Hello, readers! This chapter has been in the works since August so I'm very sorry I'm only just getting it to you now! It's an extra long one to make up for all the time it's taken to get it published aha. I hope it doesn't drag at any point. As always, lots of love to you all and enjoy ❤️
Jim Kirk couldn't look away from the blood. The blood spattered on the walls. The blood dotting the floor. The blood that drenched Carol's uniform. It was everywhere. Sinking into the carpet beneath her body. Running from the corners of her mouth. Even tainting the blonde of her hair.
As soon as Nichols had arrived, it was over for them. Luna went down. More guards appeared. Fighting was no longer an option. All that hope...gone in an instant.
"I thought I told you not to make things worse," the Vice Admiral barked.
Balor grimaced, nursing his broken nose and wiping away the blood caking his skin. "I got the answers we needed."
Nichols gritted her teeth. "By killing a weapons specialist. You could have at least chosen someone less useful to get your threat across."
Someone less useful. Jim felt sick. And so incredibly angry, which was the most dangerous part. He had to stay in control for the sake of the away team. Morale was already low before losing one of their own. He couldn't let the damage worsen beyond repair.
"Luna was right," he said, his voice coarse from the tears. "There's still time to save her. You have the facilities and resources to easily do so."
Nichols twitched and looked at him as if she had forgotten the rest of the away team was in the room. "Indeed we do, Captain. But these facilities have more important duties at present." She turned when two of the workers from the lab came through the door wheeling a gurney between them. "Take Miss Gillian to the theatre and prep her. Keep her on hyper anaesthesia but watch the dosages. Too much will cause problems."
Walter jolted upright and the closest guard grabbed him, forcing him back to the floor. "Wait!" He shouted, fighting against the restraint. "Surgery?! What are you gonna do to her?"
Balor turned and picked Luna up, setting her on the gurney with little care, her mangled wrist dangling over the side. She was covered in blood - a mix of Carol's and her own. With her eyes shut, Jim thought she looked peaceful. He found himself thanking the powers at be that she was not conscious to witness what was happening.
"Mister Chaudhry, I know this will be difficult to understand but Miss Gillian will be doing Earth a great service." Nichols scoffed and corrected herself. "Hell, she'll be doing the whole damn universe a service. I don't want to hurt her. I'll only do so if it's absolutely necessary."
"Laverna..." Admiral Selwood was on his knees, gazing at his colleague with wide, teary eyes. "This is not the way. Please, I..." He trailed into a sob. "I know you can do the right thing."
Something flashed across Nichols' expression. Jim guessed guilt but soon realised how foolish that assumption was. No. She looked down at Selwood with pity. Then her eyes shifted to land on his own, making the young Captain flinch.
"I think your First Officer put it best in his mission report for your survey of Nibiru. 'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few'."
Those words took Jim back to the bridge of the Enterprise and the harrowing minutes leading up to the decision to beam Spock aboard before he was burned alive. What if he had chosen to play by the rules that day? Thinking about it made his nausea worse.
"The possibility of war with the Klingons grows more every day-"
"It's been like that for years!" Selwood cried.
"And we can finally put a stop to it!" Nichols met his outburst with the same ferocity. "Not only can we guarantee the Klingons will never declare war, but we can strengthen ourselves against future animosity! No other species would dare challenge us. No more catastrophic first contacts. No more bloodshed. We can finally be at peace with the stars!"
Selwood shook his head, causing fresh tears to trickle down his cheeks. "Peace built on threats is not peace."
She stared at him and allowed a few seconds of silence to pass before making her way towards the door, gesturing for the lab workers to follow. "I'm sorry we don't agree on this, Simon. Truly."
Jim lurched forward, trying to wrench out of the guard's grip. "No! You say you don't want to hurt her? Prove it. Let me go with her. Please!"
"You?" Nichols regarded him, sourly. "No, Captain, I can't trust you to stay out of our way." She paused, her eyes flitting to land on Bones. "Your surgeon, however, might be useful."
The guard holding the poor doctor shoved him towards the door, making Jim scowl. "Don't let her out of your sight, Bones."
Leonard shook his head. "I won't, Jim."
