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There were some things that could never be forgotten. Like the time Myles tipped off the competitor as to which crate they had stored the cocaine in. The 100 had lost thousands on that shipment, and their silly little foot soldier had lost his life. But it was a cruel market and mistakes and insubordination weren’t going to be tolerated.
John Murphy wasn’t the most important in the gang. He did as he was commanded by the higher ups, even if it was with reluctance and a sarcastic comment. There were only a few times where he caused problems outside of the regular disputes and fist fights. Violence wasn’t uncommon in their little family though. A family of young adults that presided over part of the black market, trafficked drugs and were the cause of shootings, gang wars and robberies weren’t unused to getting a little rough and bloody.
It had been Murphy that had placed the bullet between Myles’ eyes. And he hadn’t minded. Some things couldn’t be forgiven.
Not many people crossed him. The tattoos that decorated his skin were usually on display to the world with the short sleeve shirts and the lack of coverage over his neck. The stigma attached to tattoo’s resulted in most people steering clear. Not to mention that beastly motorcycle he rode. She roared, eating up the asphalt, weaving between cars too quickly and tailgating for too often for Murphy’s own safety. He was a dangerous driver and it was exhilarating. He didn’t mind that people outside his gang didn’t want to be associated with him. The truth might even be close to saying that he preferred it that way.
There was one young woman who wasn’t scared off by way he presented himself, or the alternating scowl and smirks that hung from his lips. She wasn’t put off by the sharpness of his tongue, or the murderous glare that he shot when people dared to go against him. She wasn’t petrified by how easily he manged to swing his fist to resolve a conflict. In fact, Emori was drawn to the perpetual danger that surrounded him — she loved it.
Stories were swapped and smiles cracked the walls that both young adults had built over their life times. The pain of the past didn’t taint their relationship at all, and Murphy began to trust her. He began to think of her like the family he had within The 100 and shared with her the intimate details of his life and work. They were happy for a time.
And then it all came crashing down around his ears, just like it always had before.
A heist had been planned over three months — robbing the largest bank in the city was a big deal. Ever detail was meticulous, nothing could go wrong. The Blakes rushed in, masks on and guns blazing. Civilians dropped to the floor and hid behind counters exactly like they were supposed to.
"If anyone touches a phone, you’re going to get a bullet through your head," Griffin announced, sauntering through the front doors. She stood so regally and with a presence so commanding, it wasn’t hard to imagine why she’d been dubbed the ‘Princess’. Not to mention the tiara she now sported on each job. It sat atop her head among the blonde waves and behind the mask on her face, glinting in the artificial lighting. It was rumoured that the crown was one Bellamy’s prizes, stolen from a jewelry store that stocked wedding tiara’s. It wasn’t particularly surprising that instead of selling it off on the black market with everything else, he’d given it to her as a gift. The idea left an acidic taste on Murphy’s tongue.
He entered behind the Princess, sub-machine gun loaded and a finger hovering over the trigger. Striding across the room, he smirked at one of the workers from behind his mask. If he remembered correctly, it depicted a snake, open mouthed and fangs bared. They all traded their features for that of an animal whilst working and covered up in black, hiding any and all tattoos they sported. Tattoos could identify them just as easily as a their faces could.
"You’re emergency button and security camera’s ain’t working, Sweeatheart," he informed the woman behind the glass. "Our techies well and truly took care of them. So don’t look so hopeful." Her expression crumbled and he took a certain glee from seeing the resistance within her dissipate.
Glancing briefly over his shoulder, the smirk transformed into a somewhat sincere smile. “Oi, hurry up, Em. We haven’t got all day.” Murphy could see how Emori’s eyes narrowed slightly behind her fox mask at his impatience, but she broke into a jog regardless. She slipped the green duffle bag under the glass between them and the woman, her prosthetic hand dragged against the counter. It was her initiation into the gang, and his heart swelled with pride at the thought of her being accepted after today
"You know how this goes. Rake up all the money from the registers and stuff it inside. And if you wouldn’t mind, open up the vault for us." Murphy had done this before, and he was enjoying it just as much as he had the first time. Tapping the barrel of the gun against the glass jolted the worker into meeting his requests. "We don’t have all day," he drawled, smirk finding it’s way back onto his features.
With an ear shattering screech the vault began to swing open. Reyes and her team would’ve been able to open it if the bank staff hadn’t cooperated. But they did, and hauling the stacks of cash out afterwards was easy. Murphy didn’t move from where he leaned against the counter. There were men and women stationed around the bank, weapons in hand and all with their respective animal masks. He didn’t count, but there were about fifteen of The 100 members inside the bank. Ten stood around acting as crowd control and protection, and the remainders transported their money out of the banks vault, through the emergency exits that they’d all entered through and into the trucks that were parked in the street behind the building. The police weren’t even aware what was happening. It was perfect.
