THE 100

Cockroaches are vile creatures. They're the type of insect my sister would scream at and yell at me to kill. But theyre stubborn. You spray them once they come back to life. You break their legs they grow a new one. And you trample them under your foot and they scurry back with a dying breath.

They're hard to kill and even harder to get rid of.

I hold monty's body in silence, as murphy or whoever this guy was stands above me in silence. He doesn't look like him, his face has gaunt eyes, all bee like and his hair, wiry thin and greasy.

Seeing him conscious was a hell of a lot different than the barely breathing Murphy in the sack. Clarke patched him up well. Too well.

He paces like a drunken man, muttering obscenities under his breath, his eyes locked onto mine with a dangerous intensity. He sways like hes powered by a drug, eyes drooping so i can see the bloodshot veins within them. I can feel the weight of his gaze, like a predator stalking its prey. I try to keep my breathing steady, but the way he moves, the way he circles me, it's unsettling, like he's trying to figure out how to make me pay.

"You thought you could leave me out there?" His voice is low, jagged with a mix of pain and anger. The words hit me like a physical blow. "You thought I wouldn't remember? You left me for dead."

I clench my teeth, trying to keep my composure. His appearance is twisted, like something that's been pulled from the grave, but it's the madness in his eyes that sends a chill down my spine. He's not just angry; he's been broken, shattered into something else. Something unrecognizable.

"I did what I had to do," I reply, my voice steady, though every muscle in my body screams for me to run. "The Grounders were closing in. It wasn't about you."

He laughs, but it's empty, void of humor. "It was always about me. You just didn't care enough to see it." His eyes flicker to Monty's body, his lip curling in a sneer. "Monroes dead because of you."

I swallow hard, my throat tight. "Think rationally about this murphy, i wasn't the one who chained you up back there. I didnt do this to you"

Murphy steps closer, the space between us shrinking with every breath. His gaunt face comes into sharper view, his eyes wild and unhinged. The anger in them is almost palpable, and for a moment, I wonder if he's going to kill me where I stand.

"You always had a choice," he growls, his breath hot on my face. "You didn't think when you knocked me out, it was always about doing everything for yourself.."

I freeze. I don't know how to respond. The truth is, I didn't care when I left him back there. All I thought about was following the damn plot and getting the hell out of here. But I can't say that. I can't let him know that I only saw him as a character in a show, some made up reality.

And then, he raises his hand, the cold metal of a gun pressing against the back of my neck. My heart skips a beat.

"They tortured me." he whispers, reliving the memories, "I counted the days, five."

"One by one, they took my fingers..." His voice cracks as he continues. "Questions. Always questions. Who I was, how many of us there were. They didn't care about me. They just wanted answers. All they wanted to know was who sent the message."

I can hear his breath catching in his throat as the memories surge forward, and for a moment, the cold barrel of the gun at my neck feels even colder. I'm caught in the quiet between us. The sound of his breathing is labored, but beneath it is something else. He wants me to feel what he felt. Wants to make me suffer the way he did.

"Its the grounders that did this to you, Murphy," I try to stand, "not me, not any of us, let me fix this."

With a sudden shift, the gun presses harder against my neck, digging into the sensitive skin. I can feel the slight tremble in his hand. "You think I'll just forget?" he hisses, his voice low, dangerous. "Forget what they did to me? Forget what you did to me?"

I don't respond. I don't know what to say. He's right in a way. I left him. Left him for dead in the clearing, not knowing what would happen to him. I didn't know how far the grounders would go to get their answers. But I didn't have a choice.

He takes the gun away from my neck. And then he deliberately moves away until he reaches the latch for the door. I move to stand, hands already clenching my dagger out of my sleeve. 

Murphy steps back, his face hidden in the dim light, but I can feel the intensity of his gaze on me. The gun shifts slightly, resting now against Monty's prone figure, a silent threat that sends a cold spike of dread through my chest.

"Don't," I mutter, voice low, barely a whisper, but enough to fill the space between us. "You want me, not him."

I freeze, every muscle in my body tense as I watch Murphy slowly pull the lever. The creaking of the dropship doors is a harsh, grinding sound, like the last breath of a dying animal. The air in the cabin seems to thicken, pressing down on me as if the world itself is holding its breath.

Monty lies there, unconscious, completely unaware of the danger hanging over him. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, the slow rhythm of his sleep a cruel contrast to the storm of tension swirling around us.

Murphy doesn't flinch. His hand hovers over the gun for a moment longer, then he flicks his wrist and the door clicks shut with a finality that chills me to the core. The seal snaps into place, muffling the sounds of the outside world. For a second, there's nothing but the steady hum of the ship's inner workings. But then it hits—the distant sounds of banging, frantic and violent, as the others outside realize what's happening. It's chaos, confusion, desperation. But inside, the world has gone eerily quiet.

