'Man is the vainest of all creatures that have their being upon earth.' Homer, Odyssey.

Season 1, Episode 2
Earth Skills

Sept 14th, 2201

Never in her life had Emilia thought she would spend the night fighting teenagers to sleep. Many rode the high of Bellamy's proclamation, howling at the moon, and wreaking havoc. As the night drew on, fatigue hit them but not enough to stop them from sleepily fighting each other for their claims on tents.

The night made it hard to tell time, but Emilia was sure she spent at least an hour arguing with three teenagers to share a tent. She managed to convince them by offering to teach them how to fight. She was too spent to bother with the boys singing—screeching in all honesty—in the distance. Her focus remained on the younger kids.

Jaha sent down five kids, ages twelve to fourteen. They all shared a similar story to their arrest. Their parents arrested and they acted out in grief and lack of understanding. Instead of comforting them and attempting to explain what occurred, Jaha and his Council of Clowns sent them to the Skybox.

It made sense for how he treated Wells. Why attempt to raise children when you could send them away?

Fox volunteered to stick with them in the second-largest tent they made. The girl had spent her time in Arrow Station's library and she nearly always was the one to do story time for the Ark's youth.

All but one wanted to stay in the tent.

"I'd rather sleep alone." The oldest at fourteen, her blonde hair was messily cascading down her back. Ending at the middle of her spine, she kept pushing it back, swiping from her face. She reminded Emilia of Monroe in many ways.

Emilia noticed her as the rain eased into scattered droplets, with her tongue shot out and head tilted back. Giggles spilled out of the young girl whenever the raindrops landed on her scrunched features. Emilia left her to her own devices to set up a laundry line.

Every now and then she would catch the girl in the shadows, watching her.

"You don't have to be alone anymore." Emilia reverted back to her height rather than leaning forward, using her knees to hold up her body as she did to talk to the other kids. "It's better to sleep in groups."

The girl crossed her arms—not out of defiance but to ease herself. She held her ground but fought herself between scowling at Emilia or remaining stoic. Perhaps she was more similar to Trina—or maybe Minerva; just a cover to protect herself.

"Why don't you come stay with my friends and I on the third floor?" Her face shifted. She was more interested than her first option. Emilia smiled at her. "You don't seem like you need to sleep in the little kids' tent anyway."

Her face softened. Her brown eyes widened, unfamiliar with being talked to like a person. They shifted down as she tucked her chin to her collarbone, fidgeting with her fingers. "I get...nightmares."

"That's okay. When that happened to me on the Ark, I used to play music. I can try humming something for you if you'd like?"

She nodded almost instantaneously. "I'd like that...Thank you, Monarch."

"You can call me, Emilia."

"Charlotte."

"Well, Charlotte, how about I braid your hair in the morning?"

A sparkle bloomed in her eyes. She nodded.

It wasn't long after retreating to the highest level of the Dropship and letting Charlotte get comfortable on Emilia's lap and Minerva on Emilia's shoulder, that the two girls fell asleep to the hums. Both flinched and jolted in their sleep, but remained in the state for the rest of the night.

They didn't budge when the hatch door squealed open. Wells surfaced from below. He caught Emilia's gaze and then refused to meet it again. The scattered moonlight that seeped through the small windows lit him enough. Sweat mixed with Earth veiled his face. Dirt accumulated on his dull blue jacket. His clothing was as disheveled as he attempted to conceal. His left hand reached over to his right, tugging down his sleeve.

His wristband missing.

"Who?"

"No." He stepped into the shadows of the farthest wall from Emilia and the sleeping girls. He slumped into the darkness.

Emilia guided Minerva to lean against the wall. She woke up slightly to move herself onto the floor, curling into a ball. Emilia shifted Charlotte and set her head on Minerva's jacket.

"Wells." Emilia stood in front of him, unable to see him as he wanted. She couldn't even see her own limbs in some moments; she nearly became translucent under the moonlight.

"Bellamy."

She flared her nose, ready to spin on her heels to go deal with Bellamy. She didn't care if it was the dead of night. He didn't care that Wells was not his father, that he was barely older than Octavia.

Wells caught her by the arm. "Don't. He didn't hurt me—he just took off the band."

"To convince your dad you're dead."

"But I'm not. I'm fine." The fabric that constrained him shifted. His breathing became a shaky exhalation in his struggle to stabilize it. "Can we just sleep?"

Emilia never went to sleep that night. She sat beside Wells and hummed for him. When his snores filled the enclosed level, she descended to the ground. Bodies piled on the second and first floors. Closely knit for warmth but far away for security.

The sky was now painted a blueish gray. The Sun crept from its stay on the other side of Earth to soon bring color back to the people. Natural silence found the Earth once again. Morning birds chirped. Wind glided against leaves. Peace was held in the cusps of day and night.

Before dawn could rise, she started digging graves for the boys who died. Glen Dickson and Elijah Bishop. Wells and Pascal brought them to the space Emilia claimed for a graveyard when the rain stopped. It made bile rise to her throat to have to decide where a graveyard would be. It had to be enough space for more as if she needed to expect more death to come.

Death would come regardless. From hunger, from accident. From the nature. From oneself. From each other.

With Bellamy's speech, petty fights were bound to become more violent—the drive to defend what they claimed as theirs would turn into the need to defend their life from the other. Revenge wouldn't be enough to dispel attempts at thievery or attacks. Blood would spill to prove how far one will go to defend their possessions.

Bodies would fall.

Violence was instilled into the children of the Ark as the only way to save themselves. Being trapped in a space station, you were always bound to see someone at least once a day. Everyone nearly knew everyone, or at least knew their faces.

Being violent would fix that. Either they acted harsh enough to end the life or they would be locked away, both ended in never seeing the person again.

Being locked away, you never knew what the person next to you did unless they dared to tell. Trust was a thin line that was built upon the eyes of Guardsmen. If they were watching, no one would dare fight. Sometimes.

