I USED TO WAKE UP TO THE SMELL OF SPACE-MADE, CHOCOLATE CHIP pancakes cooked up in a space-oven and the sound of Dad humming old, folk-like tunes as he pressed in the numbers. Dad never liked it, but I did not get up on time—even when I smelled his pancakes and heard his happy tunes. Sleep was something I greatly appreciated; I liked to sleep in, even when classes were scheduled, or I had apprenticing hours with Sinclair. Anyone who knew me personally knew I didn't like getting out of bed. And Dad was the one most-acquainted with my tendencies and bad habits, so he was definitely used to it, almost to an abnormal and temple-pounding extent.

But something I wasn't used to smelling was that of rocket-fluid and gaseous fumes. That was always the messy shit, something I left to the mechanics. It reminded me of why I hated The Ark so much; everything was too scientific and futuristic for me, and I preferred mathematics and history. And right now, all I seen was flashing lights and space and bland ceilings and white, white, and more white. That's all I could feel and see when I thought of The Ark, and now wasn't a great time considering the velocity at which my seat was shaking and the amount of self-control it was taking not to retch all over the damn floor. Wait—why was I shaking? Was this some sort of mayday simulation?

I snapped open my eyes, and it was like my hearing suddenly tuned into the mayhem around me. I first felt gusting fumes hitting my eyes, with the laughter and screams of criminals echoing all around me, then I blinked and seen the mini-versions of Abigail Griffin and Thelonious Jaha sitting right across from me. They were arguing, it seemed like—and mini-Abby was looking pretty annoyed right about now. Was it bad that I hoped for a little skirmish to happen? Either way, I didn't give a fuck; I just wanted to see mini-Jaha get KO'ed by the girl he'd had an unrequited love fetish for since our first year of Earth Skills.

After five minutes of staring at them and wondering why the fuck we were in a shaking bunker, I decided to reacquaint myself with my fellow privileged. "Look who it is, y'all!" I yelled gleefully. "The Ark's very own Princess Leia and Han Solo!" Sure, they didn't have the same love for each other—but the comparison was something they'd understand and yell at me for.

Clarke stopped shouting at Wells for whatever he'd done to piss in her cornflakes, and she narrowed her eyes. "Kane," she said drily. "Why am I not surprised to see you on here?"

Wells, clearly thinking he deserved to have an input, chipped in, "Weren't you supposed to be floated like two years ago?"

"Simple answer," I said with a grin. "I'm awesome, the guards are stupid, and I've been running around and sleeping in vents since they tried to float me."

Clarke and Wells looked like they didn't believe a single word leaving my mouth. "The Ark isn't that stupid," Clarke said bluntly, eying me like I was the idiot here.

I sniffed at her, mocking her privileged attitude by tilting up my head and throwing her a snobbish scoff. "You're just sad that Wells is the only guy who wants in your space pants."

Was it possible for someone's face to be so red? Clarke resembled the damn sun, her cheeks brightly lit with an embarrassed flush. My mission accomplished, I smiled widely and wiggled my aching fingers at her—which she probably didn't notice, but still caused my body to shake with laughter. Before I had another chance to publicly jeer at the fuckers, the ship began to rattle and shake harder than before, the lights flickering. Then, within five seconds at the most, the lights flashed back on and the bunker stopped rattling.

Clarke breathed, "What was that—" but before me or Wells had a chance to answer (me sarcastically, and Mini-Jaha with desperate, woeful worship) something large and technological flickered on in the corner of the bunker. And what do you know; Dumbnut-Jaha came on the screen!

"Prisoners of the Ark," the asshole greeted, sounding like an announcer for a damnation trial in the depths of Hell, "hear me now. You've been given a second chance. As your Chancellor, I hope you see this as not a chance for you, but a chance for all of us. Indeed—for mankind itself. We have no idea what is waiting for you down there. If the odds for survival were better, we would have sent others. Frankly, we're sending you because your crimes have you expendable."

Damn! Ice-cold. I looked at Wells with a smug, if-only-you-were-more-like-me look, and wiggled my fingers (which were caught under metal, and were bound to a torture-device-looking wristband). He gave me the foulest, nastiest look a boy of such renowned prestige was capable of, and I merely coughed out a, "Your dad sucks."

Someone else had a similar idea. Just as I said my own statement, a boy within the bunker shouted out, "Your dad's a dick, Wells!"

