Experiment of Fate ~ A Bellamy Blake story

Chapter 2 - Lincoln

Chapter 2 : The Drop Ship

The tension inside the drop ship was suffocating. The dim light flickered, casting long shadows across the rusted walls, and the sound of metal chains clinked as Lincoln strained against his bindings. Bellamy paced in front of him, jaw clenched, his fists tightly gripping a bloodied knife. Each step was a reminder of his intention, each breath a promise of more pain to come.

Octavia was on her knees, her voice hoarse from pleading. "Bellamy, please stop! This isn't right! He's saved me!" Her wide, tear-filled eyes desperately searched his face, but Bellamy's focus remained fixed on Lincoln.

"He stabbed Finn, Octavia!" Bellamy growled through clenched teeth. His hand shook as he pointed at Lincoln, who sat bloodied and silent, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

"I don't care! Hurting him won't change that!" Octavia cried, moving closer to Lincoln, trying to shield him from her brother's wrath. "Please!"

The drop ship's door swung open, and Clarke stormed inside, her face hard and determined. She marched straight towards them, the knife Lincoln had used on Finn in her hand. Her eyes locked onto Bellamy's. "What's on the knife?" Her voice was sharp, commanding. "I need to know what's on it. He was going to die no matter what we did! What's on the knife!" Clarke demands.

Bellamy looked at her, the heat of battle still in his eyes. "I'll get him to talk."

Clarke's gaze flickered toward Finn's still form downstairs. He was lying on a makeshift cot, pale, struggling against whatever poison had entered his bloodstream from Lincoln's blade. Her chest tightened. She couldn't lose him. Not now. Not like this.

"Do what you need to do," Clarke said coldly, her voice breaking slightly. She crossed her arms, her face a mask of resolve as she faced Lincoln. "We have to save Finn."

Octavia's face twisted in horror. She stood up, stepping between Clarke and Lincoln, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Clarke, no! Think of your sister, Isla! She wouldn't want this!"

Clarke froze. The name hit her like a punch to the gut, but before she could respond, there was movement behind her. Lincoln's head shot up, eyes wide and filled with shock and recognition.

"Isla," he whispered, the first word he had said barely audible, as though speaking the name physically hurt him. His breath caught in his throat, and the pain on his face was no longer just physical—it was deeper, older, a wound that had never healed. He looked at Clarke, really looked at her for the first time, and his heart seemed to stop.

Clarke and Octavia both turned toward him, confusion written across their faces.

"Isla," Lincoln repeated, louder this time. "Your sister?"

Clarke blinked, momentarily disarmed. She glanced at Octavia, then back at Lincoln. "How do you know about Isla?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

Lincoln's eyes filled with sorrow, the kind that comes from years of carrying unbearable grief. "Isla... she was my sister, too." His words hung in the air like a weight neither of them could process immediately.

Octavia took a step back, stunned, while Clarke's mind raced. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "How could you know Isla?"

Lincoln's gaze fell to the ground, memories of his sister flooding back. "Years ago, she fell from the sky in a pod, said her dad sent her down to save her. I rescued her, we grew up together. She spoke of her family—of space, of a twin sister she had left behind. I never imagined..." He looked at Clarke, truly seeing the resemblance for the first time. "You're her. You're Isla's twin."

Clarke's blood ran cold. She had never known what happened to her sister after disappeared when they were children. It had always been a source of raw pain buried deep within her. She had never expected that Isla's fate would be linked to Lincoln, to the man now chained before her.

Bellamy stepped forward, still gripping the knife. "What does this change? He's still hiding something, Clarke."

But Clarke's eyes were on Lincoln, her heart pounding in her chest. "Isla... what happened to her? Where is she?"

Lincoln's face contorted in anguish. "She's gone," he said, his voice breaking. "The Mountain Men... they took her from me, too. I never saw her again."

A wave of grief hit Clarke like a tidal wave, but she fought to stay standing. Isla had always been out of reach, a memory that haunted her in the quiet moments, but to hear that she was truly gone—it was almost too much.

Octavia reached for Clarke, her own heart breaking for Lincoln, for the loss they all shared. "Clarke, this isn't what Isla would want. She wouldn't want us to torture him."

For a moment, Clarke faltered, her hand dropping the knife. She looked down at the blade, still slick with blood, and then at Finn, who lay downstairs fighting for his life. And then at Lincoln, a man who had suffered as she had, a man who had loved her Isla. But ultimately continued to let him suffer as Finn was what matters now. Until Octavia stepped in.