Until, Murphy’s gun was knocked out of his hands and a knife was pressed to his throat. He never have looked for an enemy in the woman beside him. They’d trusted each other with their secret burdens, they’d made each other stronger. It wasn’t even certain if that had all been a ruse to get to where she was know.
Emori spoke up, yelling at the top of her voice at the other gang members.All guns were trained on her, but Murphy was her meat shield. “You’re all so precious about fighting for each other?” She didn’t need to validate that, she didn’t need an answer. The 100 had sent a team into enemy gang territory to rescue a dying man. One of their core values was protecting each other no matter the odds and she knew it. “One of those cars out there is mine. Your precious foot soldier won’t have a mark on him if that happens. And it has to happen now,” she snapped.
The two leaders stopped where they were and glanced at each other through their masks. Murphy wasn’t the most loved member of their gang, but it wasn’t his fault that this woman was turning on them. They’d both questioned and tested her rigorously before any information had been divulged. Clarke wasn’t prepared to lose a fellow members life for only a small portion of the cash. There would still be plenty to go around. Although, it wasn’t the money loss that affected Murphy. It was the betrayal. It stung deep and burned, and would continue to burn long after the day was over. Opening his heart up to someone had been more difficult than he could properly articulate, but he’d managed to. For Emori. And here she was repaying that trust with a knife against his jugular. There were some things that could never be forgotten.
A deal was arranged, one getaway car and the money inside, for his life. Murphy was dragged to the door through which she exited and released there. She hightailed it, only glancing back once to mouth 'sorry;. Emori disappeared in a flash of the cars blue paint and the harsh screech of tires.
Returning back inside, he retrieved his gun and avoided his fellow members gazes. Monroe had picked up the weapon when he’d dropped it. A weapon lying around could lead to a weapon in a civilians hands, and that would complicate the heist even more.
"Stop fucking gawking and let’s get on with this fucking job," Murphy snapped. Even the people flattening themselves against the floor were staring at him. The operation kicked into motion again, much faster this time. There worry that Emori might call the cops hang silently in the each between each of The 100. Everything continued as smoothly as it started though, there were no cops, there were no more betrayals. Just lots of cash, and a quick escape to the getaway vehicles. Although, with one car down, a few people were selected to disperse down the alleyways and stay hidden until they could be retrieved. But the job was done. It may not have gone exactly to plan, but they pulled it off.
Life within The 100 continued as normal after the heist. The robberies and gang wars and vandalism continued as normal. They discovered there was a large market for generically engineered animals. Their biggest seller was the bio-luminescent insects. Who'd have thought they could rake in thousands because of a few glowing butterflies bred in an illegal lab?
Emori wasn't spoken about. For a long time she was a particularly touchy subject around Murphy. Her betrayal still burned. The last person who'd mentioned her had been in the dentist chair repeatedly for the following six months. They'd needed a new pair of pearly whites after he'd kicked in their original set.
Close to eighteen months was how long it took for the burning to cease. After so long shoving people out, she'd left a gaping hole when she ripped herself out of his life. But he managed to repair himself, just like he always had. And she wasn't a touchy subject any more.
Murphy had set up shop in nightclub as a bartender. As much as his part in The 100 well and truly paid his bills, it was strange for a young man like him to be unemployed and financially stable. It wasn't like he looked like a rich kid, and he wasn't. He wouldn't have ended up running with The 100 if he'd been spoiled rotten and come from a family with money. An imprisoned father and drunk mother hadn't exactly given him with the best childhood and it showed in the way he behaved. Rich kids didn't grow up with fire in their fists and looking like a thug. No, he'd needed a job.
Most shifts the he didn't pay much attention to who he was serving. But the rhythmic tap of plastic on wood was familiar. Memories of a time when he'd trusted a young woman surfaced within his mind, despite how desperately Murphy tried to shove them away. Scrubbing at the wooden counter-top, wiping away the glass stains and split alcohol only distracted him for a little while. Serving drinks customers he'd already seen the faces of was merely an avoidance tactic, and he couldn't avoid her when she called out to get a drink. Sucking in a deep breath, he pivoted and faced Emori. That damn prosthetic hand tapping absentmindedly against the counter filled his ears. The blaring music didn't stand a chance against the memories.
"You should leave," he hissed, glaring at her. Fingers clutching at his end of the counter were beginning to turn white from how hard he pressed them against the wood. Her head snapped around and she was no longer distracted by the dancers. The indignant retort was visible on the tip of her tongue. She was prepared to verbally abuse the bartender who was asking her to leave unprecedentedly. But the words died before they even passed her teeth.
