THE 100

Wells is silent as we make our way through the dense forest, his spear gripped tightly in one hand. I can't tell if his mind is stuck on Clarke or something else entirely.

The atmosphere feels colder than it should for a summer night, like the Earth itself is holding its breath. The unnatural chill settles into my bones, making me wonder just how much this planet has changed. Years of nuclear radiation had done more than scar the landscape—it had rewritten it.

But something's off, and it's not just the weather or the freakishly mutated animals. It's me.

I flex my fingers, the sensation strange. I'd been stronger than usual, faster too. It wasn't normal, and it gnawed at the edges of my thoughts.

Wells finally breaks the silence, his voice quiet but heavy. "I don't get it," he mutters, almost to himself. "Why don't you hate me too?"

I glance at him, caught off guard. His face is tight with tension, his knuckles white around the spear.

"Am I supposed to?" I quip, raising a brow as I trudge through the mud that clings to my boots.

He hesitates, his expression clouded. "My dad… He's the one who ordered your arrest. Back on the Ark," he says, voice raw. "He floated parents, children"

The thought should scare me, but instead, it just makes me tired. I sigh, shaking my head. "And are you your father, Wells?" I ask, cutting through his self-pity with sharp words. "You live in his shadow, and you keep picking up his mistakes like you're the one who made them."

He looks at me, surprised, but I don't let up. "Just let it go," I say firmly. The last thing i wanted was to comfort Wells on his evident daddy issues. 

Wells stares for a moment before something shifts in his posture. The weight on his shoulders seems to ease, and he exhales quietly, almost like he's been waiting for permission to stop carrying it.

The sun dips lower behind the jagged mountains, painting our path in hues of deep orange and gold. It's beautiful in a way that feels almost cruel, considering how deadly this place is.

I push forward, the fatigue from our earlier hike settling in. "Are you sure we're on the right path?" I pant, struggling to keep my breath steady.

Wells nods confidently, "just a few more minutes until we reach the camp."

He's right, of course, but the unease curling in my chest won't go away. I grip my rifle tighter, my knuckles aching.

The trees begin to thin, and I spot the faint glow of something unnatural in the distance. Campfires. 

"There," Wells says, pointing toward the faint light. "The dropship."

We press forward, the glow growing brighter until we finally break through the last line of trees. The dropship looms ahead, battered and broken but still standing. The faint flicker of firelight dances against its steel frame, casting long, shifting shadows.

But something feels wrong.

I raise a hand to stop Wells before we get any closer, my eyes scanning the camp. It's too quiet. No voices, no movement. Just the crackle of the fire.

"Something's off," I mutter, my finger twitching on the rifle's trigger.

Wells frowns, lowering his spear slightly as his eyes dart around. "They have to be here. They wouldn't just leave."

I spot the back of montys head easily through the camp, he's holding something covered in a pale cloth.

"Monty" Wells calls out, his voice loud enough to carry but not enough to echo.

He turns around, face almost in pain, his eyes widened when he asks, "what are you guys doing out here there's still fog in the air."

Wells frowns, "there was another wave?", but ignore his question and jump straight to the point.

"Where's everyone else?" I demand, stepping closer, my eyes flicking to the dropship and the surrounding camp.

Monty looks surprised for a second, eyeing my bloody clothes, he jerks his head toward the dropship. "Inside. Clarke and Bellamy are arguing again. Raven's—" He pauses, his face twisting in frustration. "We don't have the radio. It wasn't in the pod."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What do you mean it wasn't in the pod? Where the hell is it?"

This wasn't how it went before, bellamy would have managed to throw it in some river, but they should have recovered it. Right?

I push wells out of my way, making it to the dropship with hurried steps, the latch is open and as I push the makeshift curtains away from my face, the entirety of the 100 are lazing around the first floor.

My eyes sweep the room, searching. "Where's Bellamy?" I demand, my voice cutting through the low hum of conversation.

The murmurs die out as all eyes turn to me. For a moment, no one moves. Then, a lanky guy near the ladder stands, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Bellamy said the upper floors are off-limits—"

I'm on him before he can finish, stepping into his space with barely restrained fury. "Does it look like I give a damn?" I growl, my words sharp enough to make him flinch.

He raises his hands, palms out, taking a cautious step back. "Hey, whatever, man. Go ahead."

I don't wait for more permission. I grab the rungs of the ladder, climbing two at a time. The metal is cool against my palms, the echoes of my boots ringing through the enclosed space. 

I reach the hatch and bang against it, my fists striking hard and fast. The noise reverberates, filling the silence above.

Seconds drag on, each one longer than the last. Just as I'm about to hit it again, the hinge groans and the hatch twists open. And then I burst through, not expecting to see what I do.