Emilia found knives in the pockets of the body. Wells explained that they cut themselves out of their chairs to follow Finn's actions—a spacewalk. The sudden thrust into the atmosphere slammed them into the walls. Finn was lucky to survive. Amidst uncertainty, the teenagers stupidly acted to have fun. An experience left for Zero-G mechanics.

Why they had knives were questions better left unasked. There was no need for speculation. They were dead.

She dug her knees into the dew-coated grass, and her jeans grew damp as her fingers wove together. Emilia never believed in a God—she found them as perplexing creatures founded in desperation—but she never found it in her to deny their existence. A God was much like a symbol—sought after for answers, to place the blame on, to sear with questions, to seek salvation.

Many confused a messiah for God. Gods couldn't advise humanity, so they called out messengers to carry their words. The human mind wasn't made for it. The words muddled together—different messages were sent to different people. War burgeoned at the lack of understanding. One religion over the other. One word over the next—an endless battle to be heard while refusing to listen.

On the Ark, religion faded into the shadows over the years. How could a God punish them to the void? They knew the reason but refused to listen. Some kept believing, keeping their faith close to their hearts. Others roamed with a belief in the life within—something tangible. Others returned to their ancestral beliefs of nature.

Every week, they kneeled before the Eden Tree as a child watered it. One day, they would return to Earth. One day, they would do better.

It was always one day, never today.

The grass squelched beneath boots. Her hands detached; her eyes closed. She let out a breath of a silent prayer—may they live on within her.

Emilia lifted her head as she rid her brow bone of sweat. "Go rest, Emilia."

"I slept fine." Wells stared at her with disappointment.

"You were up half the night getting people into tents and helping that kid to sleep. I know you didn't sleep."

"Tell me what really happened with Blake then?"

Wells lowered his head out in fear of what happened or what would happen if he told Emilia, she wasn't sure—and based on his reaction, Wells couldn't decipher it either.

Undergrowth rustled, shifting their attention onto the noise. "Everything okay?" Minerva asked, nearing with her jacket wrapped around her waist.

Wells looked to Emilia.

"Everything's fine," she lied with ease. She used the makeshift shovel to stand. She stomped it into the dirt, letting it stand on its own.

"Except Emilia won't go rest."

Placing a hand on her hip, Minerva's nose wrinkled. "I thought you went to sleep after helping Charlotte?"

"I did," Emilia huffed, her jacket clenched around her skin, strangling her at every micro-movement. "And then I woke up early to bury the two kids."

"Can you please convince her to rest?" Wells repositioned himself closer to Minerva, whispering as if Emilia couldn't hear.

Scouring his eyes for something, Minerva found nothing. She let out a huff. "It works out. I need to show you something."

Emilia restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "Just—"

"Get the clothes to share. I know."

"I was gonna say don't get into any fights but that, too."

Minerva led her to the back of the dropship, where a map was drawn on the metal. Plans to construct the landing zone into something sustainable. She drew out a wall made from fallen trees that housed sections within the camp; tent arrangements neared the Dropship, which stood across from a smoke hut with a garden adjacent to it.

"I was just thinking, since Mount Weather is so far, it's probably best we build a camp here—I don't think anyone's gonna be willing to leave anyway." She crossed her arms and then glanced at Emilia. "It's stupid but—"

"It's smart. I don't know about the math for how many logs, but it'll be enough to start with."

Minerva grew proud before stifling it. "Cool. I just...the stronger people; they're Bellamy's bitches. They aren't going to help."

"I'll figure that part out."

"Not, like, doubting you or anything, but...how?"

"The same way you convince anyone to do anything." His ticks weren't the same, but they're bound to still derive from a similar place. Somewhere in his capriciously hallowed chest cavity, there lay a restless need to breathe. "You make it benefit them."

They walk and pass by Wells, carrying clothes from the deceased boys, "I thought I told you to rest. Did I not tell you to tell her to rest?"

Minerva shrugged. "I can't tell her what to do."

"Neither of you can tell me what to do." She understood the concern, truly. She was used to people believing they knew better than her. But her limits were hers for a reason. "But don't pop a blood vessel, Wells, I'm going to sort rations as rest."

"That's not rest!"

"Rest is subjective!"

She passed through the trees, nodding her head to the drums in the distance. Teenagers wore smiles. They were happy to be alive—dancing, picking flowers, crafting, living. On the Ark, creative acts were left to children to garner who would be best where. At twelve, childish items were sent back to collections for the next generation of kids. Childhood was severed to prepare the youth to take their parents' places.

Seamstresses were the closest thing to a creative job. Still, it was heavily restricted. Anything that was crafted had to follow the Ark's guidelines. No extravagant pieces, it was just a waste of resources. Only what was necessary. Every piece must serve a purpose. Everyone must prove they were worth living.

But Earth. On Earth, they could do more than the job expected of them. They can be more than their family lines. They could do nothing or do anything. The choice was theirs.

That was a society worth cultivating. Not a monotonous life stuck in monochrome colors in chains.

As she moved farther into the clearing, the pounding of drums grew louder. A group circled each other, beating against buckets and other hollow items with sticks. Two of the youngest, Bruno Huber and Collette Sissons, formed their own choreography to the noise. They linked arms, skipping in circles with infectious grins.

"Keep it up; you guys are good." She handed each one a welded cup of rations. Bruno and Collette rushed to Emilia, taking it upon themselves to pass out the cups to their musicians. They thanked her. One of the older girls placed a flower into the side of Collette's thick ringlets as appreciation. They returned to their music.

"Can I help?" Fox asked timidly. Despite telling her otherwise, she remained worried that Emilia was upset with her for last night.

"Of course. We'll try to get the most out of this one," Emilia said, leaning down to lift the bucket toward the open seats, "but we'll most likely need to go back out later."

"Is it...safe?"

Emilia gave a short nod, placing the bucket down. She huffed as she took a seat. "For the most part, yeah. We just have to worry about animals."

An idea formed in Fox's head; she beamed at the thought of it. "I've always wanted to try real meat."

