THE 100

It doesn't take Raven an hour to fix the radio. 

It takes her a day.

Thunder rolls across the open wind, a deep, rumbling growl that echoes through the vast, turbulent sky. The sky's are painted a gloomy blue, streaked with jagged cracks of white lightning that flash relentlessly, illuminating the storm-torn clouds.

Rain batters the dropship with the rum of a heartbeat, each droplet striking the metal hull in the dark

Clarke paces the narrow corridor, her steps quick and uneven. The air around Raven's makeshift radio setup thrums with quiet urgency. Wires spill across the table like veins, connecting a haphazard mess of parts Raven had somehow coaxed to life.

"This is Raven Reyes. Calling Ark Station." The same monotone drone as she repeats the words, again and again.

"Calling Ark Station. Ark station. Please come in. I'm on the ground with the hundred." Clarke's pacing quickens, her fingers tearing at her nails until they're raw and bleeding.

"Maybe you're on the wrong channel—" she snaps at Raven, but the accusation barely leaves her lips before Raven's glare stops her cold.

"I'm on the right frequency," Raven bites out, her tone sharper than the rain hammering the roof.

I kick myself up from the seat in the dropship, half expecting the two girls to chew each other heads off, but my mind is far from contacting the ark.

I tried not to think of the hundred lives up there, waiting for a miracle to tell them they can land.

And then it happens, the crackle of static as another line enters on the radio, "This is a restricted station." A clear voice breaks through the static.," Who is this? Please identify yourself."

The response doesn't come immediately. For a moment, only the faint crackle of static fills the room. 

Then, the voice softens.

"Raven? Are you there?"

It's a woman's voice. Clarke's breath catches. She rushes forward, shoving Raven aside with barely a thought.

"Mom?"

"Clarke?"

"Mom, it's me! We need your help. There are Grounders—"

A deeper voice interrupts, cutting through her panic. "This is the Chancellor. Are you saying there are others?"

"Yes," Clarke says quickly, her words tumbling out. "We're not the only survivors. Earth is survivable."

There's a pause, then the Chancellor's tone shifts. "Clarke, is my son with you?"

Wells steps forward, gently taking the mic from Clarke's trembling hands. "Hey, Dad."

A sigh of relief escapes through the speakers, heavy with emotion. Dr. Griffin's voice returns, steadier now but tinged with tension. "What's going on?"

Raven answers. "How soon can you come down? Please tell me you haven't met with the council yet?."

The silence that follows is suffocating. Finally, Abby speaks again, her voice trembling.

"I'm sorry. The culling just ended."

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. They wouldn't have survived anyway, I tell myself, but the thought brings no comfort.

The rest of the dropship resign themselves to fate. 

Clarke says something over the channel, but I barely hear her. My thoughts drift to the mountain looming in the distance. Mount Weather. Its name alone feels like a warning, a threat lying just beyond reach. The Grounders were bad enough—but the mountain? That was something else entirely. We had to start thinking ahead, or we'd be dead long before the Ark ever got here.

I step up beside Raven, her focus still on the failing console. "Did you find any other channels when you were trying to contact the Ark?"

She looks at me, frowning in confusion. "Yeah, a few are still active, but it's just static. Nothing usable."

"Why?" Her suspicion is obvious.

I shake my head, forcing a small smile. "No reason. Just curious."

She doesn't look convinced, her brow furrowing as she turns back to the console. The static buzzes faintly, a hollow, grating sound. Then, without warning, it shifts—a crackling pop that sends a chill through the air.

Before I can say anything, a loud thud echoes from outside.

The radio stutters, its hum cutting off abruptly, leaving only silence in its wake.

Bellamy stumbles down the ladder, cradling his arm like it might fall off.

"What the hell is that noise? Are the Grounders here?" His voice is groggy, thick with exhaustion, like he's been out for days.

No one answers. The dropship rattles around us, but Raven's fist slamming onto the table cuts through the din.

"Are you happy now?" she snaps, standing with the kind of energy that says she's ready to throw punches.

Bellamy flinches—just barely—but his face hardens. "What are you talking about?"

Clarke doesn't look up, guilt dragging her gaze to the floor. "They didn't wait," she whispers.

Bellamy's expression twists, his frustration clear before it returns to stoic calm. His eyes sweep the room, landing on me like a weapon. "Where's the Grounder?" His hand twitches toward the knife at his belt.

I glance at Octavia, pressed against the dropship wall, wide-eyed and pale. Then I shrug. "Gone."

That single word detonates something in him. He barrels forward, spitting venom, his rage turning his words into a downpour. "Gone? What the fuck did you do?"

I take a step back, my tone cool. "I didn't do anything. Miller was unconscious when I got there." I narrow my eyes at him. "Maybe if you'd kept tighter security, this wouldn't have happened."

Bellamy grabs my shirt collar, yanking me forward until our faces are inches apart. "Do you think I'm stupid?" he growls, the force of his breath hot against my face. "You've been desperate to save their lives from day one."