Clarke and bellamy are locked in a heated exchange, as they always are, but what i don't expect to see is raven on a table. Her face is pale, beads of sweat lining her brow. Blood seeps from a wound on her side, pooling against the crude bandages that can barely contain it. Finn is crouched beside her, gripping her arm like he's afraid it'll fall off, his gaze fixed on her face as she lets out a muffled grunt of pain.

My stomach drops. "What the—" I curse, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

All their heads snap toward me. Clarke's expression is a mix of shock and something sharper, like she's trying to piece together how I got here. Bellamy, on the other hand, looks like he's just seen a ghost. His shock quickly morphs into thinly veiled panic as his mouth opens.

"Miller—" he shouts, his voice tight with urgency, likely calling for whatever kid was stationed below. But he's too late.

I'm already bounding onto the floor, my movements fueled by frustration and adrenaline. My fist connects with his face before he can even react, a satisfying crack echoing through the room. He staggers back, crumpling to the ground with a grunt, clutching his jaw as his knees hit the floor.

My breathing is ragged as I stare down at him, fists still clenched. He looks up at me, wide-eyed, his face frozen in shock as if he's struggling to process what just happened.

"That," I spit, sneering at him, "was for stealing my gun."

Bellamy groans, his hand rubbing his jaw. He doesn't try to get up yet, still kneeling as his eyes dart between me and Clarke.

Clarke's face is pale, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. For a second, I think I see her flinch, the tiniest movement like she's expecting me to strike again. I tighten my fists to keep my frustration in check, swallowing down the knot in my throat.

"Relax, princess," I say, my voice low and sharp. "I don't fight girls."

She gulps, recovering quickly, but her wide eyes betray her unease.

Bellamy groans again, letting his head tilt back for a moment before muttering, "I deserved that."

"Damn right, you did," I snap, but my focus shifts to Raven, who lets out a pained hiss. Her lips are trembling, and the blood loss is making her weaker by the second.

"Someone wanna tell me what the hell happened to her?" I ask, my voice harsher than intended.

Clarke steps forward, her face hardening as she shifts into her default mode—control. "The pod lost control at the last second, and someone–," she says, glancing at Bellamy with more bite than concern. "Tossed the radio into the river, now we have no radio and no supplies." she holds her forehead like she's willing a migraine away.

But this had never happened on the show, ravens mission down here was flawless, not to mention the timing was way off. Why'd they send her down here so early?

"Is she gonna live?" I cut Clarke off, my voice sharper than I intend, my eyes flicking between all of them.

Finn is the one who answers, his voice trembling under the weight of everything. "That's what I've been asking for ages now."

There's a moment of silence, thick with unspoken tension. The look that passes between Finn and Clarke is heavy with something—regret, guilt, jealousy—who the hell knows. I roll my eyes at the exchange. Spacewalker seriously needs to sort out his issues.

"Monty said you guys didn't have the radio?" I ask, cutting through the silence. I remember him holding a covered sack earlier.

Bellamy scrambles to explain, rising to his feet with fumbling words. "I told you already! I only found one piece. The other must've tumbled into the—"

"Shut up!" Raven snaps, her voice cutting through his excuse like a whip.

She's still lying on the table, her face pale. She tries to sit up, and Finn holds her back, but she manages to prop herself on one elbow, glaring at Bellamy.

"If you'd been more careful, we'd still have the adapter!" she growls, her voice trembling with pain.

The weight of her words silences the room, but my attention shifts to her wound. Her shirt is lifted just enough to reveal the gash on her side, blood oozing through Clarke's hastily wrapped bandages. It looks smaller than a gash, but it bleeds profusely.. And if I needed anything right now, it was a living mechanic.

I glance at Clarke, who's biting her nails, her frustration palpable. "What's the situation with her injuries?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "Is there something lodged in her, or is it just a wound?"

Clarke blinks, like she's been startled out of a daze. She shakes her head quickly, trying to focus. "I think its a wound from the landing, some opf the metal must have scraped at her skin when she dropped down," she says. "It shouldn't be life-threatening, but Its not like jaspers wound, we don't have a poultice.

"Did you go through my pack?" I say, my voice firm. Clarke stares at me, startled, "no, why?"

I meet Clarke's gaze, holding it steady. "Theres vials from the grounders, id bet there'd be an antibiotic somewhere in there."

She hesitates for a beat, but then shakes her head, "how can we trust the grounders to just carry medicine with them?"

I scratch my cheek, my own wound festering, "the grounder I ran into was a tracker, I doubt she'd carry vials of poison out here. We can bet that at least one of those vials is an antidote."

Bellamy grunts from beside us, his hand holding his bleeding nose, "i'm starting to think you're actually loony. You're packs gots a bunch of shady liquids and you want us to believe i'll have some miracle medicine?"

I breathe through my nose, I wonder if he and Murphy are secretly brothers. "If you wanna be eaten by grounders out there looking for a miracle, be my guest," Bellamy gives me a sharp look, "now where's my satchel?" I calmly answer and then he throws the pack from across the room, the force slamming into my chest. I let it fall to the ground, ignoring bellamy's macho bravado.