The ship jerks slightly as the locks engage, the massive weight of the doors securing us in. I hear them, the muffled thuds, the angry fists pounding against the hull. They're trying to break in, trying to stop whatever Murphy's set in motion. But it's too late. The dropship is sealed, and we're trapped inside.

"Murphy, what the hell are you doing?" I spit the words out, more out of instinct than anything else. My hand tightens around the dagger in my sleeve, my body coiling with the urge to act, but I force myself to remain still.

Murphy doesn't look at me. He just stares down at Monty, his voice almost a whisper. "I told you, Maddox. I'm not finished. I still have something to settle."

He turns to face me, the coldness in his eyes betraying the mask of rage. "And you're not leaving until I get what I want."

A banging comes from above, my name shouted like a muffled scream.

I swallow, mind racing. 

"Do it." I say, and watch as Murphy's face contorts from his sadistic expression.

"what?" I inch closer to the barrel of his gun, "do it." I spit.

He stares at me, confusion flickering behind the madness in his eyes. His finger twitches on the trigger, but something in my gaze makes him hesitate. The gun is still pressed to my chest, the cold metal a reminder of how fragile my life is in this moment. But I don't flinch. I don't blink.

"You're really gonna go through with it?" I ask, my voice low, almost taunting. "Then kill me here and finish it."

Murphy's face twitches, like he's trying to process what's happening. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving mine, and for a second, I think I might see something like doubt in him.

"Youre crazy" he mutters, his voice rough, like he's trying to keep control of the situation. But the grip on his gun is looser now, his arms trembling.

"Crazy?" I repeat the word like acid on my tongue. "Maybe. But you're the one holding the gun, aren't you?"

Id been called that more times than i can count. 

The tension between us thickens. His eyes burn with something darker than just hatred now, something twisted—fear, maybe, or the realization that he's not as in control as he thought.

"You think you're better than me?" he growls, his voice strained, teeth grinding. "You think you've won?"

I take another slow step forward, closing the gap. "No. I just think I'm smarter than you."

His lip curls in a sneer. "I'm not falling for your tricks, maddox. You may have fooled me once but I'm in control here."

"Get back," he growls, voice thick with venom.

But I don't. I won't.

"You're not in control here, Murphy," I whisper, my words sharp like a blade. "Not anymore."

Ever since id stepped foot into this place, time an dtime again, i was at the mercy of a blade that decided my fate. Hell nah. Ill do this my own way.

I see the shift in his eyes just before it happens—he realizes too late that he's underestimated me. His grip tightens around the gun, but I'm faster. In one swift motion, I pull the blade from my sleeve, twisting it deep into his hand, right where the gun's grip is. The sound of the metal biting into his flesh is sickening, and his eyes widen in pain.

"Ahh!" Murphy's voice cracks as he drops the gun, his hand jerking back, leaving the weapon in a heap beside us. I don't give him a moment to recover.

Before he can react, I'm on him, using the force of my body to slam him against the cold, unforgiving floor of the dropship. His breath hisses out of him, but I don't stop. His hands try to push me off, but they're weak, too slow. He's bleeding, and I'm on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground with all my weight.

But then, in the brief moment I'm distracted by the sheer weight of his resistance, Murphy's legs find purchase, kicking into my stomach, sending a shock of pain that briefly knocks the air from my lungs. I stagger back, but I don't give him the space he needs to escape. I push him back down, the knife still in my hand, its blade gleaming under the low light of the dropship.

I raise my fist and drive it into his face. Once. Twice. Again. The sickening crunch of bone beneath my knuckles echoes in the confined space, each impact sending crimson splattering across his twisted, snarling mouth.

"What did you tell them?" i spit. his nailless finger trembling in my grasp. 

His breath rasps, choked by the flood of blood pooling in his mouth. Yet, even as his face swells and his strength wanes, Murphy still grins through the pain, his eyes glinting with something unsettling—something that makes my skin crawl. 

"Everything."

He's gasping for breath now, his hands scrambling weakly at my chest, but I'm not moving. I stay on top of him, my knife raised above his throat, the tip hovering just inches from his skin. He's panting, his face twisted with pain and frustration, and I can see the fear beginning to settle in his eyes. So unlike the moments where he was ready to place a bullet through my brain.

"Please…" Murphy whispers, his voice hoarse. His defiance is starting to crack. "Please, don't do this…"

For a moment, I freeze, the blade still poised above him. His pleading face—bloodied, desperate—makes something inside me squeeze. I expect mercy, regret to bloom within me. Instead there is no hesitation in my movements. No lack of judgement or denial at the thought of bringing death.

There is only justice.

-

Raven's hands tremble, blood dripping from the cuts on her fingers as she claws at the rusted panels. Each scrape against the metal echoes like a countdown. She glances over at Wells, her heart pounding in her chest. He's fumbling with the tool, trying to unscrew the stubborn panel with little success.

