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She could only watch as the slick-haired idiot in a stolen guard’s uniform opened the door.
The drop ship was flooded with a blinding warm light. As a streak of it warmed her hand, she worried for a moment that this was the radiation that would burn and blister their skin until there was nothing left.
But nothing happened.
“Sunlight,” Clarke whispered to herself, a small wondrous smile appearing on her face.
The idiot spared her a skeptical look, no doubt thinking that she, too, was an idiot.
As the door finally fell to create a ramp to the ground, her eyes adjusted. First, she saw the dirt and leaves that crunched under the door. Then the wall of trees that surrounded them. And finally, the luscious greenery that decorated them.
It was impossible. And beautiful.
The sister—Octavia—took her first few tentative steps out of the ship, her brother’s hand hovering as if to hold Clarke back. She, however, was glued to her spot, breath caught in her throat as Octavia took her final steps onto the ground.
It seemed as if time itself had stopped as 100 kids watched in complete silence, until—
“We’re back, bitches!”
Clarke couldn’t help but smile, it was a quote for the history books.
Within seconds, that smile vanished.
Something flew out of the trees, making Clarke jump back, even as she felt the tide of delinquents surging forward behind her.
“Wait!”
They listened, likely only because the idiot called Bellamy remained blocking the door as well.
“O! Get back inside!” He pleaded.
Four arrows—perfectly straight, impossibly manmade—stuck out of the ground at the girl’s feet. It was a clear message. Stay back.
But a message from who? And how?
Octavia tripped stepping back onto the ramp, falling on her ass to scramble back to safety. Relative safety, anyway. What Clarke could only assume—hope—were humans stepped out of the wall of trees around them. They looked savage, covered in furs and face paints with knives and clubs and spears at the ready.
She saw Bellamy reach behind his back, under his jacket. He was armed. She grabbed his hand before he could pull the gun from his belt and do something stupid.
He growled under his breath. “Listen, princess—“
“Don’t show all our cards, idiot,” she snapped back. He paused. Clarke could feel his gaze sweeping over her, but she adamantly kept her own eyes on the grounders. His empty hand dropped to his side.
Nothing happened.
They were at a stand still.
With a steadying breath, she stepped forward and lifted her hands in the air.
“What are you doing?” She heard Bellamy hiss behind her.
“Got any better ideas?”
He fell silent.
Clarke made her way to the end of the ramp, taking in the nearest grounder and the huge blade he wielded.
“Do-,” she stuttered. “Do you speak English?”
It only shifted its weight in answer.
“We came in peace,” she cringed, vaguely recognizing the saying from a bad sci-fi movie she’d seen on the Ark. “We have no weapons.” A white lie, but a risk she was willing to take. And generally true in spirit.
She received no response. She could practically feel the anxious energy pouring out of the ship behind her. She could only hope Bellamy would keep them calm.
“Foolish.” The voice rang through the clearing and all the grounders seemed to shift at once as a woman stomped towards the ship. “You invade our territory unarmed? Tell me, are you stupid or do you think we are?”
Her long blonde hair fell past her shoulders, dirty and matted but beautiful, nonetheless. Her face was all sharp lines, something Clarke would have longed to sketch under different circumstances.
At least she knew they were human.
“We didn’t know anyone would be here. I apologize,” she swallowed, fighting a rapidly drying tongue. “And we weren’t sent here by choice.” She was taking stupid risks, but they seemed more suspicious of their people than scared.
“Sent? Sent from the sky?” The woman scoffed.
“More like abandoned,” Bellamy grumbled behind her.
“Abandoned,” she echoed, louder. “Sacrificed by our people to see if the ground was survivable.”
Her words were met with doubt, she could read it in the woman’s intense glare.
“We’re just kids. None older than 18.” A cough sounded behind her. Bellamy. Clarke nearly rolled her eyes. She really didn’t care how old he was.
“Your people sacrifice their own young?”
Clarke didn’t like the implication. “They had their reasons.”
Derisive scoffs tittered from the ship. Clarke needed to move this along.
“We, um, we’re skilled. Science and medicine. Technology. We can offer our expertise in exchange for refuge.”
Silence fell. The woman simply stared.
It took minutes before she said anything more.
“My name is Anya.”
“I’m Clarke.”
“And I’m Bellamy,” the idiot drawled as he strolled down the ramp to join her. “Are we just about done here? I’ve got to take a leak.”
Clarke sent him a sharp glare, which he ignored.
“Clarke kom Skaikru,” Anya demanded in a foreign tongue, but Clarke could guess at the words’ meanings. “Your people will have one chance only. Fall out of line and we will not hesitate to slaughter every last one of you.”
She choked back her gasp and noticed Bellamy tense beside her. She couldn’t help but look to him. This wasn’t just her choice to make. She wasn’t even sure they could—
He nodded, though. Assured her with one look that this was the right—or perhaps the only—choice.
And thus, their lives depended on 100 juvenile delinquents doing what they’re told.
They were screwed.