I yank open the top of the bag, spilling its contents onto the floor with a sharp, clicking noise—metal objects, scraps, the remnants of what was once a carefully packed bag. But I don't have time to curse Bellamy for the mess.

I sift through the vials, my fingers brushing against them, cold and smooth. The grounders' medicine is a strange mix of glass and metal, each bottle filled with something mysterious. Some look like simple liquid, others have cloudy substances, and a few are dark enough to seem dangerous. 

"Can we hurry this up?" Finn growls, near raven's side.

I grab one of the vials, a dull amber color. And I hold it near my nose, the sharp scent of iodine and peroxide hits my nose. I look at Clarke. "This one. I think this is it."

Clarke looks at me, still skeptical but desperate, "Are you sure?"

I give her a hard look. "You want to gamble on another option?" My hand is shaking, but I don't let her see it. I uncork the vial, the sharp scent of herbs and chemicals filling the air. And hand it to the unbelieving blonde in front of me. 

She takes the vial from me, her fingers brushing against mine for just a moment before she pulls it away. The smell of iodine and peroxide fills the air again, stronger this time as she dips a cloth into the liquid. 

Finn retracts from beside raven, avoiding clarke's eyes. 

Clarke presses the cloth to Raven's side carefully, her brow furrowing as she gently dabs at the wound. Raven flinches, her body tensing for a split second before she forces herself to relax. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her grip on the table tight, nails digging into the wood.

"It's deep," Clarke says after a moment, her voice low but tense. "But I don't see anything too critical. It's more surface-level than I thought." She spares me a glance, her earlier skepticism softened by what might be relief. "The antiseptic's helping."

"It stings," Raven murmurs, her voice strained, but she doesn't pull away. Clarke works quickly, applying the antiseptic to the wound, her movements precise despite the tension in the air.

I heave a sigh of relief as the tension in the room eases, if only slightly. Despite the chaos, I decide to break the silence. "So, why'd they send you down here?" I ask, my voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

Clarke shoots me a sharp look, clearly unamused by the timing of my question. Raven, however, lifts her head slightly, her face pale and damp with sweat. Her brows knit together as she answers. "The Ark's air supply is running out. Abby sent me to see if you guys were alive and if the ground was habitable."

I let her words sink in for a second before replying. "And now that the radio's gone, what? Everyone up there is screwed?"

Raven winces as Clarke presses the cloth deeper into her wound. "Without the adapter," she grits out, "the parts we pulled from the water are useless. No signal. No Ark."

I shrug, glancing at the wreckage of the dropship around us. "Okay, so we make an adapter."

Raven lets out a bitter laugh, strained from pain. "You think it's that easy? Look around, genius. There's nothing but trees for miles."

I smirk. "I think you've lost too much blood raven, what are we standing in?"

Raven pauses, confusion flickering across her face. "What—" She cuts herself off, realization dawning. "Oh."

"Yeah," I say, gesturing around us. "It might be a piece of junk now. Half the wires are fried, that still means the other half might work. Can you make one?"

She exhales shakily, the fight leaving her for a moment. "If we can salvage the right parts...maybe. I'll try."

I grin despite myself, the tension between us easing for a brief moment. It's the first real conversation I've had in days that didn't feel like walking a tightrope. But I know I can't stay here. The dropship is safe for now, but I'm not the kind of person who waits around for danger to find me.

I leave the pack of liquids on the dropship floor, only taking out the dark blue one and stuff it into my bag.

I sling my salvaged satchel across my chest, the strap settling against the holster of my gun. Clarke glances up from where she's tending to Raven. "Where are you going?" she asks, her tone sharp with suspicion.

I don't answer, stepping toward the exit. Bellamy pushes himself off the wall, glaring at me. "She asked you a question," he growls, his voice commanding as he blocks my path.

I meet his gaze head-on, ignoring the curious tilt of Raven's head as she watches from Finn's hold. "You said you were serious about fighting these grounders, right?"

Bellamy narrows his eyes. "Fighting?!" Finn echoes, incredulous.

"That's none of your business, Maddox," Bellamy snaps.

"You made it my business when you dragged me into your messed-up mission," I counter, my voice calm but laced with steel.

He bristles but doesn't respond. Clarke looks between us, her jaw tightening. "So, what are we planning to do?"

"There's no 'us,'" I say bluntly, my hand gripping the edge of the trapdoor. "I'll admit you had one thing right, we can't keep waiting around for the grounders to make the first move."

Bellamy scoffs, but Clarke looks unconvinced. "Are you…"

I roll my eyes, lifting the latch from its place, the noise from the lower floors filtering into this one. "One word of advice," this time I look up at raven's pink face, "dont shoot any damn rockets."