Day 158 – Feb. 17
A constant throbbing pain forces Myles' foggy mind back to consciousness, her throat thick with metallic tasting blood. Coughing wetly, half dried, clumpy blood bubbles from her mouth as blinding pain makes her gasp. Pitiful groans escape the struggling red-haired teen from the pain the movements only escalate, the gasp inadvertently causing some of the thick blood to get sucked down her scratchy throat. Her weak and heavy feeling body is helpless to stop herself from choking, the forceful coughs clenching her wounded abdomen torturously and keeping her burning lungs begging for air.
Myles' torment is brought to an end after an agonising moment by two hands roughly and quickly rolling her onto her side. As her body rolls to the right, the material of her shirt and the blanket covering her sticks to her, dried blood fusing the materials together and to her skin.
"You're okay," Murphy mutters, patting his palm on her upper back to encourage her to spit the thick blood coating her throat. "Spit it out."
The sound of her friend's voice makes Myles flinch, the words bouncing around her aching head loudly. Screwing her already shut eyes closed, the redhead's harsh choking eases suddenly, the thick collection of her own blood sliding from her throat to her mouth. Opening her mouth and trying to force her thirsty and weak muscles to spit, the warm blood slips past her parted lips.
It's only then that she registers she's shivering. The sensation of warm, thick, half congealed liquid slowly falling past her chattering teeth to drip from her shaking lips swirls in her disoriented mind. A disgruntled hum follows the blood that leaves her mouth, the bitter tang of copper remaining in her mouth and filling the air. One of Murphy's hands leaves her back, and the hand on her exposed shoulder from the overstretched collar of her long-sleeved grey shirt shifts on her cold and clammy, pale skin as he reaches for something.
"Good," Murphy murmurs, the hand that left her back returning to wipe a dry cloth on her jittering blue-tinted lips. His hand brushes against her face as he drags the rag lazily over her mouth, the warm feel of his skin extracting a contented breath from Myles. "Okay."
Murphy pushes her to lie on her back once again, the movement sending a jarring and weak groan from Myles as her wounds tug painfully. Tender and raw flesh pull and stretch on the few stitches she had gotten while unconscious, and the redhead's dizzy mind stumbles over the fact that she needed stitches.
"You c'ld be a doct'r," Myles slurs out weakly, her voice cracking from thirst and shaking as she shivers. Groggily twitching her eyebrows in a failing attempt to pull her eyes open, the redhead continues quietly. "You'r' pr'tty good at t'at."
"I don't want to be a fucking doctor," the teen grumbles, moving away and flopping down in one of the seats in the Skaikru ambassador's room.
"Mm," Myles hums in reply, all she can manage when she can't force her body to chuckle. Slowly opening her eyes and blinking blearily at the blinding light in the room, the world refuses to quit spinning and blurring for her dizzy and oversensitive hazel eyes. "W'at do you wan'a be, then?"
A long pause makes Myles try to pry her eyes open again, the heavy weight holding them down lightening the longer she forces her blurry and unfocused eyes to stay open. Gradually, the familiar room becomes clear, even in the dull, dim light of the intrusively rising sun.
"I don't know," Murphy finally answers, and tired hazel eyes sweep over to him.
He's as disheveled as he was the last time she saw him. Bloodied and beaten, the skin around the wounds she can see are the only parts of him that aren't tinted with dirt. Dark blue eyes almost look black in the lowlight peering in from behind him, the dark circles under his eyes only accentuating the warped tinge his features have taken on. Swelling irritated skin is almost sickly pale, even in the soft pinkish hue that peeks into room from the early morning sky. Murphy had sharp features before, but now they're even more prominent, as if the already skinny teen had lost weight.
Questions swim sloppily around Myles' tired and sluggish mind, the queries never once being spoken aloud. The last time she heard something about the Arker, he'd left with former Chancellor Jaha. In the days leading up to them leaving, Myles had brought up killing the man to Murphy. Is the physical changes a psychological byproduct of being a murderer? Or is this from being a 'thief', as Titus has referred to him as? Had Titus saved him from a thief's fate to bring him up to take the fall for the murder he was about to commit, or did he hold Murphy prisoner first?