"Finally, someone with common sense around here!" I said loudly, giving the surrounding teens a wide birth and a wicked smile. Then I stopped being my normal self, and looked at Clarke with a serious look to my eyes. "What is this? Why are we going to Earth?" Sure, Dumbnut-Jaha gave a brief description, but Clarke was a big and mean authoritative figure; if she didn't have someone asking her for help, she was basically fucked and left useless. I was just trying to be nice while also getting an answer to what the hell this metal contraption was.

"Aren't you a mechanic, Kane?" Wells asked from beside Clarke, giving me a weird look.

"Your attitude is not appreciated, Mini-Jaha," I said, sniffing with annoyance. "I was an engineer, and it sure as hell wasn't for big balls of metal to go hurtling into space."

With a sigh at the small argument I got into with Wells, Clarke spat out, "It's a dropship."

From over at the screen, Dumbnut-Jaha continued. "The drop site has been chosen carefully. Before the war, Mount Weather had a military base built within the mountain which was supposed to be stocked with enough perishables to sustain three-hundred people for up to two years."

In all honesty, I didn't like the sound of having a mission the moment we arrived in Death Valley, especially since Earth this time of year sounded like a freaking death sentence—but I supposed I'd just roll with it. Why not? Not like I'd have anything better to do when we get there.

Before I could reflect any more on such a tangent, I saw a young, easily-familiar boy unstrapped from his seat and floating around in the air of the bunker—I mean, dropship. I grinned at the sight; if I didn't have a fucking cuff that was killing my wrist, I would have totally yelled out and asked him for a high-five.

"Finn, my man!" I called out, laughing with surprise as how effortlessly he was floating through the air. He looked over and gave me a wink when he noticed my gaze. Then he floated over to the two stern-faced losers across from me. I gave another spurt of laughter at the faces Wells and Clarke made when Finn stopped right in front of them.

"Hey, Wells," Finn said cheekily, and I knew something stupid was going to come from his mouth. "Looks like your dad floated me after all."

I coughed and smiled against the pain of laughing so hard. I bit my lip, firmly, when I noticed the sneer Wells sent Finn at the sound of "dad" and "float."

"Strap in before the parachutes deploy," Wells said drily, ignoring the laughs from everyone around him. He truly did employ that same emotionless persona his father had. It explained why he never had any fun or went to any parties.

Two boys, one dark-skinned and another light-skinned, both began to unstrap themselves from their seats, and that was when I felt the rattling in the ship intensify just barely. I swallowed, the sound unnoticeable, and I felt myself understanding why Wells and Clarke were so adamant on sticking in on Finn and the other two guys' fun. I feared for Finn, suddenly, and I couldn't say I disagreed when Clarke barked out, "Keep yourself strapped in if you want to live!"

I never did like agreeing with Clarke. When we were younger, I always refused to play freeze-tag with her anytime she called me dumb or enforced something her precious daddy told her. It was something I did just to see her face get red and her mouth scream out, "Mommy!" So instead of supporting her claim on death awaiting those not strapped in, I smoothly drawled, "Never thought you were into bondage, Griff."

Clarke scowled. Whether it was at the heavy implication or the nickname, I didn't know. Either way I felt immensely pleased with myself, and my worries for the guys floating through the air washed away.

Finn heard Clarke's shout at the other two guys, and he floated to in front of her. He was scrutinizing her, like he was trying to find out what exactly he knew her from, before it clicked for him. "Hey! You're the traitor who's been in solitary for a year!"

"Yeah. And you're the idiot who wasted a month of oxygen on an illegal space-walk," Clarke retorted drily.

Finn laughed. "It was fun," he teased, then stuck out a gravity-influenced hand. "I'm Finn."

Clarke just gave him an annoyed frown. Before she could honestly shake his hand or make some witty comment, there was a harsh jolt that even dead men would feel. I instinctively shoved my head against the backboard of the seat, watching in horror as Finn and his space-walking followers flew to the back of the dropship, where only metal walls ran to greet them.

"Finn!" Clarke cried. "Are you alright?"

Everyone was yelling in fear, the parachutes definitely having deployed just now. Finn and the two boys were being unresponsive, and I could only assume the worst as I clamped my eyes shut and moved my aching hands up to cup my ears. I heard metal creaking, and I felt the skin cells on my arms being burned as sparks of fiery-hot metal rained down on us like the Devil's wrath.

"Retrorockets ought to have fired by now!" Wells yelled.

"Everything in this ship is old, right? Just give it a second!" To me, it sounded like Clarke was trying to convince herself.

Mini-Jaha's voice sounded shallow, apologetic, and hurtful as he begged her attention. "Clarke, there's something I have to tell you! I'm so sorry I got your father arrested." There was more to the story, I knew, but this wasn't any of my business.

