting his sword his he did so and upon landing stabbed it through the assassin's hand.

A sharp cry was elicited and the remaining dagger dropped. Aerrow then cruelly yanked his blade free - slicing the man's hand in half - and delivered a bone cracking high kick right to his chin.

The assassin fell, his head slamming heavily into the ground, concussing him. Aerrow allowed himself a wry grin as he stood over him in, prepared to make the final slash and claim victory. Maybe there was hope for him yet...

He brought the blade down.

A clashing of weapons, staff verses sword.

The vision suddenly flashed through his mind, and he froze instantly.

A warm embrace, a relieved kiss.

The next thing Aerrow registered was the assassin's fist connecting with his jaw, and he recoiled instantly as the man took advantage of his opponent's distraction and launched into a deadly counter attack. Aerrow did his best to parry the blows, but the flashes kept coming, ceaseless and tormenting in equal measure.

A hurried phrase: "Our story, remember!"

A passionate promise, and an extended hand and then...

Pure, blinding pain, a sword protruding from flesh.

Aerrow fell to the ground under the assault, helpless as the assassin rained punches and kicks down on him.

A brush of fingertips.

A pool of blood.

Slurring thoughts, slowing breaths.

And then darkness. Silence. Nothing.

Aerrow looked up pathetically as the assassin now stood over him, his own sword raised against him. The man glared down at him.

"Heyfa!" He spat.

Sheep.

Aerrow could only resign himself to his fate, knowing that this would be his final failure.

BANG!

The gunshot shattered the night air, and the next thing he registered was the assassin being blasted away from him by the force of the bullet, landing several metres clear – a massive hole in his chest.

He rolled over to see Raven standing at the entrance to the bunker, a still smoking pistol in her hands. "Get the numbers on his arm!" She shouted to Sinclair, who was in the process of sprinting over to the dead assassin.

Raven joined him, and they quickly rolled the corpse over, revealing a series of digits that had been tattooed into his forearm. "Gina we've got the codes!" She shouted into her radio.

But there was no response.

The radio was silenced.

Aerrow closed his eyes in resignation. Gina had to be dead. Killed by the grounder. And now there was no way they had enough time to enter the codes.

"I'm going back in there!" Raven stated, limping desperately towards the entrance. Sinclair held her back, shouting at her that there wasn't enough time.

"We can't just let them die!" She screamed at him.

And then it happened.

A deep rumble could be heard, moments before the blast exploded out of the entrance, the shock wave throwing all three violently backwards. As quickly as it came, the explosion receded, leaving behind it only charred grass, and smouldering metal. The damage had been done though. Nothing remained inside the bunker. Everything that been vaporised by the explosion.

For a long time, no one said anything, not wanting believing what had just happened. Eventually, Raven forced herself to pick up her radio, and told Bellamy what had happened. Tears streamed down her face as she told him that Gina was dead.

Pain lacing through his chest, Aerrow rolled over to look at what had become of the bunker. He let out a groan of the purest agony.

He had failed again.


Finally revealing what happened between Aerrow and Clarke was something I was originally not going to do until much later, but I realised that in order for everything I had planned to work, I needed to do it in this chapter, and everything else – The Oblivion room, the picture of Sienna, and the defeat by the assassin – was built around this, dropping Aerrow even lower than at the beginning of the story, which from now on will be about how he can somehow recover from this.

The scene about Clarke was very hard to write, and trying to convey the level of emotion I wanted was immensely difficult for a self-admitted unemotional writer.

Be sure to let me know what you thought of this chapter and the story so far. Any feedback – good or bad – is much appreciated. Thanks for hanging in there guys!