r | major character death, male pregnancy

"This is the logical next step," Ben says, but you don't see anything logical about it.

You're not even sure that he has any idea what he's talking about, but Jacob, Jacob, fucking Jacob, and you didn't used to curse this much.


The first transplant fails. The second transplant fails. The third transplant fails.

You tilt your head back and rip off your mask. Ethan's words only make you angrier, and you slam your hand against the wall.

"Don't worry," he tells you. "Something will work before we run out of survivors."

As if that's really what is distressing you.


Of course, you have a choice. Kill a stranger, or kill your sister.

You know he doesn't speak English, but you apologize anyway. He's dead, he can't hear you, but you apologize anyway.


You watch him on the monitor, testing the strength of the bars on his cage.

"This seems like a very bad idea," Ben says.

You press your index finger between your eyebrows. "That's what I said when we started this."

"I don't mean this. I mean that."

As if you're stupid.

"Well, my first three choices are dead. And you say we can't touch Shephard."

"It's too bad Artz didn't work out." As if he doesn't even hear you. "I had a good feeling about him."

You watch, as he examines the food-dispensing machine. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head, as he tries to figure out a way to make something that will allow him to escape.

If you felt anything anymore, you'd feel guilty, maybe.


Ben makes it a point to march him right by the cemetery, the one they built solely for their failures.

There is no reverence for the dead, here; the purpose is to frighten him. Three gravestones, three survivors, three dead bodies. The purpose is to say, look, look at what we've done, look at how we snuck into your camp and stole your people from right under your noses.

Look how we killed them.

Look at what could happen to you.


He doesn't flinch.

You think maybe Ben was right; this is a terribly bad idea.


There's a big fucking difference between a human and a field mouse.


Rachel's face is green, an effect of the night vision filter. The knife against her cheek, and you pray she doesn't wake up. God, please, don't wake up.

"Okay." God, please don't wake up. "Okay."

"I didn't hear you," Ben says.

He's so full of shit.

"I'll continue."

When you touch the monitor with your hand, it's wet. Your hand is wet. Your face is wet. You don't step back until the screen goes blank.

"Promise me you won't hurt her."

You're pathetic.

"Do your job, and everything will be fine."

You feel something now.


According to your files, there are actually more female survivors than male ones. This makes no fucking sense.


Two months in, and you hear that Jacob is displeased.

Ben is nervous.

Jason tells you that they weren't supposed to touch this one. Ben wasn't supposed to touch this one.


Why does it fucking matter? People can have babies anywhere. Why the fuck do they need to have them here?


Four months in, and there is a raid. You sleep through the entire thing, thanks to Valium. You're surprised; from everything you've read, you didn't think they would come for him.

And why did it take them so long?

Ethan comes for you after, so you can treat the wounded. You can't do anything to save Marina. Or Tony.

You could have saved Austin, but you are ordered not to.


Rachel would hate you, if she could see what you're doing.


Six months in, and Tom is the one who tells you that your sister is dead, your nephew is dead.

Ben is not to blame, he says. An accident, an honest-to-god accident, the kind that happen every day, two cars trying to occupy the same space. Tom says Ben is not to blame, but you don't believe him. Even if he didn't somehow engineer the entire thing, he is to blame. She would not have been in that car if you were there, if he had not done this. You would have saved her, somehow. You would have fixed her, somehow.

You smash every glass in your kitchen. You step on broken pieces. You feel nothing.

You feel nothing.


You are signing your own death warrant. You no longer care.


He reaches for the gun, but you pull it back, hold it up.

"One condition."

"Which is?"


When you try to explain further, your mouth goes dry, but it's okay, because after giving you a long, hard look, he nods. You hand him the gun and the knife, you close your eyes, because you don't feel like facing death head-on, but the next sound you hear is gunfire from behind you.

Danny is dead.

He sighs, looks at the gun, looks at you, rubs his forehead. With the knife, he points to his distended stomach, asks what the hell he's supposed to do about this.

For a moment, it looks like he is thinking of cutting it out, expelling it to the floor. Once upon a time, you would have cared.

"Shephard will know what to do," you lie.

He walks past you, footsteps fading into nothing, and then the alarm sounds.

Only a matter of time, now.

You feel nothing.