Clarke whipped her head towards Mini-Jaha and glared. "Don't you talk about my father!" she snapped.

"Please," Wells pleaded. "I can't die knowing that you hate me."

That was so rich coming from him, especially after what happened to Jake. Clarke shouted, "They didn't arrest my father, Wells; they executed him! I do hate you!"

The dropship began to fall faster now, reaching an acceleration that I couldn't keep track. I didn't want to acknowledge the chances of dying, in all honestly, or the probability of there being an immediate, fiery death. I breathed in and out, my heart beating like it was in the middle of a galloping race, and I removed my hands from my head and held onto the metal arms. I was freaking the hell out, honestly thinking I was going to die.

Then, there was nothing. The dropship stopped shaking, and steam released from the ceiling and filtered out into the atmosphere; sparks no longer sprinkled to the ground, the exhaust depleting their life. I slowly released my arms from their defensive position, and I gazed around slowly. I didn't have the energy or will to make a comment, or jeer at Dumb and Dumber.

"Listen," a nearby Asian boy said, with an awed look, "no machine hum."

The boy beside him, a brunette with googles, mused, "Woah. That's a first."

Murmurs went around in surprise and softened joy, and a recovery of their wits occurred among the delinquents. Instead of joining, I merely observed. A look of curiosity swept across my face as I watched Clarke unstrap herself then rush over to where Finn and the two boys had been thrown at the start of the sudden turbulence. Finn was alive and conscious, but the two boys... were lying on the ground.

I craned my neck a little to look over at them. A look of slight curiosity crossed my face when I heard Clarke ask, "Finn. Is he breathing?"

The silence was thick and awkward—full of tension. And when I glanced over, I could see the look of guilt and regret that adorned Finn's handsome, boyish features. He shook his head gravely at the blonde girl in front of him. She merely gave him a sympathetic glance before she turned to head towards the metal ladder that led to the bottom half of the dropship.

I slowly unstrapped myself from the side of the dropship, my eyes blinking as I stretched and readjusted myself to the foreign feeling of walking on two legs. I A groan left my lips, and I muttered, "Jesus fucking Christ..." When I still lived with my father, he always got onto me for swearing so much, but I used to always tell him that it was because his mere existence gave me a reason to curse mine. It used to hurt his feelings, but he sure as hell didn't give a shit when they threw me into a cell.

I slowly and meticulously crossed the room, and I went down the ladder without a thought to the process. The bottom half of the dropship was filled with people, and I loudly exclaimed, "Make way—Queen of Shit-Talk, coming through!" People gave me deadpan expressions as I passed, but I barely gave a shit; I threw up a nice middle finger when I noticed their rude, lingering gazes, and I arched my eyebrows suggestively when they returned the gesture.

A familiar guy was leaning back against the door of the dropship, and I had to force myself not to blurt out his name or question his strange, gelled-back hairstyle. Instead, I slowed my steps and quieted my breathing as I got near the front, and I left myself in a state of curiosity as I wondered why he was here—wait, wait, wait. This was Bellamy Blake, brother of Octavia Blake. Obviously, he came for his sister. Even though I knew this fact, I still hoped I was a smidgen of the reason. Bellamy and Octavia were good friends of mine—which was always a bemusing predicament, considering my dickhead of a father. Even more strangely, I'd managed to avoid execution eight different times just by flirting with the guards or forcing my father to negotiate. It always worked, somehow. And that made me the second oldest person on this ship. Wait, why did this just now occur to me?

Bellamy barked out, "Hey, just back it up, guys."

Clarke being... well, Clarke didn't like the authority this apparent troublemaker was trying to hold, so Mama-bear Clarke and her following cub Wells had to come to the front, just to argue with him. "Stop," she said to Bellamy firmly. "The air could be toxic."

I couldn't hold it anymore. I wryly told her, "Better than the Ark's artificial oxygen."

Clarke spared me a nasty look while Bellamy glanced over, his eyes sparkling with unfamiliarity, then uncertainty, then a slight bit of sadness. However, there was no need to worry about who the fuck I was. He had Mama-bear Clarke to go head to head with—and let me tell you, Bellamy loved arguing. He especially liked winning. "If the air's toxic, we're all dead anyway," he told her with an annoyed look.

Before Clarke could lick her wounds and start up something else, a voice came from the crowd, just a few rows behind me: "Bellamy?"