"Are you okay?" Myles asks when the teen only looks off at nothing, licking her dry and shivering lips.
"Yeah," the brown-haired teen drawls unconvincingly, "Clarke cleaned me up."
"Mm," the redhead murmurs, rolling her head on her pillow to look around the room. "Whe'e's the Pri'c'ss, 'nyway?"
"With the Commander," Murphy supplies slowly, tilting his head against the chair he's slouched in to nod to the door. "Left last night and locked the door."
"It's proc'd're," Myles explains, her weak voice dipping. "Flamekeeper's are s'posed t' be a Commander's mos' trust'd conf'd'nt, their spir'tual advis'r. She needs t' get her kingd'm in ord'r."
"Apparently," he tacks on gruffly, raising his eyebrows high. "A world class psycho, too. Good to see you've been making friends." Myles snorts obnoxiously, groaning immediately after when it sends a wave of white hot pain from her stomach. "How long does it take to get a kingdom in order?"
"Don' know," the red-haired teen mumbles, shaking her head before stopping when nausea fills her and scrunching together her eyebrows in thought. "Losin' a Flamekeeper 's a big h't. They'll need t' hol' a trial. Lexa is pro'ly holed away in her room wit' Clarke 'til her rid'rs come back wit' 'nother Flamekeeper."
"Hot," Murphy retorts, causing Myles to let out a huffed breath in place of a laugh.
"Tell me 'bout it," she quips, quirking her eyebrows amusedly, "Jasp'r thinks s – "
Myles stops, stilling every small movement. Jasper. Jasper will be so pissed she got shot. Why isn't he here? Clarke mustn't have radioed him… because they're blockading Arkadia and he needs to stay there. That means Jasper is with Finn, who've probably heard about the attack on Rendon from their watch on Arkadia, and Octavia –
"Oh, fuck," Myles breathes out, snapping her head to look at the window, seeing the gradually warming pink tones of the early morning sun rising.
"What?" Murphy questions dully, seeming completely uninterested until Myles tries to sit up. Clenching her teeth together hard, Myles ignores the searing pain exploding in her abdomen to push herself upwards. "Woah. Hey." The brown-haired teen is on his feet in an instant, rushing over the girl who's groaning and hissing in pain from her own movements. "Hey. You just got shot, stay in the damn bed."
"Uh-uh," the redhead refuses, lifting a frail and shaky arm to weakly push at his arms that gently push her back down. "I got'a go."
"Like hell you do," Murphy snaps, looking at her like she's an idiot. "We're locked in and you have a hole in your stomach." Reluctantly, Myles stops trying and failing to fight the brown-haired teen, but her worried gaze finds the window again. "Geez."
"Di' Clarke cat'h O'tavia?" Myles quizzes, looking back at Murphy with such a serious and concerned expression that it immediately grounds him.
"I don't know," he shrugs, looking lost as he sinks back down into one seat.
"Dammit," the red-haired teen curses, her words still slurring slightly, "O's goin' to be so pissed with me."
Murphy breathes a short, sarcastic laugh, "I think you're worrying about the wrong Blake." Myles stills again, staring at the teen in shock. "He's gonna lose his mind." How could she forget? Murphy left before everything happened with Mount Weather. He doesn't know Myles and Bellamy aren't together anymore. He doesn't know about Wanheda. "What?"
"I don' think he'll be upset at 'll," Myles divulges quietly, her voice strained.
"I don't see the King of worshipping every piece of dirt you walk on," Murphy starts, disbelieving chuckles bubbling under his dull words. "Not being upset at all that you were shot and almost died."
"You've b'n gone a long time, Johnny," the redhead laments softly, shifting her eyes down to stare at nothing.
A tense silence fills the air, and Myles can feel Murphy scrutinising her, searching for an answer to a question bouncing around his mind. When she doesn't elaborate further, the brown-haired teen sits up straight in his chair and leans forward with his arms on his knees.
"Okay, I'll bite," the teen shoots back. "What the hell happened that could make Bellamy Blake hate you so much that he wouldn't care if you died?"