The tension in the room is suffocating. I can feel the weight of the stares from the other teens, their unrest simmering just beneath the surface.

I shove his hand off me, my nails digging into his skin with a strength he clearly wasn't expecting. "How about we take this outside?" I tilt my head slightly, challenging him.

"Everyone out!" Bellamy barks. The others shuffle downstairs reluctantly, their fear still palpable after the Ark's latest message.

When the room clears, the silence is thick, broken only by the hum of failing systems. Raven sits at the console, fiddling with dials that refuse to respond. She rips off her headset, frustration etched into her face.

Bellamy's in my face again, but his tone is slightly more measured this time. "What were you thinking?" he grits out.

My patience is razor-thin.

"I let him go to deliver a message," I say, my voice low but steady.

Clarke's head snaps up, her eyes sharp with alarm. Finn stiffens, his attention fully on me now.

Bellamy's anger dims into something colder, his exhaustion etched in every line of his face. "A message? To them? Pray tell, what could you possibly have to say to a bunch of savages?"

"Something they'd understand," I reply, my gaze unwavering.

Finn's voice cuts in, cautious but insistent. "What message?"

I exhale, the weight of what I'm about to say settling over the room like a storm cloud. "I told him…" My throat tightens, but I push the words out. "I told him if they didn't stop this, I'd send the Ark down on their territory."

Silence crashes over us. The kind of silence where everyone forgets how to breathe.

"What?!" Clarke bolts upright, her voice trembling with disbelief. "The Ark would never agree to that! They wouldn't—"

"They don't need to," I interrupt. "But the Grounders don't know that."

Bellamy's face shifts, his anger giving way to something unreadable. Clarke, meanwhile, looks like I just confessed to setting the forest on fire.

"You threatened to wipe out their village with a spaceship?" she says, her tone incredulous. "How is that supposed to help us?"

Finn shakes his head, standing now. "We're trying to survive, not declare war."

I roll my eyes but don't get the chance to respond. Bellamy steps forward, tension radiating off him like heat. For a second, I think he might hit me. Then, to my surprise, a slow smile creeps across his face.

"Damn, Marbles," he says, his voice carrying an edge of reluctant approval. "Maybe you're not useless after all."

Octavia's voice cuts in, hesitant but worried. "But won't that just make them want to kill us more?"

I let the question hang in the air before speaking. "The Grounders value one thing above all else," I say, meeting each of their disbelieving gazes. "Strength."

I gesture to the radio. "They know our numbers. They know our location. But they don't know what's up there. And that's the point. Let them imagine the worst. Let them think we have weapons and warships waiting in the sky."

Clarke shakes her head, still unconvinced. "And when they realize no one's coming? Then what?"

I fold my arms, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "By then, it won't matter. This isn't about long-term strategy. It's about right now. That threat buys us leverage—gives us the high ground in negotiation."

Ballamy scoffs, "great, another thing to worry about."

The words come out almost pathetic and he eyes the radio like it might burst. Ravens fiddling eventually amounts to something as it crackles back to life, the chancellor's voice filtering through the static, "h-hello."

"I'm here," Raven interjects, pushing past Clarke to speak directly into the mic. "The radio's unstable, but we're making it work. What's the situation up there?"

A heavy pause follows, and then Dr. Griffin speaks, her voice weighted. " "the Ark… isn't coming down. At least, not in one piece. We're making preparations to send sections with critical systems and personnel, but most of the Ark will burn up on reentry."

Clarke grips the edge of the console, her knuckles turning white. "Mom," she says, her voice breaking, "you can't be serious. There has to be another way."

"There isn't," Abby replies, her tone heavy with regret. "At least this way, we can save a portion of the population. But Clarke, you need to understand what that means for you down there. You need to find shelter and supplies to survive until we get there."

Clarke exchanges a tense glance with Bellamy before responding. "We've had... setbacks. Mount Weather isn't an option yet. But Earth is survivable. We've proven that."

Jaha's voice shifts, his concern now tinged with urgency. "If you're not at Mount Weather, where are you getting food and shelter? Are the grounders allies?"

Before Clarke can answer, I interrupt hands bracing the table. "We found a supply depot, north of here. Guns, blankets, a few expired rations." and tentatively i ask, "is there another channel you can find from up there? Coordinates of a working station?"

Another crackle of static, then Jaha speaks again. "A channel?" he fiddles with something behind the scenes, "were getting some people to check that out but if there was a working channel we would have found it out long ago."

He says it definitively, but anxiety still courses through me. 

"As for the bunker, that's great progress, I know there's a line of parents waiting to talk to their kids. we all are very proud of what you've done down there." 

Abby's voice, soft and hesitant, breaks through the static again. "Clarke, wait—"

Clarke steps away from the radio, her face a mask of focus, though the tension in her jaw betrays her emotions. "We don't have time for this," she says, her voice firm. "There's too much to do."

She strides toward the ladder leading out of the dropship, her steps brisk and purposeful.

She's not wrong. The bunker's supplies, as impressive as they are, won't carry us for long. And the idea of relying on the Ark for help feels like a gamble none of us can afford to take.