I didn't need to look to know who the source was, and I certainly didn't need to blink my somewhat-dry eyes to know I'd soon start crying. I just watched as Octavia pushed through the crowd and came to stand in front of us. I examined her back, noticing how long her hair had grown—how she'd easily surpassed my short stature, and was now an inch or two taller than me. I let out a shaky breath, wishing I'd been there to see her grow up the past two years. I wished I could have saved her from being arrested.

Bellamy blinked in surprise as Octavia came into his vantage, and he looked overwhelmed with joy and happiness. "My God," he whispered. "Look how big you are."

Octavia ran into his open arms, nuzzling herself into his torso to give her big brother a well-needed, long-awaited hug. Before long, she pulled back. Her eyes shifted to his guard's uniform, and a laugh seemed on the tip of her tongue. "What the hell are you wearing—a guard's uniform?"

I mumbled to myself, "What the hell else would it be—a slip dress?" I would have paid to see Bellamy in a dress.

Bells smiled at Octavia, and a laugh freely came from his throat. He seemed too afraid she'd disappear, so he kept his hands interlocked on her elbows. "I borrowed it to get on the dropship. Someone's got to keep an eye on you!"

Incoming, incoming! Mayday, mayday! Clarke to the freaking rescue, with her unnecessary and unwanted comments! She loudly asked, "Where's your wristband?"

Octavia glared at Mama-bear Clarke and snottily said, "Do you mind? I haven't seen my brother in a year." She looked on the verge of asking Clarke a question, but her eyes turned sorrowful. She bit her lip and sighed out, anger still in her expression—but that sadness was still there, similar to Bellamy's.

A boy from the back said, "No one has a brother." Couldn't he see the resemblance? Dumbass.

Then a female—a girl who sounded vaguely familiar—yelled out, "That's Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden in the floor!"

I didn't even think; I turned around and punched that bitch in the face. I recognized her as Emilie Wilde, a girl that's loathed me since I was seven. "Look, it's Emilie Wilde, the girl they found cradling her nose like a little bitch!" I said sarcastically, gesturing towards her like she was an animal meant to be gazed and gawked at.

Emilie stared up at me in bemused silence, and indeed, she was cradling her nose. I think I may have broken it. Oh well—Clarke would be the only one who bothered to sympathize.

I looked around me to see everyone staring at me with the same expression as Emilie—all except Wells and Clarke, who sent me accusing glares, and Bellamy and Octavia, who looked like they were trying to remember me from somewhere. In the meantime of their analyzation, I decided to sweetly say, "You might want to clean the blood up, Clarke. It could cause permanent damage without the same gravitational pull on it." I widened my eyes in mock-fear. "Wouldn't want that, now would you?" Clarke merely glared, then wordlessly went over to the girl. Always the perfect little doctor's aid, just like her mother.

Bellamy finally said, "Still has that same damn snark." I looked over to see him staring at me with heated eyes and I looked away at their implication. Memories, memories, memories; weren't they such horrid, woeful things? Trying to forget only intensified their effects—and damn, did I want to forget the unsaid words and physical escalation that went on between Bellamy and me.

Octavia seemed intent on heading over and giving me a hug, but Bellamy quickly tugged her back. "How about we give them something to remember you by?" He was obviously talking about Emilie, who was still sitting on the floor with a bloody nose.

Bellamy's smile was reassuring and full of mischief, but alas—Octavia was still in disbelief. "Yeah? Like what?" Maybe she was still reeling over Emilie's comment; it sure as hell sounded like it.

"Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years."

It was ninety-seven, but I wasn't going to ruin a moment. Instead, I watched with baited breath as Bellamy slammed open the door to the dropship. What we first saw was sunlight, a glorious beam that shot into us and stiffened the hairs of our skin. Then we saw green—more and more green, fields and fields of trees and shrubs. Octavia looked in utter awe at the sight before her. And best of all, we weren't dying of no damn radiation.

"Ah..." the girl of the hour exhaled, then she stepped onto the dropship's platform. She slowly and surely walked down the platform... before she hit solid, grass-ridden land. A breath was inhaled, then a pair of limbs were thrown up. A gust of air blew into the dropship, and with it came the words— "We're back, bitches!"

I heard the shouts, and I quickly stepped to the side before I could be trampled. The only ones left in the dropship after that were me, Emilie, and Clarke. Clarke was finishing on drying the blood on Emilie's nose.

"When we get time, I'll bind it," Clarke was trying to explain, but Emilie wasn't having it.

"I don't want to look like a damned damsel in distress!" she shouted at her. "I'm fine." Before Clarke could say another word, Emilie sprinted out of the dropship. I quickly followed, not wanting to be in the same room as Clarke Griffin.

So this was Earth. Damn, it was beautiful.