Hazel eyes flick back to his dark blue, the golden hue the rising sun has cast into the room illuminating most of his face properly now. The unshakable look in her eyes shakes him, as if he didn't think she was being serious until right now. Three months worth of loneliness, longing and guilt crashing together in a sea of swirling hazel locked on the haunted and tortured storm in his dark blue.
"I did som'thing re'lly bad," Myles whispers, the dark and haunted look in his eyes seeming nonjudgmental.
"What'd you do?" Murphy instantly asks, his tone losing all traces of sarcasm and humour.
"Do you remember…" the girl starts wearily, fearing having to say what she did aloud to someone who doesn't know. Her voice shakes with emotions that have spent the last three months silently festering, only emphasised by her weak and raspy voice coming from her shivering lips. "Mount Weather couldn't leave the mountain bec – "
"Because they couldn't breathe the air," the teen finishes, his brown eyebrows drawing together. "They were draining grounders blood and drilling into you to fix themselves."
Tears fill Myles' eyes, her head nodding quickly, "they... they wouldn't let them go, so I…" Myles tears her eyes from his again, looking at the chair beside him. "I reversed the airlocks t' irradiate the whole mountain." Murphy's posture changes slightly, his leant forward position relaxes, his arms going slack on top of his knees now he's not resting his weight on them. Finally, hazel eyes lock back onto his dark blue, finding understanding and respect muddied in them with haunted remorse. "I killed them 'll."
"Why wouldn't they let them go?" Murphy inquires after a quiet moment, his tone soft.
"The marrow worked," Myles tells him lightly, lifting a shoulder in a lazy shrug. "They were curin' themselves, but they were killin' our friends t' do it."
"How many made it out?" Murphy enquires next, fully engrossed in the story.
"Forty-two," the red-haired teen informs him, adding, "but that was aft'r they got the team sent fr'm Arkadia as well."
"What the hell is Arkadia?" Murphy reiterates, "an Ark theme-park? Do they watch people starve and refuse to give them medicine to remind them of the good ol' days?"
"Didn' use t'," Myles remarks scornfully, furrowing her red eyebrows. "Now they're under new leadership. They changed the Camp Jaha name aft'r Jaha left. Guess who was voted Chancellor by the people?"
"Dylan Blythe," the boy counters almost immediately, without needing to think of an answer.
Myles lifts her head up in shock, staring at the teen in frustrated shock.
"Boldface Liar Blythe?" Myles repeats, her words for the first time since waking not slurring and her red eyebrows drawn together and held down low.
"Ah," Murphy tsks disapprovingly, lifting his fingers on one hand from the chair's armrest to halfheartedly shake a finger towards the redhead. "That's the only qualification for chancellor. Having no self-respect and integrity are occupational hazards."
"Charles Pike," Myles reveals after a beat, her tone soft with the memory of their first day on the ground.
Monty leans in and lowers his voice, dead serious. Peering around as if afraid Murphy, who was nowhere in sight, would hear.
"He was just messing around," the black-haired teen recalls under his breath, "and Pike punched him."
Aggie pales and her eyes widen, "what!?"
"Yeah," Jasper nods, repeating his words in a mockingly silly, deep voice, "said the 'key to survival is to never stop fighting, this is life or death, no one is coming to help any of you.'"
"Charles Pike?" Murphy echoes, disbelief and anger coursing through his veins so strongly that Myles can see it throbbing underneath his pale skin. "The teacher? The Earth Skills teacher who didn't know jack-shit about anything? That Charles Pike?"
"The one and only," the redhead sighs, humming discontentedly when her wound tugs painfully.
Murphy scoffs, bouncing his legs with the restless energy of anger. Shaking his head bitterly, the teen glares at the wall.
"What was his big promise for the Ark, huh?" The brown-haired teen grovels, "free punches for everybody? Is that how he got the votes, 'if you don't pick me, I'll knock you out'? 'Help me win, or I won't help any of you'?"
