March 13th, 2149.
I feel the sun on my face.
I see trees all around me.
The scent of wildflowers on a breeze.
So beautiful.
At this moment, I was not stranded in space.
It's been 97 years since the nuclear apocalypse left the earth devastated,
simmering in radiation.
We are told the earth still needs more time to recover.
Then, we can go to the ground.
That's the dream.
This, however, is reality.
Reality sucks.
-Clarke Griffin
It's called the Ark. Made up of the 12 stations, all humanity that was not killed in a circle of fire was doomed to live in a metal jar for 97 years. Normally, it's quite peaceful. There are exceptions, however. All offenses, regardless of severity, are punishable by death. Unless, however, you are a minor. They get put in juvenile lockup, to be reviewed at 18. Today, however, was woken by a sharp, metallic clang. Something hitting the door to her cell. The door opened, and two men dressed in body armor stepped in.
"Number 319," the man said" face the wall."
"What is this?" Clarke asked.
"The wall. Now." Clarke backed up, and obeyed, putting her hands on the wall, near the window that overlooked the earth.
"What's happening," she asked, a bit more forcefully this time.
"Give me your arm," the man said. His partner opened a large case and took out what looked like a wrist band. "Take off your watch"
"No!" Clarke exclaimed, "it's my fathers!"
"Miss, please cooperate." His partner took an electric baton from his belt. Something in her snapped. Clarke shoved the man closest to her away, then pushed past the second before he could activate his baton. She dove out of the room and shut the door behind her. Outside didn't look any better. Guards were at every door in the corridor. Something was seriously wrong.
"Miss!" Another guard had seen her. "Don't move!"
"No!" Clarke cried, "what's going on!"
"Stand down!" a woman said, "that's my daughter!"
"Mom?" Clarke said, "What's going on here?"
"Please honey. Calm down," Abby said.
"No! What's happening!" She stopped and took a deep breath, thinking about what this could mean. Then it hit her. "You're killing us all off. Aren't you? To make more time for the rest of you."
"No, sweetie. You aren't being killed off. You're being sent to the ground. Now listen to me. Your instincts will be to take care of everyone first as your father would have. Nothing matters, except that you survive. Find water and shelter. The people you are going down with are criminals. You cannot trust them. Okay? Please understand. I love you too much to lose you too." She embraces Clarke in a tight hug. Clarke felt a prick in her arm. She looked and saw a dart, just as she began to blackout. "You get to go to earth."
She wakes up, in a cold, metal chair. Her heart rate picked up significantly as she hears the doors behind her slide open. Directly in front of her was what appeared to be the only other piece of furniture in the entire room: another metallic chair across a metal table. Before she could process what was happening or move to react, the chancellor walks around the table and stands behind the other chair opposite her.
"Good afternoon Clarke," he says, leaning towards her, "how are you doing?"
"Don't play with me," she chokes out, "what the hell do you want."
"I don't remember you having such a bad mouth," he huffed, shaking his head slightly. He met her gaze again with a sudden intensity. "Regardless, what I do or do not want is not what I've brought you here to discuss." He made to sit down in the chair slowly, never taking his intense gaze off of her. Then, without preamble,
"We're sending you to the ground, Clarke."
She blinked. All of the thoughts swirling around in her brain suddenly came to an abrupt stop. Her mouth went dry and her blood ran cold as her hands started to tingle. She leans back into her chair and scoffs. "Bullshit."
"Unfortunately, Clarke, we no longer have any time for such things," he says, "originally, we considered sending at least 98 of our prisoners down to Earth together. This way, we would have more bodies on the ground to analyze conditions and make broader assessments for us. However," he paused, giving her a once-over with his eyes, "we determined that the logistics of that operation would be far too complicated to carry out. Especially considering the number of variables involved in sending a bunch of kids to fend for themselves in unknown territory for an unknown amount of time. By sending you alone, we will be much better equipped to monitor your activity and analyze your vital signs in a much more in-depth manner."
"My mother would never have allowed this to happen. She wouldn't just let you send me to the ground without warning! Besides, the earth isn't supposed to be inhabitable for another hundred years. Assuming I survive the descent into the atmosphere, I'll be dead as soon as I hit the ground anyways!" despite trying to remain stoic and unbothered, she could hear something similar to desperation seeping into her voice. The smirk on Jaha's face didn't help.
"On the contrary, Clarke. Your mother was the one who worked so tirelessly to develop a serum that should help your body metabolize the radiation on the ground." Clarke looks down to her forearm and notices part of it is swollen and dark.
"What did you do to me." she can't tear her eyes away from the dark spot on her arm.
"Your mother found something that a scientist named Becca Franko developed before Polaris was lost. Don't worry. We've tested it, and finally managed to get it to the point where you won't go feral." Clarke's gaze finally shoots up to meet his. "Many of the early subjects went insane and started acting like animals. You seem to be fine, so you should last until you get on the ground."
All she can do is keep her mouth shut. Her eyes go back to her arm. Now it seems more black than red.
"One more thing," he says, standing from his chair, "you will only be given a week's worth of food for the ground. We cannot afford to spare any more than that. Stay alive."
"You son of a... .. ."
The first thing Clarke became aware of was the pounding. It resonated inside every dimension of her skull and threatened to render her unconscious once again. Surely it wasn't possible for her head to hurt this badly. It shouldn't be possible, at the very least. And yet.
She peels her eyes open and immediately regrets it. There is a bright light that blinds her as soon as she does. The pain in her leg is the only other thing that stands out. All things considered, pretty good. Not dead yet. Struggling, she makes her way out of her seat and crawls on her stomach to the door. Well, what's left of it. The crash must have torn most of it off. The next thing she notices is the wind. She tries to move into a position to better feel the breeze on her face. When she tried to bend her knees a bit to bring her legs closer to her, though, she immediately regretted it.
Instantly, a white-hot pain immediately shot through her legs and her body collapsed beneath her, sending her tumbling unceremoniously onto the ground. Despite herself, a laugh escapes her. "Looks like we're back bitches," she mumbles to herself. Neil Armstrong has got nothing on her. She closes her eyes, feeling the comfort of the firm ground beneath her, and lets sleep take her.