"It's taking too long," Wells mutters, his frustration evident. "How long has it been?"

"Too long." raven mutters as her attempts grow unsuccessful. She kicks the heavy dropship, frustration bubbling within her. It had been twenty minutes, five of those since shed heard any sound coming from inside.

"I shouldn't have let him go by himself," Wells echoes regretfully. The rest of the teenagers, whose unity day fun had been broken for the night, pile around to watch. Shed heard the bang atop the dropship, and by the time shed come down to see what was happening, the door was already locked. Murphy, maddox and monty piled in a dropship alone. And one gun already missing. It wasnt hard to figure out the rest.

Raven steps forward, her eyes blazing. "We don't have time for 'should've.' We need action." She kicks the dropship again, her boot landing with a loud clang. "Monty's still in there too, and who knows what Murphy's doing."

A murmur of unease ripples through the crowd. It was enough to worry about the grounders, but an enemy within our own people was another fear to add to the checklist. Wells tightens his grip on the wrench, his frustration spilling over. "We need another way in. Maybe through the top hatch—"

Raven cuts him off, shaking her head. "Too risky. If Murphy hears us coming, he could use Monty or Maddox as leverage." Her voice cracks slightly, but she powers through it. "We need to be smarter than him."

At that moment, a loud bang echoes from inside the dropship, followed by a muffled yell. Raven's heart leaps into her throat. She spins toward Wells, eyes wide. "Did you hear that?"

He nods, his face paling. "Yeah. Maddox?"

Another thud follows, louder this time, like something—or someone—is slamming against the metal from within. The crowd backs up, fear spreading through them like wildfire. And then a gunshot ripples inside.

Silence. 

Raven's heart pounds in her chest, each beat drumming louder in her ears. She'd grown to like Maddox, the boy in the dropship. Sure, he was rude and a little crazy, but there was something about him—something worth saving. She couldn't let him die in there.

"We don't have time to think anymore," Raven snaps, grabbing the wrench from Wells. "Help me force this open, now!" Without waiting for his response, she shoves the tool into the crack between the panel and the frame, using all her strength to pry it loose.

Wells joins her, their combined strength making the metal groan under the pressure. The crowd watches, breathless, as the panel begins to budge. Raven grits her teeth, every muscle in her body straining.

"Come on," she growls through clenched teeth. "We're not losing them. Not today."

But her efforts are futile. 

The dropship door lurches with a deep groan, hinges creaking as it starts to move—from the inside. Raven stumbles back, wrench slipping from her bloody fingers. She exchanges a wide-eyed glance with Wells, both frozen as the heavy door shudders open. A plume of smoke curls out from the entrance, thick and suffocating, wrapping around the crowd like a ghostly veil.

The crowd falls silent, tension crackling in the air. Raven coughs, waving a hand in front of her face, trying to see through the smoke. Her heart races faster now, the adrenaline mingling with fear. She steps forward cautiously, eyes locked on the darkened entrance.

Two figures emerge from the thick veil of smoke, their silhouettes shifting into focus under the flickering light of the campfires.

Maddox steps out first, and for a moment, the crowd is silent, frozen by the sheer horror of his appearance. Blood streaks his face in jagged smears, masking his features until only his wild, piercing green eyes remain visible—glinting with a mix of exhaustion and fury. His thin lips are drawn into a hard, grim line, making him look like something torn from a child's worst nightmare.

In his arms, cradled with an unsettling care, is Monty. His unconscious form dangles limply, blood staining his shirt. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, as Maddox takes one step, then another, his boots dragging against the metal ramp of the dropship.

The crowd parts instinctively, their breaths held as if even the slightest sound would shatter the fragile tension in the air. Smoke continues to billow around them, swirling like ghosts in the firelight.

Raven's heart pounds in her chest as she steps forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maddox..."

But Maddox doesn't respond. He simply lowers Monty to the ground with deliberate care, straightening up slowly. His eyes lock onto Raven's, something raw and unspoken flickering in his gaze, before shifting to Wells, who stands rigid, clutching his weapon.

"Where's Clarke?" Maddox's voice is quiet, almost too calm for the state he's in. Despite the blood and the horror etched into his face, his tone is steady, controlled.

Raven feels something twist in her chest. Of course, he's asking for her. They always do.

"She went out with Bellamy and Finn," Raven answers, but her voice cracks. "Maddox, what the—"

"Get Monty on a stretcher," Maddox cuts in, his head snapping toward Wells with such intensity that Wells flinches. "Tie up his wound. It's not serious."

He turns back to Raven, his voice low but firm. "Get Miller and the others to watch the dropship." His eyes burn with quiet authority, leaving no room for argument.

"No one goes in."