"My son!" Selwood suddenly called. "What have you done with him? Tell me he's safe, and my daughter too. Please, Laverna!"
He never got an answer. Both Nichols and Balor had already left, followed shortly by all the guards. Jim's arms ached from how much he had fought against the restraints. Now free, all he could do was stumble to Carol's side, kneeling amongst the pool of blood.
The door was locked once again and silence encased the room.
☆☆☆
Samsa had been curled up on the floor by the cabinets ever since Mason was taken. Tears crept over her cheeks in a continuous stream, not only because of the pain in her ribs and head, but the utter hopelessness she had been left with.
Section Thirty-One had succeeded.
They had trapped the away team. They had trapped the others in the library. And now, they had taken Mason to abuse his abilities and likely torture him in the process. Everything seemed irreparable.
The deeper Samsa thought about it, the tighter her chest felt. She was terrified. Completely and utterly terrified. For her sister. For Jim. For Mason. Not knowing was the worst part as she lay there, powerless to help. All she could do was cry. Useless really, but she couldn't stop.
Samsa should have done more. Maybe even killed that guard in the library. The thought made her nausea so much worse but she couldn't get it out of her head. If she had done what needed to be done, perhaps Mason would have been safe. The others too.
With a huff of pain, she pushed herself up from the floor. Her ribs were still healing but it felt easier to move. It was a different story for her ears. Every sound was either inaudible or muffled beyond recognition. No change whatsoever.
She grabbed the handle of the cabinet to haul herself up but the drawer gave way and slid open under her weight. Tons of files were encased within, each labelled with a different name. Several copies of the Starfleet Technical Manuals were nestled between them, as well as Academy textbooks for Xenobiology, Biochemistry, Exochemistry, and Medicine.
Samsa winced as she shuffled into a kneeling position and began to thumb (as best she could with her binds) through the cabinet's contents: stacks and stacks of papers containing information about who she guessed worked at the facility. Dr April, Sarah. Dr Boyce, Phil. Lt Carlisle, Dean. Lt Collins, Theo. Lt Connolly, Evan. Dr Galway, Arlene. Lt Garrovick, David. The next name made her flinch.
Dr Heath, William.
William. It had been a long time since she last thought of that man. For a beautiful evening, he had been her saving grace. Her escape from the miserable first few months after revealing what she was to the world. If only she had known what he truly intended. Now, he was in the thick of Section Thirty-One. Samsa hated herself for it, but a tiny part of her still believed he could do the right thing. Maybe if she found him, she could persuade him to help.
Sifting through the other files was just as eye-opening. Each person she read about had a clear motive for working in Section Thirty-One. The saddest story was that of Balor Umbra - a Commander who had been the sole survivor of a Klingon attack on Praxis before it was destroyed. Everyone in his squadron was killed in action, including his wife, Lieutenant Sofie Umbra. Records showed he spent several weeks confined to the medical division at Headquarters due to a complete psychotic breakdown induced by the trauma.
Grief took hold of you. Made you capable of terrible things, which Samsa knew all too well. But this man had been torn apart.
She was about to start going through the next file when a flicker of movement from the end of the room stole her gaze. The door swung open wide enough for someone to be flung inside. At first, Samsa thought it was Mason but this person's hair was lighter.
The man sprawled in front of her was young and lean, wearing a deep blue trench coat over black clothes that had been darkened further by splotches of blood. His hair was a delicate brown colour, falling messily across his battered face. He scrambled to his hands and knees just as the door was locked once again.
Samsa froze, trying to work out whether she had seen him before. There was something about his face that seemed familiar, right down to the cool blue eyes. When their gazes met, she felt no urge to flinch away or protect herself. The way he looked back at her...a mix of confusion and...well, Samsa was tempted to go as far as to say horror.
His lips moved. Two words - and finally some she recognised. Her name. She sent him a brief smile and gestured to her ears, trying to signify that she couldn't hear. He followed her mime with his eyes and she could see them widening at the dried stains of blood down her neck.
"Who are you?" She asked, hoping the words came out right.