"Something like that," Myles murmurs, leaning her head back as a heavy wave of tiredness washes over her weak body. Murphy scoffs, and the redhead rolls her head on her pillow to look at him. "He's more of the brute force, shoot everyone who doesn't agree, kinda guy. Azgeda blew up Mount Weather when Arkadia started moving their people in, and Pike gunned down an army of three-hundred grounder warriors in their sleep with automatic rifles. People who were volunteers to help protect them against another attack from Azgeda."
"Holy fuck," he bursts out, disgust twisting into his angry expression. "Was that part of his campaign promise?"
"He tried to do it before he was elected," Myles explains, "Marcus stopped him. That night, he was elected. The grounders were dead by sunup."
"And I thought my last three months were batshit crazy," Murphy grumbles, looking away as his restless energy only continues to escalate.
Hazel eyes watch him for a moment, her lightheaded mind trying to figure out if it's a good time to ask. Murphy has been prone to uncontrollable, rage-filled outbursts ever since his dad died, but Myles doesn't fear him. He seems more grounded, in control. Like he understands the object of his anger isn't in the room, and even though his voice still belts from his mouth as if it is, Murphy doesn't act on it.
"Where were you for the last three months?" Myles enquires softly after a moment, everything she remembers about him leaving and what she and Jasper have learnt about the grounders crossing her mind. Dark blue eyes look at her, and she presses on. "Did you ever find that cult? Sonchageda?"
"Sunka – what?" Murphy quizzes, the flash of recognition that appeared in his eyes disappearing entirely.
"Sonchageda," the red-haired teen clarifies, "the City of Light."
"Ah, Jaha's new overbearing," the teen sarcastically replies, "hippie religion. Praying to technology that ended the world."
"Wait," Myles halts him, lifting a heavy hand up weakly as her mind spins in utter confusion. "What to the what?"
"Long story short," Murphy begrudgingly elaborates, "the City of Light is a fantasy place made by an A.I. where brainwashed fanatics go to never feel pain or hate or envy."
"That's boring," the redhead informs him, before continuing to figure out what he knows about the cult. "I haven't heard A.I. before."
"Yeah," the brown-haired boy confirms dully, "this bitch in a red dress. A.L. – "
"A.L.I.E.," Myles finishes, tilting her head up and scrunching together her eyebrows in thought.
"How'd you know that?" Murphy quizzes, leaning forward on his knees again.
"Myths among the grounders," the red-haired girl tells him, "someone every few years comes back from finding the City of Light. It's only ever one survivor, one person who found it. They preach about this all-knowing, undying goddess in red." Murphy's face twists in confusion, carefully listening to the other Arker. "They promise a life without pain, without anger, without betrayal to those who devote their lives to her. Only the most loyal followers get given the Key to this perfect paradise and can see her."
The brown-haired teen thinks for a moment before asking, "what happens after they get the Key?"
"They die," Myles answers shrugging, "everyone we've spoken to say days after the new leader reaches a village, they all die or disappear without a trace." Something dark crosses the teen's face, his body straightening as dark blue eyes switch away from Myles. "Legend says every village with bodies left behind looks like they were massacred by their own weapons. They turned them on themselves."
"She's still doing it," Murphy breathes, his voice soft and airy. "She still thinks it's the root problem."
"What are you talking about?" Myles prompts, and it's her turn to be confused.
"A.L.I.E. was made before the end of the world," the brown-haired teen recites speedily, anxiously. "She was supposed to make life better for mankind, that was her core command. She thought the root problem was too many people, so she hacked nuclear launch codes." Hazel eyes widen, her brain running a million miles a second to keep up with the information. "It wasn't politics that started the war, it was an A.I."
"How do you know all that?" Myles quick-fires, wanting access to wherever he found this out.
"Her," Murphy supplies simply, about to continue when Myles cuts him off worriedly.
"You have the Key?" The red-haired Arker questions, trying to figure out what that means in terms of an A.I. in her groggy mind.
"No," he shuts down, shaking his head frustratedly and gesturing with his hands. "It's a chip. This big. You swallow it."
"It's a drug?" Myles tries, perplexed.
"No!" Murphy huffs, using his hands to show how small the chip is. "It's like a computer chip. It's got the corporate logo on it, that's why I'm here."
