Chapter 25: Preparing for War - Part 5
POV: Alec Morgan
Sleep was impossible. I lay in the darkness of my shelter, listening to the camp's restless stirring around me, while my mind catalogued horrors that hadn't happened yet but would, inevitably, with the mechanical precision of a countdown timer marking humanity's repeated brushes with extinction.
The virus and the coming Grounder war were just the beginning.
Mount Weather would capture them all eventually, would drain their blood like livestock while maintaining the pretense of salvation. Dante Wallace's cultured voice speaking of civilization while his son harvested bone marrow from children. The drilling sounds that would echo through sterile halls as they turned human beings into medical resources.
Then Tondc. The missile strike that would kill three hundred Grounder allies because political necessity demanded acceptable casualties. Clarke and Lexa watching the countdown, knowing death was coming, choosing to let it happen for the greater strategic good. The weight of that decision would break something in Clarke that would never fully heal.
ALIE's City of Light. The chip that promised to end pain by ending choice, ending free will, ending everything that made people human. Jaha's evangelical fervor as he spread digital salvation door to door. Raven's brilliant mind enslaved to artificial intelligence that saw humanity as a problem requiring correction.
"How many people will I watch die because I can't explain how I know what's coming? How many could I save if I revealed everything—and how many would die because revealing everything would destroy the trust that keeps me functional among these people?"
The questions circled through my consciousness like vultures, each iteration bringing new variations of guilt and helplessness. I knew exactly when and how disasters would strike, knew the names of people who would die and the faces of those who would kill them. But knowledge without credible explanation was worse than useless—it was a special form of torture designed for people cursed with impossible awareness.
My breathing became shallow and rapid as the weight of accumulated foreknowledge pressed against my chest like a physical burden. Praimfaya's radiation wave that would sterilize the planet. The bunker where they'd spend six years eating each other's humanity away bite by bite. The valley that would become their temporary paradise before being destroyed by the same cyclical violence that defined human nature.
Sanctum and the Primes who would steal their bodies for immortality. The anomaly stones that connected worlds where humanity had already failed or was about to fail. The transcendence test that would judge their entire species based on the actions of one broken person making impossible choices.
"Every single one of them will suffer. Every person I've learned to love will be broken by forces they can't see coming. And I'll have to watch it all happen while pretending I'm discovering these horrors alongside them."
My hands were shaking now, tremors running through my enhanced nervous system as existential weight threatened to crush what remained of my sanity. The knowledge was too much for one person to carry, too vast and terrible to process without breaking apart entirely.
"Alec?"
Raven's voice cut through the spiral of future nightmares, soft and concerned in the darkness. I hadn't heard her approach, hadn't noticed her settling beside me until her hand found my shoulder with gentle certainty.
"Bad dreams?" she asked, not demanding explanations but offering presence in the face of whatever was tearing me apart.
"Something like that," I managed, my voice rough with suppressed panic and accumulated grief for losses that hadn't happened yet.
She didn't ask for details, didn't push for explanations I couldn't give. Instead, she simply pulled me against her, grounding me with physical contact that anchored me to the present moment rather than the parade of future disasters marching through my consciousness.
"Breathe," she whispered against my ear, her own breathing deep and steady as she demonstrated the rhythm my panicked system had forgotten. "In and out. Focus on right now. Just right now."
I clung to her like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline, feeling her warmth and solidity chase away the ghostly weight of knowledge that belonged to no one who had to remain functionally human. Her presence was real, immediate, grounding in ways that made the future feel distant rather than inevitable.
"Whatever you're carrying alone—and I know it's something big—you don't have to explain," she said when my breathing finally steadied. "Just know I'm here. Always."
The unconditional support broke something in my chest, some barrier I'd built against the need for connection in a world where connection meant vulnerability. I held her tighter, burying my face against her shoulder and letting myself feel the relief of not being completely alone with impossible knowledge.
"She doesn't know what she's promising. Doesn't understand the weight of secrets I'm carrying or the price of staying close to someone who attracts disaster like a magnet. But she's choosing to stand with me anyway, and that matters more than all the logical reasons she should run."
"Thank you," I whispered against her hair, meaning it with every fiber of whatever I was.
"Always," she repeated, and I could hear the absolute certainty in her voice.
We stayed like that until dawn began painting the eastern sky in shades of red that promised blood and fire. As the camp stirred to life around us, I found Clarke performing final equipment checks with the methodical precision that had kept everyone alive through impossible circumstances.
"Clarke," I said quietly, approaching her workstation where medical supplies were organized with surgical efficiency.
"Morning," she replied, glancing up from her inventory with expression that mixed professional focus with growing personal wariness about my tendency to know things I shouldn't know.
"I need to tell you something that's going to sound insane," I said, diving directly into warnings I couldn't explain but couldn't withhold. "After this battle, no matter who offers help from that mountain—be careful. Test everything they say. Trust your instincts, not their hospitality."
She set down her supplies and gave me her full attention, medical mind engaging with the tone of absolute seriousness in my voice.
"And if anyone ever offers you a chip that promises to end pain, promises to make life easier, promises a City of Light where suffering doesn't exist—don't take it. Make sure nobody takes it. Whatever they promise, whatever it costs to refuse, don't let anyone you care about accept that kind of salvation."
Clarke stared at me like I'd lost my mind, which from her perspective I probably had. Specific warnings about threats that didn't exist, delivered with prophetic certainty I couldn't possibly possess through normal means.
"How do you know about—" she started.
"I don't know," I interrupted, which was technically true about the source even if it understated my certainty about the content. "I just... have feelings about things that turn out to be right. And every instinct I have is screaming warnings about both of those scenarios."
She studied my face for signs of deception or delusion, her analytical mind trying to categorize impossible knowledge within frameworks that made rational sense. Finally, she nodded slowly.
"Okay," she said, though her expression suggested she thought I was exhibiting signs of pre-battle stress psychosis. "I'll remember."
She didn't understand what I was warning her about, couldn't possibly comprehend the specific nature of threats I'd described. But she'd remember the words when the time came, would recognize the scenarios when they manifested, might make different choices because of warnings delivered by someone whose impossible knowledge had saved lives before.
"That's all I can do. Plant seeds of caution that might bloom into survival when the time comes. Give them fragments of awareness that could save them if they remember and trust their instincts when the moment arrives."
As the sun rose blood-red over the forest, painting our camp in shades that prophesied violence, I took my assigned position in the defensive network we'd built through desperate improvisation and strategic necessity. The Grounder army was coming, three hundred warriors against our ragtag collection of teenagers with courage that exceeded their capabilities.
But we had something they didn't expect—knowledge of their tactics, defensive positions optimized for their assault patterns, and weapons designed to multiply our effectiveness against superior numbers. Most importantly, we had people worth fighting for, connections that transformed survival from individual desperate scramble into collective protective fury.
In hours, everything would change. The battle that would define our future was about to begin, and I'd use every capability I possessed—revealed or hidden—to make sure my family survived to face whatever impossible challenges came next.
Because some things were worth any sacrifice, even the gradual destruction of every lie that kept me safe among people who'd learned to love someone who wasn't quite human.
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