"One day." They manage to fill around forty bowls. Fox found her voice after some time. Stories of being forced to volunteer at Farm Station by her parents to stop her from spending all her time at the library. She was scouted by the Agriculture Technicians at fifteen but never got the chance to decide if she wanted to accept it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emilia noticed Wells talking to a shirtless Bellamy, both looking annoyed by the mere presence of the other.

"Hey, Fox, do me a favor and finish without me? I won't say anything if you snack, just don't overdo it."

"Okay, but you gotta teach me how you knocked down Murphy."

It went on her list. A day of training. "You've got a deal."

But not with the environment Bellamy was cultivating, she needed to fix that first.

She trudged over and caught Bellamy saying, "You want it back? Take it."

Wells glared at Bellamy. Behind Wells, Minerva stood with her mouth clamped shut. Resisting the urge to punch Bellamy in the face, she gripped her knife. Emilia couldn't tell if it was her fighting herself or her inability to actually act.

Wells, instead, threw the clothes to a group behind him. They jump at the clothes as if their lives depended on it, as if it would fix their hunger, as if their problems would be solved.

Bellamy beamed at his work. He established chaos for the fun of it. It made people fear him and it made others enjoy his reign. A black hilt peaked over his waistband—who the hell was dumb enough to give him a gun?

"Can you go a day without picking fights, Cadet?" Bellamy held a heady gaze over her. She kept her eyes on his while he scanned her—his intangible examination of her forced her arm hair to rise. His smugness never once faded. Only amplified within the night when he attacked Wells. He grew from the destruction.

"If Chancellor Junior wants it to be Ark 2.0, he has to prove he actually wants it." He stepped closer to her, towering over with a smirk. He had never been a methodical man—though everything he did, no matter how incautious, Emilia realized, led back to his sister. His north star as he once told. He would cite every selfish action as a means to protect his family.

Wells stepped forward to defend Emilia. He wedged himself between them, forcing Bellamy to step back. Bellamy's expression withered into something acrid. "Is this what you want? Chaos?"

"What's wrong with a little chaos?"

A scream echoed as an answer.

Emilia bolted over. Rapid footfall hot on her trail. The camp found Murphy haphazardly holding a girl with a beanie above a fire, "Bellamy, check it out. We want the Ark to think that the ground is killing us, right? Figure it'll look better if we suffer a little bit first."

In a blink, Minerva became a comet in the night, soaring down the hill to shove Murphy off the girl. Her confidence found once again to fight Murphy. "You're a dick, you know that, John?"

Sliding down the hill, Emilia rushed to the girl. Hanna. She insisted she was fine, just shaken up. Emilia took her word for it. She stood, facing the fight.

Minerva bared her teeth, seething, while Murphy took the whole situation as a joke.

"You jealous, Minnie? You used to like this dick." He motioned to his crotch, gaining the laughter he wanted from his friends.

Unbothered by his words, Minerva fought back in his style. Bark until the other felt pressured to silence it with a bite. "Can't tell when someone's acting? Probably too busy searching for your own dick to realize."

His friends laughed. Other teenagers that began to circle laughed. Murphy looked around; his face flushed. She knew him like the back of her hand. Every tick and every button. It was all memorized. Minerva dug beneath his skin to set his anger aflame. She knew he'd rather fight until death than let himself be embarrassed.

She was right.

He lunged towards her. Minerva's confidence faltered. She gripped her knife tightly, widening her stance a tad too far. She would have fallen backward if Murphy attacked her.

Would have. Wells shoved him to the ground. His head ricocheted off the dirt. Wells turned to Bellamy, who finally found something to cover up, "You can stop this!"

"Stop this?" His eyes redirected to Murphy as he rose with red stars in his eyes. He clawed the dirt, gathering it beneath his nails. A boy became an animal. Enraged and wronged. "I'm just getting started."

"Duck, Wells!" Minerva shouted as Emilia sprinted to him.

Her body was yanked back into restraint. Bulky arms wrapped tightly around her waist, sweeping her from stable ground. Ash and burnt wood filled her nose. Bellamy peered down at her with a wry curve on his lips.

All she could see from the corner of her eyes was Bellamy's newest recruit, Atom, catching Minerva. He hauled her by her wrist into place. Instead of holding her, he positioned a knife beneath her jawline and grasped her forearm.

Wells didn't react in time. Murphy punched him in his worry for the girls, taking advantage of his attempt at good faith.

The crowd begins to roar as they had last night, chanting like animals who simply want to be entertained. This wasn't an act done for power; it was simply done because they could. Where did the line thin? The desire to do whatever you pleased and harm because you desired it? How did it form as a type of entertainment? Was it knowing that it wasn't you? The feeling of being the watcher instead of the victim?

Bystanders were what they were. Children.

Fighting her captor, Bellamy denied Emilia at every shift to escape. He gripped her tighter, pressing her into his chest. His hot breath grazed her neck. "You can't control everything."

She tried again. He held her too close to get any effective use of her legs. Her arms were uselessly trapped by his. Every move somehow brought them closer—she suffocated in the enormity of him. He wanted her to feel caged. To be small and useless and nothing.

Wells gave her a nod. His eyes burned, saying, 'I've got this.'

As if he had to prove himself worthy. He didn't. He was a person and that should've been enough for his voice to be heard. But it wasn't. It would never be in a group left behind for their flaws.

Emilia stilled. But Bellamy didn't let go of her. He, instead, slung his arms around her shoulders, her spine curved against his chest. His warm breath dragged across the nape of her neck, grazing behind her ear as he drew closer. He spoke slow and sultry. "You know, there's a balance to life? You can't have the good without the bad. Peace without chaos. And you can't play God to fix it."

Of course, all he remembered from Pike's class was that. Life was just one big game of give and take—a constant exchange of energy to maintain it. "Is it playing God, or is it having human decency to try to stop it before someone gets killed?" She clenched her jaw, trying to calculate an out to this madness. One wrong move and the embrace could turn into a chokehold. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She could hear him smirking. He was satisfied with his hold on her, how he managed to catch and jail her.