"What's the logo?" Myles enquires, thinking it through.
"An infinity symbol," the brown-haired teen gives the answer, and it clicks into place for Myles.
"That's the Commander's sacred symbol," the redhead informs him. "It's all related."
"Do you remember the rumours on the Ark?" Murphy presses, "about the thirteenth Station?"
"Yeah," Myles nods, "Polaris. Alpha blew it up when they hesitated to dock together on the first Unity Day."
"There's an escape pod in the basement," the teen lowers his voice, leaning forward nervously as if this was a secret. "Where that man kept me. What do you call him? Flamekeeper." Myles nods, listening intently. "There's an escape pod down there with Polaris printed on it, but the 'a' and 'r' are burnt off. I think A.L.I.E.'s creator was on there. Becca – "
"Bekka," the redhead breathes out the name at the same time, and Murphy leans back in shock. "Bekka Pramheda."
"What does that mean?" Murphy asks slowly, his frustration still lingering as he tries to solve this with her.
"Becca the First Commander," Myles translates, switching her hazel between his dark blue.
"She escaped," the brown-haired teen mutters to himself. "I knew it."
"Wait," the redhead interjects, "you said you found all this out from her."
"Yeah," Murphy nods eagerly, "A.L.I.E. was inside this mansion on an island across from the Dead Zone. Jaha locked me in the damn bunker under the lighthouse. There were tapes of them, of Becca and her friends working on A.L.I.E. Of them after the bombs were fired, trying to survive in the bunker. A.L.I.E. is a hologram, she's all over the mansion, all over the videos."
"Why'd he lock you in the bunker?" Myles implores him, racking her foggy brain to keep up.
"He said he had to work on something for her," the brown-haired teen brushes off, thinking on it deeply like he's trying to remember what it was. "Turning some… I don't fucking know – turning some nuclear warhead into a power supply or something."
Tense silence fills the air, the same question bouncing around both of their minds. Why would A.L.I.E. need a power supply from a nuclear warhead? What is she planning?
"If you're right," Murphy laments after a thoughtful beat, leaning his arms forward on his knees again and fiddling with his hands nervously. "My girlfriend's in trouble."
"You have a girlfriend?" Myles snaps her head up to look at him, smiling brightly. "That's amazing, Johnny. What's her name?"
"Emori," he provides with a small smile, instead of his usual sarcastic smirk.
"That's a beautiful name," the redhead smiles back, and he huffs happily to himself.
"Beautiful girl," Murphy counters easily, not missing a beat. "I met her and her brother on the way to the island. They robbed us," he pauses to laugh, getting a contented huff and a smile from the redhead. "Told us how to get there. They find and steal technology, bring it to A.L.I.E. and go. When Jaha finally let me out of the bunker – "
"Finally?" Myles echoes, "how long were you in there?"
"Eighty-six days," the brown-haired teen answers gruffly, his tone detached as he looks at Myles with cold, dead eyes.
"Oh, my god," she sighs out, red eyebrows raising in shocked concern. "Alone?" Murphy looks down, nodding slowly before haltingly meeting her eyes again. "Murphy, that's horrible. Are you okay?"
"Dandy," he quips dully, but Myles isn't buying it. Her concerned look elicits a long sigh, adding. "Could be worse. I could've been in Arkadia, gunning down allies." A shocked laugh bubbles from Myles' throat, but gets cut off short when her stomach explodes with pain. Squeezing her eyes closed, Myles tries to regain control of her breathing. Jolting the wound has aggravated it, making every small breath painful. "Her brother ate the chip."
Hazel eyes open and Myles rolls her head to look at him again, breathless from pain. Sweat glistens on her skin, making her stick to the clothes and blankets already drenched in her dried blood. Red eyebrows pull together, a crease forming on her forehead.
"Damn," the redhead squeaks out, quickly shutting her eyes again when a new wave of pain washes through her.
"Yeah," Murphy agrees, "she wanted to go look for him. Talk some sense into him. I told her not to, he… uh… he held her hostage for the fucking A.I. His own sister."