He looked around as if he was trying to find a way to communicate. Just as Samsa went to point at the sandy floor for him to write on, he started sifting through the pile of papers she had been reading mere moments ago. He then moved to the cabinet and picked out another file, placing it down in front of her.
Dr Selwood, Regan.
Samsa went to turn the page but stalled. Selwood. Was he somehow connected to Admiral Selwood? She glanced back up at Regan and the resemblance was undeniable. Then, she read the position he held at the facility.
If Regan Selwood was supposed to be in charge, why was he now confined to this storage room and covered in blood? It had to be some kind of trap. A way to lure her in or manipulate her in some way.
Yet, when Samsa looked back up...her assumptions changed. He had been beaten. Badly. Perhaps someone else had wanted to take control. He even had marks on his cheek from where a knuckle duster-
They vanished. Samsa watched it happen. Aside from the dried blood, his skin was clear of cuts. Surely she hadn't imagined them. She searched for a reasonable explanation but found a frightening one instead. Section Thirty-One had long been working on a serum. One made using augmented blood and Sanguine blood. What if they did it? What if they achieved what Jared couldn't?
Regan moved again, raising his hands as if to say he meant no harm. It was strange, but Samsa believed him. He began to trace a word into the dirt on the floor. A single word that cemented her suspicions.
Mutiny.
Too many questions flooded her mind. Only one truly mattered in that moment. "My sister..." Samsa trailed off as her lower lip trembled. "Is she...is she safe?"
Regan's lips parted and his gaze fell to the floor.
Samsa knew the answer already. The last morsel of hope she had been holding onto was dashed away in a heartbeat. She sat back against the cabinet and brought her hands to her face. Maybe she should pray. Luna's faith had been tested much more than her own, yet she still believed.
All Samsa needed was a way out. A way to help the others. A way for everything to end up okay. She just needed her sister. That's what she prayed for. Over and over. Founders, please set me on the path to my sister.
A new smell joined the existing metallic tang in the air - a musty, smoky one that reminded Samsa of soil. She re-opened her eyes and followed her nose to see that Regan had moved to the end of the room and started pulling bricks from the wall. He didn't stop until he removed an entire section just about large enough for a person to crawl through.
Samsa shook her head in disbelief and cradled her sore ribs as she shuffled over, wincing as the binds around her ankles tightened. Beyond the missing bricks was a tunnel. A long, dark tunnel that stretched ahead and curved into a right turn at the end. The smoky smell grew stronger, scraping the back of her throat and making her cough. She knelt beside Regan and stared into the gloom. Only up close did she notice a small inscription on the brick above the opening. A single word. Effugium.
She remembered what Walter had said at the briefing, how everything was in Latin. It only added more mystery as she tried to work out where the tunnel could possibly lead. Maybe to another room in the facility? Or somewhere beyond? Unless this tunnel led into the city? Surely not. Even on the outskirts, they were still miles away from any other life on the planet.
There was a tap on her shoulder as Regan beckoned her attention to something else he had drawn in the dirt: a long line that turned to the right for a short while, then to the left until it reached an 'x'. Regan followed it with his finger and pointed at the tunnel. His hand shook as he did so, but Samsa could guess what he was trying to give her.
Directions.
To where...who knew? It could land her in more danger or be exactly what she prayed for. The alternative was staying locked up. Surely she had to at least try. For Luna. For Jim. For the others.
Samsa nodded and edged closer to the entrance. The path beyond was lined with a mixture of mud and brick dust for as far as she could see before it disappeared into pitch blackness. The smell didn't make it any more inviting. She glanced at Regan one last time before moving forward on her hands and knees.
The sensation of damp soil squelching beneath her palms made Samsa's stomach turn but she pushed on into the gloom. Behind her, the light began to shrink as Regan started returning the bricks to their original places. She stalled, about to ask why he wasn't coming with her when the last trickles of light were completely blocked out. Too late. There was no going back now.
Samsa tried to take deep breaths but the smoky air was too heavy. She coughed and spluttered, blindly reaching for the wall with nothing but touch and scent to guide her. It wasn't long before her imagination started to play cruel tricks. Shapes squirmed and sprang out of the darkness. More than once, she cried out, believing something was scurrying towards her from ahead but none of it was real.