"You need to leave him alone." Following each jab and dodge, she swallowed her visceral reactions. It didn't stop her involuntary clutch on Bellamy's forearms, squeezing with every close call. Neither of them should have been put in this situation. Both believed they had to prove themselves for different reasons.

"I am," he told matter-of-factly. He saw what she had. He knew it like an old friend. He was once like the two boys, doing everything to prove himself worthy. "I don't control Murphy."

"He listens to you."

Murphy attacked Wells from behind. Forcing the taller boy onto his knees, Murphy used it to his advantage. He jailed Wells by the neck with his arm.

"You can train a dog to do whatever, but they'll still follow that instinct to kill."

"You can also correct the dog to learn better."

Wells took control of the fight. He gripped Murphy's arms and swung forward. He flipped him over and punched Murphy until he grew dazed.

Not an inch of Emilia could relax. Well did have it, but it came at the price of Murphy's blood being spilled. Pain proved nothing. It would never be enough. The crowd's enjoyment fizzled out. Minerva's cheers brought back noise.

And Murphy's rage.

Wells turned his back to his opponent. "Don't you see, you can control this?"

The boy who never knew a fair life wasn't going to start now. He pulled out a knife made from the Dropship's metal. Bellamy's body tensed with hers. His breath hitched in her ear.

Murphy rose to his feet once more, born again in fury. "You're dead."

"Let me go, Blake!"

He complied. He let go of her, stepping into the makeshift circle. "Wait." And like a dog, Murphy obeyed. Bellamy raised his makeshift knife to Wells. "Fair fight."

"Wells." Emilia pleaded with him silently. He didn't need to do this. He didn't need to become something he wasn't. He was enough. Even if no one else agreed, he was enough.

"I've got it."

"See, Monarch, he wants it." He stalked closer, not interested in the fight but in her. He eclipsed her, reminding her how small she was compared to him. He held the say simply because he had the power to demand silence. All he wanted was her fear in him, to submit to him like all the others. "Everyone wants it—you want it. But you're scared."

He may have changed, but Emilia was certain she hadn't.

She took the final step before he could, diminishing the gap that separated them. She held her chin up. It was ingrained in her blood not to back down. Not to anyone. Not to him. "For my wellbeing? No. For you and your boys?"

The crowd gasped. Bellamy contorted to see what occurred. Wells gained the upper hand. He overtook Murphy, taking him by surprise. He spun the feeble boy around, taking him as a prisoner in his arms. Wells held Bellamy's blade against Murphy's throat.

Emilia grinned. Bellamy turned to her, soaking in her insidious joy. "Yes."

"What are you doing?" Cutting through the forest, Clarke's voice howled in strangulation from exhaustion and fear. Her anger was a thick, palatable poison. On the verge of passing out once her adrenaline wore off, the fight was the last thing she wanted to return to. "Drop it!"

Emilia strode around Bellamy, narrowing her eyes at Atom. The boy slowly moved his blade from Minerva. She bit down on her teeth before sending the heel of her boot into Atom's toes.

No one else dared to act. They stuck to their positions as the Mount Weather group trickled back, all gasping for air as their hearts ran rampant in their chest. Finn leaned against a tree for support. Something was wrong.

"Wells! Let him go!"

Her command fell on deaf ears. Wells kept Murphy restrained, countering his movement. He switched his sights on Emilia. A swift nod complied Wells to release Murphy, shoving him away.

Clarke's violent glare nearly became tangible. She trudged down the hillside, clutching her bag tightly. She deemed Emilia responsible for the mess. At least partly.

Murphy proved it wasn't Emilia's doing. He sprinted towards Wells with red in his vision, a missile ready to explode. Turns out Bellamy did know the kill switch. He uprooted Murphy as if he weighed nothing. "Hey! Enough, Murphy."

Clarke softened her look on Emilia. Emilia looked past her. Monty took the weight of Octavia on one shoulder. A tourniquet coiled around her thigh, blood seeping through the jean fabric. Alarm bells rang. Every con of staying she weighed went as she calculated. Something went terribly wrong out in the woods.

The sight of Octavia dissolved Bellamy out of his act. For a moment, Emilia could say she recognized him. Bellamy rushed toward his sister, taking her into his arms for safety. "Octavia! Are you alright?"

"Where's the food?" Murphy dared to ask. He smeared off the blood that trickled from his nose.

"They obviously don't have it, genius."

Finn planted himself on a stump, attempting to catch his breath. Shadows enveloped his face. Sweat accumulated above his brow bone. His gaze was distant as if his soul was called back onto the Ark. "We didn't make it to Mount Weather."

"Why?" Emilia took in their distraught expressions. It spread within the camp like a plague. "What happened?"

Simultaneously, Bellamy spoke to coercion a fleshed-out answer, "What the hell happened out there?"

"We were attacked." Silence swept the camp at Clarke's words. Air became a luxury. Did they need to draw in a breath for a moment if something was lurking in the shadows that threatened to take it from them? Emilia scanned the crowd—a paralyzing terror consumed each and every one of the teenagers.

"Attacked?" Wells repeated, unsure if he heard correctly. Disbelief crinkled his face. "By what?"

"Not what? Who," Finn revealed, shredding any ounce of joy that remained in the camp. Their naivety slapped them across the face—Bellamy's speech spoiled beneath to scalding sun. Earth wasn't theirs. Security was a false state of being. "It turns out, when the last man from the ground died on the Ark, he wasn't the last grounder."

That had been decades before any of them were born. But it was entirely possible for survivors. Bunkers were present long before the stations were sent above and united. They managed to adapt to Earth and grew with it. It made sense for them to do what was necessary to protect it from invaders.

But how long have those people been evolving? How long have they been living with nature instead of within it? Were they still humans?

Clarke met Emilia's eyes, speaking directly to her but loud enough to force everyone to digest. "It's true. Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong. There are people here, survivors."

Survivors were only a fraction of Emilia's concern. Attacked yet Octavia stood as the only injury? She scanned the group once more, her sights paused over one. Monty froze in place. He didn't notice Emilia near him. Unable to focus on the world around him, the moment he stood in, was. He was alone. He wasn't alone when Emilia voluntold him to go.