"We'll find her," Myles promises honestly, and dark blue eyes lock on hers, relaxing slightly. "Jasper and I spent the last three months doing stuff like that. Show the clans we can help."
"Thank you," Murphy says, so sincerely and seriously it makes Myles want to laugh.
Instead of laughing, though, she smiles weakly, swallowing as her dry and thirsty throat begs for something to drink. The weight that had fallen over the room eases, leaving them in a comfortable silence. Myles finally works up the courage to figure out the damage, lifting a heavy hand dizzily to feel her stomach under the blanket.
Clarke tore open the bottom of the shirt, and pale, slender fingers instantly come into contact with several layers of bandage. Swallowing dryly again and closing her eyes groggily for a moment, Myles brings her hand up to weakly push the blanket away. It's heavier than she remembers, making a strange crackly sound from her dried, deep red blood. Once the blanket is moved over a little bit, the redhead lifts her head up to look down.
Her dried blood coats everything thickly, soaked into all of the blankets that Myles can see. The dark jeans she wears and her grey shirt are both tainted with her blood, leaving no doubt in her mind as to why she's so foggy-minded and freezing cold. A surprised hum rumbles its way out of her throat, and her hands sway and move around shakily when she checks for more injuries.
"You scared Clarke," Murphy states suddenly, making Myles drop her head back to roll on the pillow and look at him. "She had to dig the bullet out, but you went into hypo-volcanic shock."
"Volemic," the red-haired teen corrects, "hypovolemic shock."
"Whatever," the teen waves off, his careless portrayal not fooling Myles for a moment. "Shock."
Silence falls over them again, the only sounds being pitiful grunts as shaky hands reach out and pull the blanket back over her pale body.
"You did good," Murphy announces, and the redhead closes her tired hazel eyes, quirking her eyebrows.
"For not dying?" Myles quips, "thanks, I do that everyday. It's a bad habit I'm trying to quit."
"For Mount Weather," the brown-haired teen elaborates, his tone serious and dark blue eyes honest when Myles looks at him. "If you didn't do what you did, they'd never stop. You saved everyone by doing what you did."
"Except for them," the redhead whispers, breaking eye contact. "We had people in that mountain helping us. Jasper fell in love. They weren't all enemies."
"Yes, they were," Murphy insists calmly, softly. "Even if they didn't kill any of us, if they didn't need any of us, they spent two-hundred years draining grounders dry. There was no coming up here without a war. They had guns. You saved everyone."
Hazel eyes finally look back at his dark blue, "for what?"
"So," Myles drawls out, watching Murphy pace mindlessly in front of the doors. The redhead is wide awake now, but the pain is still making her groggy. She's no longer shivering, her body slowly calming down from the near dear experience she had. "Chris let her out. Why would he have access to her?"
"Because he was Becca's assistant," Murphy explains exasperatedly, having gone over this multiple times. "Very close with each other."
"No, I mean," the redhead corrects, swinging out an arm to gesture. "Why would he have enough access to her to let her out if his boss was in space?"
"I don't know," he scoffs, shrugging, "I'll go back to two-hundred years ago and ask him." Myles rolls her eyes over-dramatically at the teen. "'Hey, y'know that A.I. you just let out like a fucking idiot? The one who hacked nuclear launch codes to start a world-ending nuclear war with the whole world? Yeah, before you film a suicide note and shoot yourself on camera, explain how you let her out'."
"He had to have known," Myles declares, and Murphy looks at her. "There's no way I go to space and leave an intelligent, independent computer program in the hands of someone who doesn't know its intentions."
Murphy stops pacing, thinking the words over. It's quiet while he mulls over the ideas and videos he remembers.
"Maybe," Murphy mutters unhelpfully, pacing in front of the doors slowly again. "He was devastated." The brown-haired teen slows before stopping again, tossing out. "They seemed close in the video where he showed her A.L.I.E. chose Becca as her avatar. Their hands were all over each other. I think she said twice they had to get back to work."
"Okay," Myles nods, thinking it through quickly. "Maybe they had a more than professionally friendly relationship. She was blindfolded and trusted completely in him."
