Thanks for checking out my fic. It is my first, but I won't ask you to be kind like everyone else does. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

This is a self-insert fic. I also want to let you readers know that I do possess the skills that I list in this chapter. I am going to try and be as realistic to my own abilities as possible. So, if you think that I'm deliberately making myself OP, then well, maybe I'm exaggerating slightly, but generally I am telling the truth. Watching many TV Shows reveals just how bad some people are at fighting. They clearly don't' know what they're doing. Sure, some of that is camera work, but in general most people are poorly trained. I digress.

I have only watched the first 2 seasons of The 100, so updates after season 2 will depend on me having watched the season.


I woke up to a white room. The ceiling was pure white, as were the walls, floor, and the bed I was currently laying on. I was slightly confused, considering that I had fallen asleep in a room I shared with my younger brother, where the walls and ceiling were beige, the carpet was a dull blue, and my bed sheets were either green or blue, depending on the week.

Now I was all alone in an unfamiliar room. There was no door I noticed, meaning I was trapped. I wasn't too concerned though, this felt like a dream, not reality.

"The hell's goin' on?" I questioned softly. My voice echoed in the small empty room. I really didn't like the situation I found myself in. I felt trapped. What kind of fucked up dream was this?

Welcome.

The words sounded through the room with a mechanical tone.

"What the fuck?" I swore softly. This really was a weird ass dream.

You have been selected for a research project. Do not bother asking what kind, because you will fail to understand. We have selected individuals such as yourself to be placed into alternate universes to live. You may understand these universes as fictional, but we assure you they are real.

All that I could think was 'huh?' I didn't know what to say. I had been plucked from my life and was going to be put into an alternate universe, one that I understood to be fictional. This made no sense. I finally decided to ask a somewhat sensible question.

"Whadda ya mean by fictional?" I wondered if the thing would even understand me. I'm what could most politely be described as a southerner, and what could less politely be called a redneck. If this machine, if it even was a machine, was anything like Siri then I would have to perfectly annunciate all of my words. Hopefully, that wouldn't be the case.

Our use of the word fictional refers to TV series, books, and movies that happen to exist in an alternate universe. We try to select individuals who are somewhat aware of the universe they are being transported into. The best results have been individuals who do not have a great knowledge of the world they will be living in. As you have only seen two seasons of The 100, we have elected to place you into that universe.

I guess the thing, or things, it kept referring to itself as 'they', could understand me no matter how I spoke.

"So, you're putting me into The 100 universe?" I asked 'them'. "What for?"

Our reasons are beyond your understanding and thus, we will decline to inform you of them.

Well shit all over my self-esteem why don't you? Apparently, I was a complete dumbass compared to this thing, I had thought I was pretty smart too.

"Ok then," I spoke again. It felt weird to speak to an empty room, but at this point I was just rolling with the punches. "Now what? Are ya just gonna send me off to The 100?"

No. First there are a few steps that need to be taken to place into a new universe properly.

"Alright. Shoot." I was beyond rolling with the punches, now I was genuinely curious.

First, we need to determine where you will come from. In your terms the show beings when Clarke Griffin was taken from her cell and placed on a dropship headed for Earth. We will retain roughly the same starting point. However, we need to determine whether you will be a grounder, or one of the 100. State your choice aloud starting with the phrase "I would like to be a" followed by either "a grounder", or "part of the 100". Questions will be permitted.

This weird ass voice was starting to piss me off. "Questions will be permitted?" This thing couldn't boss me around, I would've asked questions whether it wanted me too or not.

"Will I know how to speak Trigedasleng if I choose grounder?" I asked. I wasn't all that interested in stranding myself amongst people who didn't speak my language.

Yes.

"That's real helpful," I said in quiet frustration.

I started weighing pros and cons. I figured that chances of instant death were higher if I chose to be a part of the 100 landing on Earth. However, the I knew next to nothing about the grounders. I knew some of the characters, but because I had only watched the first two seasons, I was far more familiar with the 100. I figured that the 100 would be my choice.

"I'm goin' with dropship," I said. Nothing happened. "Shit. I gotta say it the way the thing told me to." I swore and huffed in frustration. Damn rules. "I would like to be a part of the 100," I said in carefully pronounced and obviously annoyed English.

The 100 selected. Now, we will grant you three requests. These requests can be anything you want or think you will need for your new life. However, if your requests are deemed too excessive, then they will be denied. When you would like to make a request state, "I request" followed by your request. Questions will be permitted.

I got to make three wishes like this thing was a genie or something. I decided that genie was a sensible a name as any. I instantly knew my first request, but I decided it would be best to ask about my request, before I accidently did something I couldn't undo.

"Could I get a crossbow, and know how to use it?" I asked. I knew how to use a gun. I grew up in the south after all. I was an excellent shot, but there would only be so many bullets on the irradiated Earth. Besides being the 100's equivalent of Daryl Dixon sounded pretty badass.

Based upon your request and your personal preferences we have determined that you would like to have skills similar to Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead. Is this correct?

This thing was in my head now. It was freaking me out.

"Yeah," I answered.

Your request entails the skills of crossbow shooting and maintenance, tracking, and the ability to give a remarkably cold shoulder to those around you. It has been determined that this request is acceptable. Please state request.

"I request Daryl Dixon skills," I stated my first request.

Request granted. Please state second request.

Now I was ready to test the limits of the system.

"I request an IQ of two-hundred-fifty," I spoke smoothly.

Request denied. You will not be allowed to increase your current IQ of one-hundred-forty-five.

My IQ was one-hundred-forty-five? Holy shit. I knew I was smart, but that was way higher than I had thought I had.

"Ok then," I said still slightly annoyed that my request had been denied.

I was tempted to ask for a Negan style leather jacket, but I really wanted to request useful things. I looked down at my somewhat skinny frame and decided it wouldn't be too bad to request a higher muscle mass, while remaining at my current body fat.

"I request a fifteen percent increase in muscle mass, while maintaining my current body fat level," I said.

Request granted. Please state third request.

So, I would be buffer too? Things were looking good now. There was one more thing that I thought could come in handy should the need arise.

"I request enhanced senses," I said.

Request granted. There is one final step to be taken before we release you to live your new life. You must choose a name for yourself. State your name as "Last name" followed by the surname of your choice, "First name" followed by the first name of your choice, "Middle Name" followed by the middle name of your choice.

I thought long and hard before concluding what my name would be. There were many great names that I wanted to use, but I could only pick one. In the end I decided to combine three of my favorite musicians' names into one name.

"Last name, Draiman. First name, Maynard. Middle name, Kirk" I answered the thing's request.

Name selected. You will not hear from us again. You will now be released into the world of The 100.

Immediately after the thing finished speaking, I crumpled to the floor my vision rapidly darkening as I slowly passed out.