"What happened to Jasper?" She asked Monty. A war flashed in his eyes. He saw the attack; he watched his friend get hurt. He couldn't speak it. His eyes welled with tears, his mouth bubbling but words had no sound.

Taking the collective terror into account, Clarke stepped forward, drawing the attention to herself. "The good news is that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us."

"Yeah, the bad news is the Grounders will," Finn added, not caring that his words sent shivers down spines.

Monty flinched.

"What the hell happened to Jasper?" Emilia looking to Clarke then Finn.

"Jasper was hit," Clarke confessed, forcing herself to lock eyes with Emilia. Emilia squeezes Monty's shoulders as comfort. "They took him."

Took him? They attacked and then kidnapped the boy for what? What type of attack? Were they able to describe their newest problem? What exactly happened for Jasper and Octavia to get attacked? Emilia's questions were forced to remain on her tongue as Clarke's juvenile mind switched from one problem to another.

Clarke spotted Wells' wrist. "Where's your wristband?" Her gaze flitted between him and Emilia, scouring for an answer.

"Ask him," both she and Wells stated, looking at Bellamy. He nearly looked ashamed as his sister looked up at him with knitted eyebrows.

"How many?"

"Twenty-four and counting." Murphy's smug gaze shifted to Emilia's wrist and as a response, Minerva drew her blade closer. He replicated Bellamy entirely —ego dripping as glares were sent his way.

"You idiots." Clarke spat, a rage beginning to burn within her. "Life support on the Ark is failing." She spun around for the entire camp to hear. She hadn't known that most of them already understood why they were sent down. "That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground Is survivable again, and we need their help against whoever is out there. If you take off your wristbands, you're not just killing them. You're killing us!"

Many didn't care. Bellamy had sparked a belief in them that they had their lives—no one else could control it but them.

He readied his tongue to ensure no one else would convert. "We're stronger than you think. Don't listen to her—she's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same? We can take care of ourselves! That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore! They say they'll forgive your crimes. I say you're not criminals!" Basking in their support, he drove to fill their brains with false beliefs. "You're fighters, survivors! The Grounders should worry about us!"

For the most part, Bellamy was right. None of them knew what would really happen when the Ark came down. Their fates were up to be written. Jaha and his Council would decide if they were worth integrating back into life, even if he promised to accept them again. All but Emilia's and his. He claimed they would kill him for whatever he did to get on the Dropship. He knew his life had a timer and trembled before it.

His speech wasn't told out of truth but out of a cowardly attempt to save his own skin.

He pretended to be like them. He pretended he understood them despite being pardoned for harboring Octavia's life as a secret. He was given his second chance and here he stood trying to ensure his third. He wanted to make an army out of children against people they knew nothing about for his own sake.

Clarke walked off as the crowd cheered.

Emilia moved to get more intel from her, but her arm was seized. Bellamy looked down at her. Not as the false God or God's prophet—but as her Cadet. "You choosing to follow the privileged?"

"I don't follow anyone." She gazed down at his hand and then back to him. "Or did you forget that?"

"You wear that wristband like you're the Council's toy." He released her physically but kept her within the conversation. "Don't you care about your life?"

"Then take it off, Cadet." She removed the space between them. She forced herself to be the only thing he could see. Somewhere in him, he was bound to know his bullshit wouldn't last if they had enemies stalking in the forest. He had to. He couldn't be that selfish.

"I dare—no, I double-dog dare you. Prove that you want it as bad as you say you do," she told, curling her lips at the battle brewing in his eyes. "I'm dead either way, right?"

All she needed was for him to prove it, show her how far he was willing to go to save his own skin—at least then she'd have a plausible reason to kill him.

One way or another, Emilia knew she would die. By Bellamy, by Jaha, by the Grounders, or by her own goddamn actions. People did not always see her way; she was used to that. They believed in their security, no matter how fragile the structure was becoming, their need to survive always outweighed. They'd rather put their chances in Jaha and be plucked off one by one because they knew the chances were 1 in nearly two thousand.

No one ever believed how slim those chances were until they were placed on the other side of the airlock chamber for simply misplacing their ration cards.

But today, Emilia met someone who did. Clarke. She knew the girl had a drive within her but remained unsure if she was more like her father or mother—selfless or selfish. It was still to be determined, but Clarke was giving Emilia better signs than Bellamy had.

"Where is she?" Emilia lifted the trap veil and hunched down to enter the Dropship. Wells, Monty, and Minerva were gathering supplies for the trek.

"Second floor." Monty managed to find his voice coupled with his determination to get his friend back. His thick eyebrows collided following the flat line of doubt on his lips, "Are you two coming, too?"

"I need both of my nerds, Greene," Minerva claimed, putting a rock into the hand that held her knife to give him a high-five. He reciprocated it, a ghastly smile lingering on him.

His reservations surrounding their circumstances didn't need to be made sound for them to be known. They knew little about the area while the Grounders knew everything. Trees weren't replicated figures to them. They each had their own flaws that made them detectable—just not to the Sky's children.

"We'll find him." Emilia squeezed his shoulder before ascending.

Clarke sat, nearly enveloped by the shadows, if not for the solar-powered lantern. Her shoulders curved downward with the weight of Jasper's unknown fate resting upon her. There was only so much Clarke could do—and Emilia was sure, fighting off radiation-borne humans wasn't one of them.

She flinched at Emilia's boot creaking the metal ledge. Fatigue carved into her juvenile face. Her eyes, once blue like the sky, were hollow and dull like the Ark. Clarke returned to filling her pack with supplies.

Emilia took a seat next to her. Her body thanked her for the moment of rest. Her spine cracked as she pressed her hands against her knees and straightened her posture.

"You said you'd watch over him."

"It's been hard when he keeps throwing himself into fights." For someone who hated Wells, Clarke cared an awful lot about him. Emilia reluctantly shifted down to put herself on Clarke's level. She understood Clarke's conflicting emotions—failed childhood friendships never seemed to work. "He's alive. That's all that matters."