They both looked different, significantly so. A wicked scar arched across the bridge of Murphy s nose, across his check and down the length of his throat to meet his collar bone -- the reminder of a knife fight gone wrong. His hair was pulled back by an elastic due to work protocols and several piercings decorated his face: two rings at the outward end of his right eyebrow and one just left of center in his lower lip. Emori on the other hand had short choppy hair and her face was marred by fresh bruises. Her lip was split and the defiance he'd found so attractive was missing from her gaze. It changed her appearance more than one might think.
"John--" The way she defaulted to his first name still managed to make his stomach squirm. No one had called him that since she'd left. Licking her lips nervously, the tapping of her prosthetic finger increased. "You recognize me? You remember me?" It had been so long, she'd figured that John Murphy would forget about the girl that betrayed him.
Scoffing, he scowled at her. "I couldn't forget you if I tried, Emori. Now, leave."
Reaching out, she grabbed on of his hands, eyes wide. "I can't. Please don't kick me out," she whispered, leaning across the counter so he could hear her. The idea of going back outside had her cheek throbbing like she'd just been hit all over again.
"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't call security or the others." He pulled his hand away from her grip roughly and even stepped back from the counter.
Nervously tapping at the table, the pace and force that with which her finger hit the wood increased again. Murphy glared at it pointedly, trying to force her into stopping. And it worked. Emori pulled her hands off the counter and clenched them together in her lap. He was still waiting for an explanation.
"Look, I can't explain it to you hear," she sighed. "But let me stay until the end of your shift and I'll tell you everything. At gun point if that would make you feel more comfortable." There was something in her voice that made him believe she was serious. It may well have been a naive hope that she'd changed, that trusting her again wasn't going to wind up with a knife being held to his throat again.
"Fine."
That was the last time he talked to her that night at the bar, the last time he so much as glanced at her. When it came to shutting the club, she was the only one left sitting at the counter. Security had cleared out everyone, leaving her only when she'd protested and sworn that she was just waiting for Murphy.
Dragging her out with one hand firmly wrapped around her bicep, he pulled her over to his car. Inconspicuous on the sidewalk, you'd never guess that it belonged to a gang member. It didn't need to be explained that he expected her to get into the vehicle. She'd offered herself to be held at gun point, it wasn't a big ask. Slamming the doors shut, they both sat in the dark interior silent for a long moment. "Explain." A one worded demand was all he gave as he stuffed the key into the ignition and turned the car on.
It was a fifteen minute drive to his apartment and she used that time to explain. Emori started with her brother debts, how he gambled and made enemies, how he managed to constantly end up on the wrong side of the worst people. She continued with how it always fell to her to clean up her brothers messes, how she couldn't tell him to sort it out himself when his life was in danger, how she had to care because they were family. Murphy sat beside her stoically, glaring out the windshield, still able to feel the blade of her knife pressed against his throat.
"Why didn't you fucking tell me? I could've helped you without you needing to betray everyone," he snapped, interrupting her midway through a sentence.
A tired sigh escaped her lips and she leaned her head against the window. "I didn't want to get you involved in my brother shit. I didn't want to be involved in it as were. Dragging someone else in wasn't an option."
"So, whoopee-do, your brother had some debts, you stole money from us and paid them off. Why the fuck couldn't you leave the bar?"
Staring out at the houses they passed, she focused on how they blurred. The harsh edge to Murphy's tone was cutting into her. Talking to him after so long was much harder than she'd expected it to be. Forgiveness wasn't something he handed out easily, she knew that, but any hope that he might give it to her was quickly evaporating.
"There's only so many ways you can get absurd amounts of money quickly, and once you've used them all, people know your tricks. And when I ran out of tricks, my brother offered me up as payment." Her brother was a slimy, selfish bastard. It had occurred to her repeatedly that she should have left him for dead when the habitual pattern had become clear. Then she wouldn't have wound up in this situation.
Murphy pulled his gaze away from the road to glance sideways at her. He wasn't glaring any longer, but his lips were twisted downwards into a frown. "So you're running," he concluded. The nod he received in confirmation was barely perceptible in the darkness.
"They caught up to me earlier, smacked me around a bit. The bar happened to be the closest open building that was packed enough for me to hide in." The cause of her bruises was now apparent.
"Who are you running from?"
"The Grounders," she whispered, shutting her eyes.
Pulling the car over to the side of the road, Murphy sat there without speaking. "The Grounders," he repeated slowly. Enemy gang, the savages that he and his friends fought against for territory, purchase in the black markets and overall dominance. "How much do you know about them?"
Leaning up off the glass, she turned in the seat to meet his steady gaze. "Enough to give you guys the upper hand."
"How badly do you want forgiveness for fucking us over?"
A small smile crept onto her lips. "Badly."
Not everything could be forgiven. But this could be.