"Both very touchy," he murmurs to himself, before raising his voice for Myles to hear clearly. "He didn't go on Polaris with her. Maybe he wanted to see her?"
"It's an A.I.," the red-haired teen finishes for him, "it's designed to be intelligent. To learn. It got out of control."
"Fucking idiots," Murphy insults, looking aimlessly around the late morning sunlit room.
"I have another question," Myles announces after a moment of silent contemplation. Murphy's frustrated and bored dark blue eyes lock on hers, and she takes it as permission. "Since we know Becca came down, why is society so backwards? We've been thinking only everyday people in bunkers survived, but there was an accomplished scientist down here. Besides the mountain, the closest thing to technology we've seen is a well with a lever you use to wind up the bucket."
"Ask Pike," the brown-haired teen snidely remarks, "his barbaric thinking is contagious."
Humming, the redhead rolls her head away, muttering, "hopefully not for long."
"How is this plan going to work without you?" Murphy enquires, and Myles looks back at him. "Your plans need you and Clarke to stop the clans from wiping Arkadia out. The wind is gonna knock you out. What's the backup plan?"
"That is the backup plans backup plan," Myles sighs frustratedly, "I didn't take into account getting shot by Titus. Or what another attack on a village would mean because we thought we had steps in place to prevent it."
"Why – ," Murphy starts but he cuts himself off, whipping his head to look at the doors he's been pacing in front of. Stepping up to them, Murphy pounds on the doors before shaking them loudly, trying to get the attention of whoever he just heard walk by. "Hey! HEY! Myles is having a seizure!" A red eyebrow raises delicately, quietly watching the teen. "Get Clarke! We need help! Myles is dying!" Nothing else happens, no one shouts back in response to the teens screaming or the brutal assault he's doing on the locked doors. "AH!" The brown-haired teen yells in frustration, stopping his loud shaking of the doors to punch them twice. "Damn it."
Heaving a deep breath, Murphy turns away from the doors to pace right in front of them again. It's so calm, the comfortable silence almost deafening after the teens screaming and frantic shoving against the locked doors. Myles patiently watches him walk calmly back and forth, waiting with a faint smile.
"If you say I told you so," Murphy threatens, his tone rumbling but the redhead only smiles wider. "I'll smother you in your bloody fur blankets."
"Try bleeding next time," Myles offer instead, and the brunette-haired boy stops, looking at her like the suggestion is beyond stupid.
"It didn't work the first two times," he exclaims, lifting his arms in aggravation. "You bled out three hours ago. You're dead now."
"If she doesn't feel at least a little guilty," the red-haired girl decides, "for not coming to my pretend rescue once today, I'm gonna be offended."
"I hate you," Murphy declares in a serious tone, lying across the bed at Myles' feet.
Myles would look at him if she could, but in order to be able to see him, she'd have to lift her head forward until her chin touches her chest, or she'd have to lean her upper body up. Both are wildly uncomfortable and cause pain, so she does neither. Instead, Myles furrows her red brows dramatically and sweeps her arm out in a wide gesture. He probably can't even see it; the dim candlelight of the only candle Murphy lit is barely illuminating the table it sits on in the early evening darkness.
"It'd work," Myles justifies, Murphy shifts at her feet and the redhead can feel him looking at her from the bottom of the bed.
"I don't care," the brown-haired teen announces strongly. "I'd like to live, thank you very much."
"I'm just saying," she continues, unfazed. "They'd have to acknowledge it."
"I'm just saying," Murphy rebukes sarcastically, "I'm not doing it."
"Johnny," Myles appeals, flopping her arm down onto the bed beside her. "What is the worst that could happen?"
"They could be having sex," he answers instantly, his voice hard with his confident answer, "and hear me."
"Oh, please," the redhead denounces, tipping her head back in exasperation. "That's a cop out."
Murphy sits up to look Myles in the eyes, "coming from the one who can't do it."
"I'm wounded," Myles reminds him in an overly sweet voice, lifting her arm again to gesture to her stomach. "Don't you want to get out here?"