Clarke inhaled sharply. Her body wavered as her mind remained restless. Sleep seemed like a distant dream, but all her bones cried for it. She returned to her gathering. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. We need to be on the same page."

"About what?"

"Bellamy." Clarke locked eyes with her, ceasing any movement. Emilia assumed Jake told Clarke things about the Monarch. He pleaded in his coded letter to the ghost symbol to do what needed to be done. Her answer was simple, so simple it had no code. Do Not Die. Having the Senior Environmental Engineer begging her to help proved everything she already knew to be far more critical. She was willing to reveal herself to him to discuss everything he knew, to find a way to save the Ark without further pain. By then he was dead, and all Emilia had was a USB of his final message.

A man of faith or not, he knew the risk and reached for it without securing a backup plan.

Emilia never believed in backup plans. Everything was meticulously planned out. She knew the corners and who to pin into them. She never sought out anyone simply on the Ark because she knew the price of interweaving with others. She didn't understand them the way she understood herself; it would never be worth it. There was no need to risk another soul when Emilia's would do just fine being deconstructed.

But on Earth, without laws? Faith was held on a single string. Death stood as a risk for everyone, might as well ensure allyship in someone who appeared to think before acting. "He has a gun and a group of very rage-filled teenagers. He took Wells' band in the middle of the night. And he wants yours."

"And you don't?" Her features tightened. Her mother jumped out of Clarke's skin. Abigail was no Jake Griffin.

"No. Unlike him, I was sent down here with a job: ensure the prisoners survive," she confessed plainly. She pressed the hard seat beneath her shoulder blades. Her bones crackled. "I can do it without you, but I'd prefer not to."

Clarke made a face—a childish one. The one made when you received a backhanded compliment or when you were praised for something someone else had done. She didn't know how to take it, not knowing if she could stomach it.

The same feeling bubbled inside of Emilia. Only she kept her face unchanged. She knew what it felt like to be assigned the weight of the world. It was never good in the teenage years when the bones were still feeble and pliable. Emilia's body never knew anything but the weight.

"You're just like your parents. You have valuable knowledge." With or without Emilia, Clarke was bound to be placed in a leadership position. She carried the voice for it—sharp and cold. But at her age, she shouldn't have to deal with the brunt of it. "I'm not expecting us to go full Council, but if you have my back, I have yours."

"If I don't?"

"You obviously haven't kept up with my ideology—if I don't have a reason to go against you, I won't go searching for one. I want what you want, Clarke. For all of us to live." Rising with the strength of her legs, Emilia kept her eyes on Clarke. "It's your choice."

Or the appearance of one. Acid coated her tongue. She involuntarily pressed Clarke into a corner. Jasper's body loomed over her as Bellamy raised his gun in the shadows. How many other choices did Clarke have besides putting trust in Emilia?

Metal creaked. A dark-skinned hand gripped the ladder. Wells' shortcut coils illuminated beneath the flickering light. "When my father said there's nothing to spare, he wasn't kidding."

Clarke drew in breath. She looked at Emilia and then nodded. Trust was all the currency Emilia believed in. She treasured it and had no plans of exchanging it for anything.

Emilia left the two to talk. Minerva sat on one of the three seats that weren't stripped, sharpening her knife. By her feet were four more made from scrap metal. Monty leaned against the wall, gnawing away at his nails.

"It's not your ankle, Wells, it's you."

The conversation clearly didn't last.

Clarke landed on the first floor with Wells right behind her.

"That's rude, Goldilocks," Minerva let out, narrowing her eyes at Clarke. She gathered the knives on the floor and stood up. Somehow, she managed to find a spot for all five.

"You came back for reinforcements; I'm gonna help," Wells urged, trying to defend his case to someone who wasn't going to listen. Teenagers.

"Clarke, he's right. We need him," Monty pleaded, blocking Clarke's path outside the Dropship. "So far, no one else has volunteered."

Her face softened. "I'm sorry, Monty, but you're not going either."

Monty recoiled as did the other two teenagers. Emilia stood with her arms crossed, observing Clarke's methods. "Like hell, I'm not, Jasper's my best friend."

"You're too important. You were raised on Farm Station and recruited by engineering."

Blinded by guilt and exhaustion, Monty gave a stereotypical teenager response, "So?"

"So? Food and communications. What's up here, is gonna save us all." Clarke tapped on Monty's temple. "You figure out how to talk to the Ark and we'll bring Jasper back."

Emilia sucked in air through her teeth, knowing her next words could be taken much worse than Clarke's. "You're staying, too, Minerva."

"What?!" Her screech nearly deafened everything in the twenty-mile vicinity. Her arms flailed as she cleared her throat. She spoke low, "You can't bench me."

"Bench? What?"

"Sports reference—you can't not let me go."

Holding herself closer, Emilia put on a small smile. "I can if you have a wall to build."

"A wall?" Clarke raised her eyebrow.

"Factory Station's brightest, right?" Emilia nodded at Minerva. Her eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. Her confidence was ever-fluctuating. Emilia turned to Clarke. "She has schematics for a wall and later a garden and more."

"What's stopping you?" Clarke asked.

"Strength," Minerva squeaked out. She took a deep breath, blinking rapidly to bring herself back to normal. "Do you see me? I can barely do a pull-up."

Then Clarke grinned. "We've got that."

Emilia chose right. Without words, Clarke knew they needed Bellamy. Having him away would allow Minerva to get things done. There was a half-chance he would do it if Emilia asked politely, but an even greater chance he'd turn the task for the collective safety into something he could garner support for.

They turned to get Minerva extra hands. Finn shoved the trap away. Shadows chiseled his features. He stood before them, unprepared. "Hey. You ready?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Finn told, staring at Clarke with urgency. He swept his gaze across the group. "And neither should any of you. That spear was thrown with pinpoint accuracy from 300 feet."

