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(THIS CHAPTER DOES NOT HAVE 2000+ WORDS AS THIS CHAPTER WAS WRITTEN BEFORE I MADE THE ANNOUNCEMENT)
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(Mount Weather - Level 5 - The Dining Hall)
Mount Weather, by design, was a calm place.
For ninety-seven years, while the surface of the Earth burned and rotted under the weight of nuclear fallout, the mountain had hummed with the quiet, refined rhythm of a preserved civilization. The air was clean, scented with artificial lavender, and the lights were warm and steady, banishing the depressing underground dark.
In the main dining hall, families sat together over trays of hydroponic vegetables and reconstituted proteins. Children chased each other between the tables, their laughter echoing off the high, pristine walls. An elderly couple held hands near the faux window that displayed a digital recording of a pre-war sunset.
They lived in comfort. They lived in safety.
They knew, of course, that their survival came at a cost. There were whispers about the dialysis treatments, about the "savages" from the surface who were used to filter the blood of the residents. But to the average citizen of Mount Weather, the Grounders were barely human. They were monsters, mutated beasts roaming the radiation-soaked hellscape above. If a few of them had to be used to keep the last remnants of true humanity alive, it was a harsh necessity — a problem for the scientists and the soldiers, not for the families eating their dinner.
Ignorance was their luxury. It was the shield that protected their souls, just as the mountain protected their bodies from the radiation.
But that shield was about to shatter. Thanks to none other than Blade-De-Kru.
The soft, pre-recorded classical music playing over the intercoms was cut out with a sharp, static hiss.
Every screen in the hall turned off. The digital sunset vanished. The menu displays turned black.
Then it turned back on again.
The feed was from the Main Control Room. The citizens stared, totally confused.
But then they saw the shattered glass, the body of the security chief pinned to the wall. Gasps of horror rippled through the room. Mothers pulled their children close.
And then they saw the man.
He was unmasked, his face scarred, his golden eyes staring out from the screen with judgment.
"You call us savages," the man's voice boomed through the hall. "You call us inferior. You tell yourselves that you are the victims trapped in this rock."
In the dormitory, Cage Wallace struggled against Roan's grip, his eyes wide with terror. He knew that face. He knew that voice. And he knew exactly where Mike was standing.
"But now," Mike continued, "the savage is in your house. And you must be wondering — What is he doing here? Why is he doing this?"
Mike leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the master control console.
"It is simple. You built your paradise on a foundation of torture. You think you are civilized? You think you are better? Watch."
Mike typed a command. The feed on the screens split, and a footage began to play.
What played after was the brutal and inhuman experiments conducted on grounders.
The dining hall fell into a deathly silence.
They saw Grounders — people who looked just like them, not monsters —being dragged into cages. They saw the Reaper treatments, the injections of the Red Drug that turned men into cannibals. They saw the dialysis machines draining screaming victims until they were dry, and then dumping them into a well like trash.
"This is how you treated my people," Mike's voice narrated over the screams emanating from the speakers. "You bled us. You turned us into monsters. You hunted us for your selfish needs. Even after I warned you, you turned to the other clans."
He paused.
"But hold on. There is more. You didn't just stop at us."
The footage changed again.
This time, it was Eric.
The 100 in the dormitory watched, tears streaming down their faces, as their friend appeared on every screen in the mountain. The citizens in the dining hall watched as a doctor drilled into the hip of a screaming teenager.
"These are children," Mike said. "Children from the space. And you were going to harvest them all. Every single one. To save yourselves."
In the dining hall, a woman vomited. A man stood up, shouting at the screen, "That's not true! We didn't know!"
But they did know. Deep down, in the parts of their minds they refused to access, they had always known, and they chose to ignore it.
The video feed cut out, returning to the live shot of Mike in the blood-soaked control room.
He looked straight into the camera. He wasn't angry. He wasn't screaming. He looked terrifyingly calm.
"This ends now," Mike declared.
He reached out, his hand hovering over a large, red manual override lever protected by a glass casing. He shattered the casing with the hilt of his knife.
"I could leave you alive," Mike mused, almost to himself. "I could disable your defenses and leave you trapped here. But history teaches a lesson."
He looked at the lever.
"If I leave you alive, you will breed. You will rebuild. And one day, your children will come for mine. You will want revenge."
Mike looked back at the camera, his eyes cold and dead.
"And that shit is too cliché."
In the dormitory, Cage Wallace realized what lever that was. It wasn't the gas. It was the atmospheric containment seal. It was the vents.
"NO!" Cage screamed, thrashing against the wall, his voice cracking with desperation. "NO! DON'T! YOU'LL KILL THEM ALL! NOOOOOOOOOO!"
Mike didn't hesitate. He didn't blink.
He pulled the lever down.
KLANG.
Deep within the infrastructure of the mountain, massive hydraulic locks disengaged. The heavy blast shields covering the external air intakes groaned and slid open.
The turbines reversed.
Instead of scrubbing the air, the massive fans began to suck the outside atmosphere directly into the residential levels.
"Atmospheric Breach Detected," the automated voice of the mountain announced. "Radiation levels rising."
In the dining hall, the first wave of outside air hit.
It didn't look like anything. It was just air. But to bodies that had lived in a sterile bubble for a century, bodies with zero resistance to ionizing radiation, it was liquid fire.
The screaming started instantly.
It wasn't the scream of fear; it was the scream of physical dissolution.
People clawed at their faces as their skin began to blister and turn red within seconds. The radiation burned them from the inside out. They fell to the floor, vomiting blood, their eyes burning in their sockets.
The children stopped running. They curled up on the pristine floor, their skin sloughing off in sheets. The elderly couple by the window died holding hands, their bodies seizing in unison.
It was brutal. It was absolute. It was a massacre.
In the dormitory, the 100 watched the screens in horror. They saw the people dying on the screen. They saw the skin melting. They saw the end of a civilization.
"He... he killed them all," Miller's voice full of shock. "He actually killed them all."
(The Main Control Room)
Mike stood alone in the center of the room. The only sound was the hum of the servers and the chaotic, dying screams coming through the surveillance monitors.
He watched it all.
He switched the camera feeds, cycling through the levels.
Level 5: The Dining Hall. A sea of bodies. No movement.
Level 4: The Nursery. Silent. Small forms lay still in their cribs.
Level 3: The Barracks. Soldiers had tried to run for their suits, but the air moved faster. They lay in piles by the lockers, their lungs liquefied.
Mike watched the deaths of three hundred and eighty-four people.
He waited for the guilt. He waited for the revulsion, for the nausea, for the feeling that he had crossed a line from which there was no return. He waited for his humanity to scream at him to stop.
But as he watched the last movements cease on the monitors, he felt... nothing.
There was no joy. There was no sorrow. There was only a cold, hollow silence in his chest. It was the feeling of a job completed.
Guess I really was made for a world like this, he thought, staring at his own reflection in the darkened monitor. The face looking back at him was not a hero. It was a weapon. A necessary, terrible instrument of survival.
He looked at the digital counter on the wall. POPULATION: 0.
He turned away from the screens, picked up his mask, and ran his thumb over the orange and black surface.
Let this be an example, he thought, the resolve hardening in his gut like concrete. Let the ghosts of this mountain scream a warning to anyone else who thinks they can touch what is mine.
"No one endangers MY People."
He put the mask back on, the seals hissing shut, locking the humanity away.
He walked out of the control room, stepping over the body of the security chief, and headed down to the dormitory to collect the survivors.
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