Eventually, she reached the first turn as the path veered to the right. Something flashed in the distance. No, not a flash. A flicker. Samsa squinted and shook her head, convinced she was still seeing things in the dark. The stench of smoke was thicker now. Clinging to her throat and stinging her eyes. The temperature rose as well. Despite all this, she pushed on, occasionally having to wipe a layer of sweat from her forehead. It would have been so much easier if she had free movement of her limbs.
The flickering grew as she got closer. A fire. It had to be. Samsa could see the shadows of flames dancing along the sides of the tunnel and the tiny orange embers dotting the air that fizzled into murky emptiness. She slowed, raising a hand against the heat. It was almost too much to carry on but then she spotted the second turning, heading left and away from the supposed fire.
Once again the light faded behind her. As did the heat. The smoke, however, lingered in the air and tightened her chest. Samsa fought against the pain and kept going. She crawled for what felt like hours. Whatever Regan had marked with an 'x' was a lot further away than she thought.
On and on and on she dragged herself, further and further into the dark until it swallowed her back up. Tears mixed with the sweat, running in rivers down her face and salting her lips. The cost of her struggles weighed heavily on her skin. By now, she was surely covered in muck and grime from head to toe.
Samsa gasped when her fingers impacted something hard. The tunnel stopped. Right in front of her. A dead end. She could feel it. Where was she supposed to go? She shuffled forward and frantically palmed the walls, desperate to return to the path. To keep going.
Just as she was about to scream in frustration, she reached up to touch the tunnel overhead. Instead of brick and soil, her fingers were met by a cool, wooden surface. It had to be a door of some kind. Samsa pressed her palms flat against it and pushed up, heaving with all the strength she had left.
When it finally gave way, light spilled down through the opening along with a huge cloud of brick dust. Samsa ducked her throbbing head, squeezing her eyes shut as she choked on the soot now clogging her airways. After giving herself a moment to adjust to the brightness, she stumbled to her feet, peering - gingerly, at first - out of the tunnel to see where Regan had sent her.
Parchment-coloured glossy walls soared above her from all sides and met in several glorious arches, like a row of golden rainbows above. It reminded Samsa of the inside of a cathedral or temple, only there were no pews or alters of any kind. No, this one hadn't been used in a long, long time. Colonies of moss-like flora and other plant life had made it their home, settling on the walls like veins in a body. They got the sun they needed from a magnificent skylight overhead.
The most unusual thing taking refuge in the abandoned space was a large ship. And one that Samsa recognised instantly. The bursts of grey, orange and yellow plating decorating the hull made it hard to mistake Walter's craft.
Sunny.
☆☆☆
At least half an hour had passed, and Mason was still trying to motivate himself to use the key card Medi gave to him. Pain from the torture lingered, coming in ebbs and waves through his chest. His wrist still ached too. He should have already braced the dislocated bone but that meant moving.
Mason allowed his eyes to flicker shut and more tears crept down his cheeks, adding fresh trails to the dried ones. He wanted to stay exactly where he was and let everyone else figure out what to do. Why did he have to be the one with the visions? Surely, he was bound to mess everything up just like he had on Traigon.
More than anything, he wanted to go back to the shadows of the Arch and be with Medi. All he had was her promise that she wasn't truly gone and never had been. Death might be the end of life, but not of love.
Could she be watching over him now? Mason hoped not. So far, he was doing a terrible job of changing the future. His thoughts went back to what Kinrih had told him. How Luna's violence would be a reaction to Samsa's death. As much as he hated being the only one who knew of this terrible future, he couldn't ignore the truth.
He had to do something.
With a yelp of pain, he managed to clamber onto his knees, mostly relying on the wall to keep him upright. The strain of movement made it feel as though piping hot liquid was being poured directly into his lungs. Despite the heated pain, goosebumps erupted across his skin and he shivered. The water soaking his clothes and hair did nothing to help.
Mason clutched the key card tightly as he stumbled toward the door, pausing halfway to lean against the metal table for support. He grimaced at the gnawing ache between each of his joints. He couldn't venture through the facility in this state. Not without some kind of protection.