Bellamy's jaw tightens as if he's fighting back the urge to punch something, Clarke's voice drifts back into the dropship, calm but resolute. 

She reappears in the doorway, rain glistening on her skin. "If the Grounders are surviving winter, that means they have resources we don't. We need to figure out how they're doing it."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Raven challenges, crossing her arms.

"We scout," Clarke says simply. "We find their camps, their supply lines. Anything we can use to get through this."

Bellamy's lips curve into a faint smirk. "Finally, a plan I can get behind."

Raven throws up her hands, exasperated. "Great. Let's just hope you don't bring a Grounder army back with you."

"That's why we do this smart," Clarke says, ignoring the sarcasm. "Small teams, careful movements. We don't engage unless we have no other choice."

I watch the exchange, the tension in the room thickening like the air before a storm. Her words settle over the group, a quiet determination replacing the earlier unease. 

Raven shakes her head, muttering something under her breath, but she doesn't argue further.

Bellamy claps his hands, breaking the silence. "Alright. Let's gear up. If we're doing this, we're doing it tonight."

As the group begins to move, I glance back at the radio. The faint crackle of static fills the air, there's something that gnaws at me, a warning maybe. But I couldn't place my finger on it.

The camp has grown tedious, a cage disguised as safety. My stomach growls at the thought of something real—a roasted meal, maybe. Out here, even hunger becomes a kind of motivator.

The barricades surrounding the camp stand tall, but we all know the truth. They won't hold—not when it really matters. A cold breeze slips through the cracks, biting at my thin clothes.

Winter is coming.

The irony makes me chuckle under my breath. Of all the worlds I could have ended up in, it had to be this one.

The rain hasn't let up, but it's down to a drizzle now, more irritating than anything. The chill seeps into my bones as I leave the camp, weaving through the barricades like a ghost. The mud squelches under my boots, every step deliberate, every movement quiet. I don't need to look back to know no one's following me—not yet, at least.

"Really?" I whisper harshly, straightening when Clarke and Bellamy step out of the underbrush, both dripping wet. "If you guys were going to follow me, you could have been a bit quieter."

"You weren't exactly subtle," Bellamy snaps, his voice low but biting. His hand hovers near the knife on his belt. 

I snort, pushing past him. "Well don't let me stop you from your path."

Clarke steps in front of me, her arms crossed, blocking my path. "You can't just walk off on your own. We need to slip up into teams we can track, we've already lost too many people."

I keep moving, brushing past her. "What does it look like im doing? I'm scouting."

"Alone ?" she says, incredulous. "That's not a plan—it's a suicide mission."

"Maybe," I say, not looking back. "But at least it's my mission."

Bellamy's laugh is sharp, humorless. "Your mission? Don't kid yourself, Maddox. You're not exactly the hero type."

I whirl on him, the venom in my voice surprising even me. "And you are? Tell me, Bellamy—what's your plan? Keep playing king of the camp until the Grounders slit your throat? "

His jaw tightens, but Clarke cuts in before he can respond. "We don't have time for this," she snaps. "If you've got some brilliant idea, why not share it instead of storming off like a martyr?"

I take a step closer to her, my voice dropping low. "Because you don't want to hear it."

The tension between us is suffocating. Clarke's eyes burn into mine, defiance flickering in her gaze, but there's fear there too—fear I know all too well.

"What are you not telling us?" she asks, quieter now.

For a moment, I hesitate. The words sit heavy on my tongue, but I shove them down. "Nothing you don't already know."

Bellamy moves past me, standing just ahead with his eyes scanning the forest. "Enough with the cryptic bullshit. You said it back at the dropship. Spill it."

Clarke grabs my arm, stopping me. "What's your plan?"

My smile fades. "There is no plan," I say simply.

Clarke narrows her eyes, confusion twisting into disbelief. "What?"

"First," I say, circling them like a predator sizing up prey, "you steal my gun." My gaze flickers between their faces, sharp and accusing. "Then you use me as bait so you can pull off a half-baked ambush against the Grounders."

I stop, letting the weight of my words sink in before turning to Clarke, locking eyes with her. "And third you question my intentions. Like I didn't come down here with the rest of you."

Clarke stiffens, her guilt flashing across her face, but I'm not done. "You want to call me crazy? Fine. But i think you're starting to realize crazy is the only thing that works out here'" 

Clarke's voice breaks the tension, soft but strained. "Fine, we'll do it your way." and then cold blue eyes meet mine, "but the minute this plan goes haywire-"

I hold my hand up, "It wont." I scan Bellamy's apprehensive face, "you in or not?"

I let the question hang in the air for a moment, my silence heavier than any words.

Bellamy's jaw tightens, his eyes flicking between me and Clarke. He doesn't say anything right away, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. He doesn't trust me—hell, I wouldn't trust me either—but he knows he doesn't have a better option.

I take that as my answer, "good." I set my sights on the towering trees beside us, "first, we head to the bunker."