Emilia understood Finn's lack of uncertainty. They were in the Grounders' domain, children compared to the possible war machines that had been preparing for their arrival. They knew nothing.

Monty furrowed his eyebrows, his voice wavered as he asked, "So, what, we let Jasper die?"

"No," Emilia stated as Clarke said, "That's not gonna happen."

The blonde stepped closer to Finn, disgust littering her face. "Spacewalker? What a joke. You think you're such an adventurer—you're really just a coward."

"It's not an adventure, Clarke, it's a suicide mission."

Clarke shook her head, continuing out of the dropship.

Finn turned his gaze to Emilia. "You weren't there. You didn't see what I saw."

"The consequence of action outweighs inaction this time, Finney-Boy." His terrorized face didn't soften at her words. They were easy to be told to and digested when the only fear one had was being sucked into space. He had never seen such violence before—but none of them should be left behind out of fear. "If I can find a way to talk to these people, I'm sure we can come to an agreement that lets us all live."

"You'll die." His eyes were glazed. They weren't close, but they were all the other truly had. To him death was terrifying—an end, clean-cut. There was no do-over.

But was a sacrifice not the greatest sign of love?

"At least I'll die knowing I tried."

Clarke waited for Emilia a few feet away. She looked disappointed when Wells came after Emilia instead of Finn. She managed to mask it as Emilia walked beside her. If not Finn, they needed more than this. Someone who had more training.

"Tell me more about him," Clarke asked lowly, refusing to let Wells hear their plans. He would deny it despite knowing it was the best decision they could make for Jasper, for their own lives.

"He's afraid of something on the Ark," Emilia delineated, her tongue heavy with him. His carnal actions proved his change. Did the Guard do that to people? Devoid them of humanity, filling it with the idea that they could have anything they desired? Grus, Shumway, and now him. "More afraid of it than he is risking anyone who isn't his sister."

Were all men meant to turn into selfish creatures? No. Finn, Monty, and Wells proved otherwise. Was it just power that enticed brain chemistry? Did it act like a drug; was it all an addiction, searching for the high again?

Octavia's figure came into view first. Her body shielded Bellamy's until they grew closer. He kneeled in front of his sister. His eyebrows knitted. Dark eyes pooled with concern. He had the face of a human—features that understood the importance of life.

"But...Anyone can be changed. He used to be nicer."

"You knew him?"

"Distantly. Old classmates."

He appeared both young and old next to Octavia. She brought out everything—simultaneously siphoning and replenishing his energy. They shared their mother's face but differed in nearly unnoticeable features. "You could have died out there."

"She would have been if Jasper didn't jump in to pull her out," Clarke interrupted, clutching her pack straps.

Octavia's eyes widened. She planted her hand on a nearby stump. "You guys leaving? I'm coming, too."

Bellamy guided her back down, rising as he lowered her. Octavia bit back her venom, tilting her head to give him a look. "No, no. No way. Not again."

It was their eyes. Not simply the color—brown and green—but the brow bone that arched over Octavia's eyes more than Bellamy's. It forged an icy glare into her narrowed eyes. She got that from Aurora.

"He's right. Your leg is just gonna slow us down." Octavia scrunched her nose at Clarke's words. Her cold gaze was directed at Emilia. She was exactly like their mother. Clarke migrated her attention to Bellamy. "I'm here for you."

Bellamy scanned the two, lingering on Emilia. A mocking ghost smirk played on her lips.

"Clarke, what are you doing?"

"I heard you have a gun." Clarke had no intention of answering Wells. Bellamy lifted his shirt with two fingers to reveal the weapon Emilia felt pressed against her earlier. "Good. Follow me."

Clarke started down the path she and the Mount Weather group hastily returned from. Confidence seeped from her. She understood Bellamy easily.

"And why would I do that?"

Clarke stopped in her tracks. She looked almost annoyed he dared to ask. Annoyed she had to explain. She moved closer to him, tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him. "Because you want them to follow you, and right now, they're thinking only one of us is scared."

She didn't need further explanation, or attempt. She continued forward, knowing Bellamy would follow. Wells followed to question her. Emilia fought back a smile. More so when she noticed Octavia stifling her giggles with the back of her hand.

"Murphy, come with me. Atom? My sister doesn't leave this camp. Is that clear?"

Octavia rolled her eyes, unable to move from being talked about right in front of her. She threw her head back on the headrest. "I don't need a babysitter."

He ignored her, tugging on his stolen jacket. Bellamy leaned closer to Atom. "Anybody touches her, they answer to me."

Emilia snatched a lumpy bowl—Sterling's handy work—filled with rations off the bucket, Fox left behind. Octavia's narrowed eyes returned as Emilia neared. She held the bowl to the girl. "Here. You're probably starving."

For a split second, Octavia's eyebrows kissed. She studied Emilia. Once. Twice. Thrice. She reached out, taking the bowl gently. "Thanks."

"What about her?" Atom spoke.

Emilia faced them to find three sets of male eyes burning into her skull.

"What do you want?" Bellamy's annoyance was refreshing. It reminded her of being picked before him despite shooting their hands up at the same time. He always looked back at her with slitted eyes, flaring his nose.

He looked at her now with that same expression.

"Order your boys to help Minerva build a wall or at least stand guard." He opened his mouth to question her. Her hand raised as her voice filled with air before he could. "I don't care about your opinion; that's the least of my concerns."

Stifled giggles sounded behind her. Bellamy shifted in his position—faltering, weakening. His buttons were the same. "If there are Grounders, we need protection. It benefits us both, Cadet."

He narrowed his eyes at her. It never carried the same chilling sensation as his mother's. His was fervent, ruthless, and reckless.

"Do what the Monarch says, Atom. Let's go, Murphy."

Emilia followed Clarke and Wells' footfall in the dirt. She cocked her head to see Octavia. A risk. Not entirely calculated, Emilia waved to Octavia.

Surprisingly, Octavia waved back.

Her hands shot to the sides of her mouth, curling into a circle. "Hey, Monarch!"