It took several moments, but Mason managed to tear a layer of fabric from the bottom of his t-shirt, using it to craft a makeshift brace for his wrist. Then, it was time to put his plan into action. He positioned himself beside the door and banged his unharmed fist against it.
"Help! Please, is there anyone out there?" He called.
There was movement from the other side. "What is it?" A guard barked.
"I think...I think there's still s-some water in my lungs. Please, you have to help me!" Mason coughed and spluttered through the words, trying to make his predicament more convincing.
It must have worked as the locking mechanism clicked and the door swung open. The corridor beyond looked deserted and there didn't seem to be any other guards around. This one was on his own.
"I'll have to take you to one of the doctors, but I need to ask-"
Mason darted from his position against the wall and slammed the door shut, trapping the guard inside. He immediately raised his phaser rifle but too much adrenaline was blasting through Mason's veins. With a defiant cry, he grabbed hold of the weapon and tried to wrench it free one-handed. This landed him in a short-lived game of tug of war until the guard eventually won and broke away. The force sent Mason to the floor and the barrel of the rifle was shoved in his face.
"Don't move!" The guard warned, reaching for the communicator on his utility belt.
Mason's stomach lurched in panic. He thrust himself forward and kicked out, sweeping the guard's legs out from under him. When the guard fell, his head thwacked the metal table behind with a cringe-worthy clatter.
Silence followed.
Mason waited for him to get up. He waited for the onslaught of guards to come charging in and strap him down again. He waited...but neither of those things happened. He got to his feet, wincing at the added pain from the scuffle, and limped over to kneel beside the unconscious guard.
An idea popped into his head. Incredibly risky, but an idea nonetheless. He removed the man's helmet (that had miserably failed to do its job when he fell), utility belt, and jet-black jacket as quickly as he could and put them on. Mason flinched when he glimpsed the silver insignia stitched to the lapel. Were they ever going to be rid of Section Thirty-One?
As soon as he was kitted out in the guard's uniform, he grabbed the phaser rifle and strained his ears to listen for any signs of company. To Mason's relief, more silence greeted him in return. He swiped his key card and stepped out into the deserted corridor.
It was clean. Almost too clean. Bright, clinical walls lined by grey tiles. Mason had no idea which way to turn but he had to find somewhere. Even under the helmet, he felt too exposed. Maybe he should go back and free Samsa? But without a plan, there was no chance they could break the others out on their own. No. He needed to think about-
A shrill bang echoed from further down the left side of the corridor. A strange noise that made Mason's heart clench. He considered investigating further but the risk of being caught held him back. He headed right instead, following the string of burning lamps that lined each wall. Every few steps, there was a sign written in another language. It looked familiar but he was severely underqualified when it came to Xeno-linguistics. Or linguistics of any kind for that matter-
Two more bangs sounded, followed by the commotion of distant voices shouting. They were faint but it was enough to cause a terrible feeling of dread to writhe in the pit of his stomach. What if the future he was meant to change was happening right now? What if he was too late? There was only one way to be sure: the Draysorn method that Amalbi spoke about in her letter. For that, he needed somewhere to sleep. Somewhere to dream.
Mason had been so consumed by his panic that he failed to notice the voices growing closer and the swift approach of thundering footsteps. He flinched and darted towards the nearest door, thrusting the key card through the mechanism. Thankfully, the room beyond was deserted, occupied only by lockers where various weapons were being stored. He noticed one in particular that looked to be holding the away team's confiscated items. Even Luna's cigarettes.
He waited for the source of the noise to pass, peering through the narrow, rectangular window at the top of the door. Amongst a flurry of guards, he recognised Admiral Nichols and Balor, the latter of the two with blood covering the lower half of his face. An involuntary spark of anxiety lit up his chest as the sensation of water clogging his airways came back to him. His breathing grew ragged but something gave him a different kind of panic.
Two people dressed in lab coats wheeled a gurney between them, carrying a painfully familiar face. Luna. She looked dreadful, pale and bloodied. Her wrist hung at an angle that caused bile to rise in Mason's throat. Another familiar face was being dragged along behind with dried tear trails on his cheeks: Leonard McCoy. Mason had to stop himself from calling out.
