Ezra

Time ceases to exist in the void between what I assume is life and death. Surrounded by nothing but darkness and the occasional burst of light, I hear random, mismatched sounds that are impossible to link together in the strings of consciousness.

The beeping of a hospital monitor.

The roar of an airplane engine.

The pepper of gunfire.

At the same time, I feel more deeply to make up for the loss of vision.

The pressure of being lifting into the air.

The prick of needles across my body.

The coarse rubbing of my arm restraints.

It's not a matter of how many days pass but how many breaths I take, how many memories I lose, and how many cries I hear from the bed beside mine. Floating in between states, I can't even rely on my own mind when it comes to those numbers.

The darkness begins to become evanescent around me. Sounds assault my tender ears, as if I'm being lifted out of the deepest ocean. I can hear the mechanics of something beeping incessantly from all directions, joined by the hum of a radio well out of frequency.

The stiffness of my body becomes apparent as my own weight settles down upon me. I count my fingers and toes, ecstatic to be able to feel my own limbs. Even though it hurts.

"He's coming back," a clear voice says. My heart jumps. It's the first voice I've been able to distinguish.

"Good," a feminine voice replies. "Maybe now he won't drown. Murano would be mad if we killed him before he got to the others."

The first person laughs.

"The girl probably won't be so lucky. We did put her down in a bad spot."

"She woke up sooner! What were we supposed to do?"

"It's fine. One out of two is still pretty good. What's Murano going to do to us in the middle of this chaos?"

I try to open my eyes, only to realize there's a thick cloth over them. Are they talking about Sarah? What do they mean they put her in a "bad spot"? Where are they taking us? Wait-- who are they?

"Two seconds until we're in position," the first, deep voice says.

Hands wrap themselves around me--four of them--and lift me off the soft-ish bed that I had been laying on. Instead, my back meets cold, sleek metal.

"You're gonna have to move out of the way, idiot," the man says. "When I open that hatch, either he's going in alone or you're going in with him."

The woman emits a dry, fake laugh before letting go of me. She strips the blindfold off, and I look hastily around. Wires. Metal ceiling. A sleek vehicle. Everything's a massive blur. They must've took my glasses.

I jerk my head to one side and look down. I'm laying on glass. Under me is a massive expanse of water. Blue, crystal clear water.

That's when I realize where I am.

The Island. I'm being thrown in prison. Thomas left me behind, abandoned me to the hands of President Murano. This is how I'm supposed to die.

The female guard leans down and rests her elbows on her knees.

"Good luck, kid," she whispers. "I hope you make through at least a day."

The man scoffs, and I look over at him.

"She's just saying that because she bet fifty bucks on you surviving for at least twenty-four hours."

The female stands, strides over to him, and punches him in the arm. They laugh for a second, until the male turns back to the control board on the transport vehicle.

"Ready?"

No. I'm not. God, I'm not. But I can't find my voice to tell them that.

They do a count to three and then push one of the many multi-colored buttons. The glass under me disappears, like it never did exist, and I'm plummeting towards the water. If I could scream, I would. All I can do though is clench my eyes closed and brace myself for the hit I know is coming.

My body slams into the water below. Gravity sucks me downward, but the water is pushed upwards around me in an effort to regain its calm surface. The jumpsuit protected my back from the sting of the fall, but it can't protect me from the rest of the creatures around me.

Or asphyxia, either.

I don't know which one I'm more afraid of--being eaten or suffocating.

I pry my eyes open and watch the sunlight refract through the water. It bends around the waves, appearing almost wobbly. Fish dart through it. At least I assume they're fish. Right now, they are nothing more than blobs. Black, blurry blobs.

My lungs begin to burn the lower I sink. Yet, I don't move. Panicking will get me nowhere. I need to think this through logically. I've been swimming before, in abandoned pools after hours with Sam and Jordyn. Of course, that was always a risk that I'm too stiff to enjoy, but I still know how to do it.

Coaxing my stiff muscles into cooperation, I turn my body so that my open hands are pointed towards the surface of the water and kick both of my legs in rapid succession. The movement propels me upwards, and within a second, I break through the tension of the water and take a gasping breath.