Emilia slowed her pace, turning her entire body to the girl. Bellamy and Murphy made a complete stop. The latter shifted his gaze between the three, unable to understand what was happening.

"Make his life hell!"

"I'm ten steps ahead of you, kid!" A smile danced on her lips as her eyes grazed over Bellamy. No annoyance was detected. His eyebrows rested. His eyes eased into a normal position. His lips. He was smiling.

It washed away in a blink. Emilia turned on her heel, gripping her biceps. Her nails clawed into the leather. It had to be in the Blake bloodline to be perplexing individuals.

She always believed Aurora Blake despised her. Every time Emilia kept Bellamy out late trying to explain chemistry to him, the woman would sharply knock on the hollow door. If Raya was near, she'd open it. She would get Aurora's cordial smile that melted the moment Raya turned her head to the two children. Emilia always caught Aurora's fierce scowl, no one else ever did.

They never had an actual conversation until Emilia was nearly seventeen—barely a conversation and more of a confession. Sinned and scorn-filled admission, Emilia was sure she had never cried as much as she did in front of Aurora.

Perhaps Emilia would get to talk to Octavia more when they returned—how her curiosity could turn into venom. The Skybox hardened her but didn't strip her of her wonder. Emilia could see that she was so much more than what people whispered about. People always believed they understood others based on what they heard. Very few bothered to engage their curiosity in learning about the person. Fear of the abnormal darkness that flowed in her veins kept others from her.

It worked better for her.

She trekked in between the two duos. They whispered to each other about the other group. Distrust swelled in the air. Eyes glanced at her every so often. Their thoughts louder than their unsaid words could ever be.

Emilia focused on what was visible. Beyond the crash site, there was vibrant vegetation. Insects flittered around her. The sunlight splintered between the leaves, scattering to bless the shielded flora. Her feet stopped suddenly. A small thing made her forget the mission at hand.

Its five pink petals called out to her. She dared to inch closer. Purple staminal poked out from the center. It wasn't a small thing. The flower shrouded her palm. Swamp Rose Mellow. Before her brain could list the reasons why it was unnecessary, she cut it from the stem. They were bound to die in a few weeks once the seasons changed.

She tucked it into her jacket pocket. She positioned the second knife laterally to give the flower space. At least she knew where to return to get more.

"What are you doing?" Bellamy obscured the scattered sun rays from blinding Emilia. If she didn't know any better, she'd believe he was an angel—perhaps a fallen one now. Like her.

"Picking flowers." Their eyes interlocked. The sunlight crowned his head. A scowl reminded her of reality. She tilted her head to her shoulder, stifling the urge to mock his smug expressions. "Or do you mean something else?"

"You know what I mean."

"I don't." She continued on the path, now behind Murphy. Bellamy attached himself to her side. Their footfall matched, no matter if she slowed or quickened her pace. "I try not to think too deeply about whatever's going on in that echo chamber in your head."

"So, you think about me?" he mused with that annoying grin.

"Don't flatter yourself, Cadet. I have better things to think about."

His arms swung with each step. He gleefully took the vastness of the world and sought to stretch himself as far as he could. Yet he positioned himself close enough to Emilia to have their arms graze each other every so often. "Like getting the princess on your side?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about." Even when she crossed her arms over her chest, their jackets skimmed. Their footsteps sounded in unison—their exhalations.

"Sure. You just came to save the lost cause."

His attempts at getting under her skin were always crude and unnecessary. They were typically the first counter he could conjure in his barren mind. "He's a kid who saved your sister. Besides you can only talk with violence and Clarke is just a kid. We want peace with the Grounders."

Any sense of joy he somehow garnered from their conversations crumbled. He scrunched his face. "They attacked one of us."

One of us, as if he wouldn't leave Jasper to die if Clarke hadn't embarrassed him. One of us, as if he knew Jasper had a name.

"We invaded their territory. Protect what's yours, I thought you followed that philosophy?" His scowl returned. Her smile grew in response. Their steps alternated. He never learned how to conceal his emotions. They told a thousand stories, laying out his cards before he could falsify his next statement.

He wasn't talking to her to fill the silence. It was his weak attempt at finding a way back in—to survey if he even could. He squirmed in under the scalding sun. Scratching beneath his nose, adverting his gaze until he let himself look down at her wristband.

"Too pussy to take the dare?"

His lack of response was a response. Emilia jogged to catch up with Clarke and Wells.

If he really wanted it, he would do it. He'd take hold of her arm, locking her in a position where she couldn't fight him. His knife would glide in between the band and her flesh. He would sever the latch and trigger the mechanism. Morphine flowing through her veins, he would be the last thing she ever saw—

and she'd let him.

Guys, I am so sorry for missing last week's update, and I am so sorry you're only getting 1 chapter this week. I planned to have all of episode 2's chapters uploaded today but I swear the Fanfic writer curse is slowly getting me. I got bedridden sick, I have too many papers due for the 3rd week of university, and my university sucks at getting back to people so I have to worry about finding an off-campus place so...as you can see, I'm stressed but I apologize with a 9.5k chapter.

I am going to try my absolute best to update every Saturday but keep a look out on my announcement board for any changes.

ANYWAY! I actually have iffy feelings about this chapter because it half feels like a lot is happening but a whole lot of nothing. It might also be my overthinking problem but that's beside the point. Set up chapters are like the bane of my existence as a writer but as a reader, I eat them up because it's always character relationship building. So I really hope you guys feel the same!

My favorite part of this chapter is the beginning. Don't shoot me, but I don't hate Charlotte. I rewrote the beginning so many times to have her be included somehow because her character is so interesting to me. I find all murderous children characters to be complex--like their environment drove them to such extremes that they believed killing was the only way out. And it's so easy to overlook because they tend to kill favorite characters and then be killed off themselves, but it can't be denied that those actions show how corrupt the environment is/was and how childhood often feels like a luxury in apocalyptic settings.

How do you guys feel about Charlotte?

I also wanted to thank you all for 1k reads! I love how much you guys are interested in my silly little fic, it means the world and definitely makes my week better.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for reading <3

9.5k words