Where were they being taken? Why was Luna unconscious? Why had Leonard been crying? There was no time to think it through. He slipped from the room and tagged onto the back of the group, blending in well enough but his heartbeat was bound to be a problem with Balor's enhanced hearing. He followed a breathing pattern that Samsa had taught him when his nightmares first started and hoped it would do the trick.
"That's what we need you for, Doctor," Nichols was saying. "It's a lot trickier than operating on any other species. There are more opportunities for complication given the rate at which their cells regenerate."
"Hold on," Leonard snapped back. "You claim you don't want to hurt her, yet plan on taking an eye? How does that work?!"
Mason's breath hitched as he recalled the images from his visions. Luna's bloodied eye that would be bandaged after she was locked up. If she was about to lose it, was this what he needed to change?
"It will be a painless procedure. A small price for a huge advantage in any coming conflict."
"What advantage?"
Balor looked back at the Doctor, a horrible smirk pasted over his lips. "Something the serum couldn't give us. The power to get anyone to do whatever we want."
Compulsion. Mason's hands tightened around the rifle he held. A thick rage seeped into his bloodstream, making every single one of his muscles tense. Had Luna not suffered enough?
"How can you be so sure taking her eye will give you that power?"
"We're lucky, Doctor. Jared and his family did all the background research for us. He discovered that compulsion is all in the pupils. That's why a Sanguine needs to hold their victim under intense eye contact for it to work. He never had the chance to dissect one for himself, but now we can change everything."
The way Nichols spoke about Luna like she was no more than an object to study and pick apart made Mason feel sick. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other as they pushed on down the corridor, eventually coming to a set of doors painted with the word 'Valetudo'.
Beyond was a room that Mason recognised: the labs where Kinrih had taken him to see Luna. A huge glass wall loomed towards the back, beyond which Khan and his crew were sleeping soundly in their cryotubes.
Nichols headed to the left where another section resided beyond a pair of double doors signposted 'Chirurgia'. Through the window, Mason could see an illuminated operating theatre, fully equipped with a series of instruments laid out beside the surgery table. Luna was wheeled through and Leonard insisted on following, fighting against two guards that were trying to hold him back.
Mason refused to let this happen. All the odds were against him, but even if he failed it might be enough to disrupt the timeline. He had to at least try. Fighting the pain in his wrist, he slowly raised his rifle till the mussel was aimed right at Vice Admiral Nichols. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger-
Someone gripped his arm from behind, tugging him away from his target and towards the other end of the room. Mason was about to wrench free when he saw who had hold of him. William Heath's appearance hadn't changed much over the past year and a half. If anything, he looked slicker (ignoring the nasty bruise on his nose) with trimmed blond locks and a crisp lab coat.
Mason found himself being pushed into a smaller room that reminded him of the private sectors in Medbay on the Enterprise. A single bed sat by the wall, joined by a sink and a cabinet filled with various medical supplies. The lock clicked and he whirled around with his rifle at the ready, groaning as his wrist protested the swift movement.
William flinched but stayed where he was with his back to the door. "You can take the mask off. I know it's you, Mason."
Now, it was Mason's turn to flinch. "H-how?"
"I was sent to check up on you after...after they..." The Doctor trailed off. "Well, I cleaned up the mess you left behind and I knew it was only a matter of time till I found you parading around in a stolen uniform."
"Who's side are you on?"
"The side that thinks this has all gone too far."
Mason frowned and took his helmet off using his good hand. "Why did you stop me then?"
"Stop you from doing what exactly?" William scoffed. "Getting yourself caught?"
"Luna needed my help. They're going to-"
"I know and I'm sorry but you couldn't have prevented it. Delayed it maybe, but they're not going to let anything stand in their way."
Mason was taken aback by how genuine the Doctor's apology sounded. Maybe he really had changed? "Can't you do anything?" He pleaded. "Make something up that will force them to postpone?"
William sighed and shook his head. "It'll blow my cover."
"Get out of my way then."
"You'll just make things worse."
"How can things get worse? They're about to cut her fucking eye out!" Mason was done arguing. He marched towards the door, yanking his mask back over his head. When William still refused to move, it felt like every vein in his body was going to collapse under the rage flowing through them.
