Time and location (present day): 7:26am, ENDURE Center for Rehabilitation

Maybe it was animal instinct, or maybe it was the pure adrenaline rush fueled by having four-and-a-half inches of cold steel plunged into my stomach. Whatever the case, I swung hard with a right hook and connected even harder with Jonathan’s jaw. There was a loud crack as my fist made contact. He fell backward to the floor, but his grip on the knife held true, the blade dislodging roughly from my gut. If the blood hadn’t been draining from my body at a worrying pace before, it was now. I clutched a hand to the wound, a poor instinctual attempt to stop the bleeding. Jonathan was up on one knee, nursing the split in his chin with the back of his hand.

“It’s not personal Royce. You’re the conduit. Their way in. We can’t let them in. I won’t let them in.”

He rose to his feet now, and the look in his eyes made him unrecognizable. This wasn’t the Jonathan McCallister I had known, this wasn’t my friend. He took a step forward, the knifepoint aiming my direction.

“Jonathan don’t do this… we can talk. Please,”

I held my hands up, an attempt to appear nonthreatening as if calming an enraged grizzly.

“I don’t have a choice… if I stop you, I stop Mallen,” and then he charged me like a wild bull.

At the last moment, just before he reached me, I sidestepped and forcefully shoved him onward. As he tripped and slammed into the adjacent wall, I too stumbled and fell, sliding down the wall nearest to me and smearing a trail of red down it. The blood loss was overwhelming; I needed help soon or I feared the worst. Is this seriously how I die? Out of all the imaginable possibilities… did he… did he say Mallen? How the hell does he know about Mallen? I looked to Jonathan as my breath heaved, tried to prepare for his next assault through all the confused chaos I was experiencing. Something wasn’t right though. He was attempting to stand, but it seemed as though he was having difficulty doing so. Every time he began to pick himself up off the floor, he’d slip and fall back down onto his hands and knees. At some point, he circled around on all-fours, and I finally figured out what was slowing him down. When he had taken a tumble earlier, he had fallen on his own knife which was now protruding from his chest. A mixture of blood and saliva tendrils were dripping profusely from his mouth. He coughed as his gaze matched mine, a gargled, wretched sound. Then he began to crawl towards me, but I couldn’t find the strength to move, and so I figured it was best to reserve what energy I had left for when he reached me. One final push when he got close enough. I didn’t want to hurt him, but it was apparent now that this would only end one way, my life or his. I tried to plead with him one more time.

“Come on Jonathan, just stop. You’re hurt, bad. I am too. This is over. Whatever this is.”

Which was a question in and of itself; just what in the hell was going on here? Why was this happening? How had Jonathan even gained access to a hunting knife in here? Why was someone I called friend attempting to murder me? What the fuck is going on?! I’m dying… Oh God, I’m dying… The confusion was now giving way to panic. I glanced down at my maroon-spattered arms; their pallor was jarring to say the least. Suddenly, there was a hand on my shin, working its way haphazardly up my body until it was grasped firmly around my throat. Jonathan’s other hand joined in, and I fell sideways to the floor, pinned underneath his weight. His grip tightened as the blood from his mouth dripped onto my face, his teeth gritting with the savagery of a man bent on taking a life. The edges of my vision were beginning to fade, and for a fleeting moment I thought this was finally it; I would die here… I won’t allow it, no more mercy Royce. No more restraint. Kill him. All at once, my vision cleared, and I found renewed energy. I grabbed the knife that was jutting from Jonathan’s chest and tore it free as he exhaled audibly, painfully. Then, before he could react, I swept the blade edge across his throat. A warm spray of red swept over me as he collapsed atop my body, and that was it. Jonathan was dead. He was dead and I had killed him. I wanted to roll his corpse to the side, get his body off me, but the burst of energy I had received moments prior had come and gone. Jonathan was dead, and I feared I soon would be too. I was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness. How long had this whole ordeal lasted? Where was Lena with Dr. Cais? During one of my more lucid moments, I heard the door open and shut yet again.

“Ah shit… not good.”

I heard the voice as if it were in an echo chamber, remembered finding it to be unfamiliar. The next thing I could consciously recall was someone pulling me out from underneath Jonathan’s body by my arms.

“Don’t worry kid, we’re going to get you help. I’m a friend of Desmond’s, you can trust me. Hang in there,”

The voice sounded so distant now, almost disembodied. I tried to stay alert, tried not to drift off, but deaths warm embrace was beckoning now… Not yet Royce… I’m not finished with you yet. We’re just getting started…

The world went dark.

Next Chapter: Chapter 5: Desmond