My joy doesn't last long though. My descent must've upset the waves, because they pull me under faster than I can keep up. Whatever the two guards gave me must've done a number on my muscle function. Repeatedly, I'm pulled under to inhale mouthfuls of bitter saltwater, kicking and pushing myself upwards every time.

A wall of water smacks me in the face, and I'm sucked under again. The impact blinds me momentarily, and my sense of direction is thrown off balance. I can feel myself spinning, but if I knew where the beach was before, I definitely don't know.

Well, the woman's going to lose her money. I'm definitely drowning before her twenty-four hour bet can be fulfilled.

My muscles give in to the natural pull of the water, and I find myself sinking further down into the water. Maybe this is what should happen. After all, I failed my mission for Thomas. I let Sarah get captured with me, and I have no idea if Riku made it back to HQ to deliver the coordinates. There's no chance. I close my eyes and let myself relax.

Suddenly, I feel hands around my wrists. The water around me becomes even more disturbed as the pressure there tightens. My body is pulled upward again, until I break the surface once more. All that's above water is my chin and the two arms around my shoulders. Water plasters down dark hair on the two tanned appendages, but other than that, there's no identifying features. My vision sways with exhaustion, and I just let my mystery rescuer push me towards a white sheet of sand ahead.

I barely feel anything as I'm picked up and drug across coarse sand. What I do feel is the water in my mouth and lungs, burning me from the inside out, two hands pressing themselves into my chest and stomach, and the heat of a fake sun overhead.

"Where did he come from?" a female, slightly accented voice asks.

"Just fell out of the dome," a male replies. His voice sounds familiar. A deeper southern than hers, but parallel. "Is he breathin'?"

"I don't know."

I feel a cold pair of hands on my cheeks then two more on my arms. They work together to turn me over onto my shoulder, and then they beat at my back until I begin to cough up an acidic mix of saltwater and saliva. I clench my eyes shut against the burning.

When I open them again, two face-like shapes appear in front of me. One is pale, framed in bright red hair that sticks out at strange angles. The other is cocked to one side and has one eyebrow lifted in an intrigued expression. His hair is much shorter than hers, but it looks just as untamed.

"Are you okay?" the girl asks. I nod, still trying to catch my breath. While I heave air in and out of my lungs, I pat my pockets. My shoulders jump excitedly as I find my glasses and slide them onto my face.

What I see takes my breath away.

"Jordyn," I manage to spit out.

Jordyn's eyes go wide, and she looks down at her jumpsuit before glancing at the boy beside her.

"Samson?"

The surprise on his face dissolves into a more familiar one to me. His mouth squeezes into a firm line, and his body drifts closer to Jordyn. I've seen that so many times--when crouching in the alleys between missions, when hidden in the crowds on execution day, when a brave teenager says something suggestive to her, when she's pushed to the brink of exhaustion. I couldn't possibly count how many times I've seen Sam take his protective stance, always towards Jordyn.

"Ezra?"

I turn my head back towards Jordyn.

"You remember me?" I ask.

"No," she says quietly. "Your name is on your jumpsuit."

I look down at myself. She's right. Of course she wouldn't remember me. I know how the standard amnesia works. I'm an exception. Murano wanted me to remember my past. Why, though?

"Should she know you?" Sam asks, still skeptical.

"Yes, but..." I sigh heavily. "It's too much to explain right now. Have you seen a girl around here?" Their blank expressions answer my question. "She's tall, blonde, and annoying. Ring any bells?"

I can explain this later. Right now, Sarah takes priority. My promise to her still stands firm. She has to make it to fifty. The guard's conversation from the other side of the dome rings through my head like warning bells.

"I really need to find her," I continue, struggling to stand up. "She's really impor--"

A scream cuts me off mid-sentence. My head jerks towards the treeline. Without skipping a beat, I sprint into the trees, chasing after the sound I've only heard once before.

Immeasurable, haunting, red and black pain. Sarah.