"What are you gonna do?" The Doctor asked, raising his hands calmly. "Shoot someone? Get locked up and tortured all over again? Is it worth it?"
Luna is. Nothing was going to change Mason's mind. He went to raise the rifle again but froze when he heard a familiar hissing sound. Everything began to tip and tilt as his vision blurred. The last thing he saw before his world went dark was William's outstretched hand, pressing a hypospray into his abdomen.
Mason bolted upright in a puddle of water, surrounded by shadowy emptiness. The Arch. He shouted Medi's name over and over, willing her to come back to him. Silence was all he got in response. Hollow. Lonely. Silence.
He curled onto his side and broke down. The water beneath him was the furthest thing from comfortable but he couldn't find the strength to get to his feet. Sobs consumed him and the tears were endless.
Luna would suffer and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Amalbi made a mistake, granting him the gift of vision. So far, he had failed to change the future in every way possible. Everything was going to be wrong and it was all his fault.
"You are the only person who can do this, Mason."
A hand rested on his shoulder, a cold touch but light and comforting. Their voice was just as soft. Mason reopened his eyes and turned to see Kinrih kneeling beside him. The glowing veins beneath their skin looked as beautiful as ever. They cupped his face in their hands, using their thumbs to brush away his fallen tears.
"It is the furthest from fair and it should not be your burden to carry. That is why, I am never going to let you do this alone. Never." Kinrih gently took one of his hands, allowing their fingers to entwine. "Together?"
Mason took a few shaky breaths before nodding. "Together."
Kinrih smiled and the light stemming from their body brightened to the point where it was all Mason could see. He felt like he was floating in nothingness. The sensation lingered for a while before countless voices reached his ears, distant, echoey and overlapping one another.
I trust you. You're holding a scalpel to your doctor's throat. Failsafe completion in T-minus thirty minutes. I'm sorry, Samsa, I'm so sorry. Was Sofie collateral damage? I followed the signs you left for me. Five minutes, we can wait five more minutes. Would you look at that, I'm getting a strange sense of Deja vu. There's only one way to get her back, you know that.
The next thing Mason heard was the most gut-wrenching, pain-filled wail that made every single nerve in his body explode with pain. It sounded so much like Luna. Then, he was back in the darkness. He could still feel Kinrih holding his hand but they were nowhere to be seen.
Another voice whispered to him. Save her. Use the countdown...and save her.
Flashing red lights seared his vision and an alarm blared, momentarily dimming for an announcement to be made. Failsafe completion in T-minus ten minutes. Shapes emerged from the gloom in front of him. Someone on the floor, another holding them down, punching over and over again. Though their face was smothered in blood and grime, Mason could recognise the former. Balor.
The one giving the beating was the last person he expected to see. Samsa delivered each hit with shattering force, spattering blood across the tiled floor and audibly breaking bone. Mason couldn't bear to watch any more. He shouted her name, his tone begging her to stop.
And she did. Her body went rigid. She turned to look right at him, her eyes overtaken by such anger...he had never seen anything like it. Their gazes locked and for a moment, everything was still. That was when Balor yanked an arm free and plunged something into her side.
Mason cried out but they were both gone in the blink of an eye. It played out just how his vision of Luna had, only with different people. Even if you were to change them, they would still have to happen one way or another. Amalbi's words weighed heavily on his mind. Was this what changing the future meant? His visions still had to play out but not necessarily how he first saw them?
"We have to find the key, Mason," Kinrih's voice said. "The moment that opens the path you just dreamed."
Images flashed before him. Specks of time and things that had yet to happen. Some made sense. Others were lost on him. Luna's eye wrapped in bandages. Bars of a cell slamming shut. A glass vial smashing on the floor. The sound of a blade piercing flesh. Amber glows spilling through a skylight window. Ash raining down after a huge explosion.
One flash burned harsher than the others. Cryotubes. Except, the focus laid on one in particular. It couldn't be. Waves of denial made the image blurry but even then it was plain to see. The key to everything, the key to changing the future, all rested on reawakening Khan Noonien Singh.