"I can't," Murphy refutes, gesturing to Myles with his arm when she only raises a perplexed eyebrow at him. "You're wounded, dumbass. How am – " Myles struggles not to laugh, bringing a hand up to her brightly smiling face and the other to the bandages across her stomach as if it could protect her from the pain laughing would ignite. Trying to hold in her laughter fails, choked giggles pain tries to strangle bubbling out of her rosy lips. Agony blooms in her abdomen, tugging harshly on the stitches there. The brown-haired teen's expression hardens in frustration. "Do I even want to know?"
"'Dumbass'," the redhead tries to mimic the way the teen says it through her pain-filled chortles, the word sounding strange coming from his mouth.
His expression lightens, his mouth twisting to the side to stop the smile trying to break out across his face. Turning his head to look away and shaking it disapprovingly, Murphy huffs to himself in amusement.
"You know," Murphy drawls out, "I've been told there's a fine line between being funny and being an asshole." Giggles start to die out to amused melodic hums, hazel eyes scrunching shut as searing pain continues from her muted laughter. "It's good to see you walking down it with me."
"I wouldn't want you to be lonely," Myles replies, her voice breathless as her amused sounds disappear finally. Silence sits thickly in the air, and Murphy turns his face back towards the redhead to lock eyes with her. It's heavy with the weight of expectation, an amused glint in his eyes daring her to start again. "'Dumbass'."
"Fuck you," the brown-haired teen tells her, his smile shining on his battered face to match hers.
"And let you cheat on Emori before I get to see you happy again?" Myles declines seriously, "I think the fuck not."
"Don't flatter yourself," Murphy rebukes, dropping back down to lie across the bed by her feet. "I know I can get drop-offs for free. Keep that criminal record to theft."
"And murder," the red-haired teen adds, "genocide."
"Bonus badass points," he justifies, "of, you know, saving everyone cancels out the criminal part. At least, that's what I've heard."
"From who?" Myles challenges, the humour gone as quickly as it came, the dark cloud of remorse and haunting memories casting over her once again.
"A little girl," Murphy describes, a slight sarcastic wistfulness to his voice, "who used to steal so others could survive. You might know her, a hideously generous heart that gives my brain cavities," Myles snorts, rolling her eyes and turning her head away. "Depressing need to always jump in front of bullets, bright red hair, painfully unfunny – " Myles lifts one of her legs under the blanket, shoving it halfheartedly towards the brown-haired teen in an unconvincing threat to get him to shut up. "Kicks like a paralysed toddler."
"Dude," the red-haired teen huffs disbelievingly at his words, "getting a hot girlfriend has made you soft."
"Nah," he dismisses after a beat of thought, "it's probably from being around your over-dramatic ass all day."
"That'd do it," Myles agrees, breathing in deeply but stopping short and closing her eyes tightly when pain ripples through her.
The silence that falls over them is heavy, the lighthearted banter evaporating into the chilly, darkening evening air. Still, windless air sits in the room as if weighed down by the silent screams of the two teens' dark, troubled minds echoing loudly into the abyss of night. It's a strange contrast to how easy it's been with them all day, having a vast scope of things to catch up on. Without the easy line of thoughts to follow, the weight of their trauma thickens the air like a memory resting on the forefront of their minds, clogging every sense of theirs.
"No offence," Murphy offers after a long stretch of time that floats by easily, "but what the fuck are we even doing?"
"Waiting," the redhead answers blandly, turning her head to look at the door across the room to her right through the faint darkness. "I hope they bring up some fresh water. My scraps and waterskin aren't going to last us another day."
"I'm still pissed the flask was empty," Murphy announces bitterly, and a shocked laugh huffs out of Myles' mouth.
Jasper and Myles had chugged all of the alcohol in her flask two days ago, when they came to Polis to figure out what to do with Emerson. The reminder of Jasper makes a strange pit form in Myles' gut. By now, the first riders sent out on Ascension Day have given the terms and conditions for the blockade to Arkadia, and the blockade has been formed. Octavia and whatever group she left with would be almost there, if they're not with the warriors already.
They haven't heard anything, which must mean everything is going as smoothly as possible. Maybe that's where Clarke and Lexa went, and why they're not here. The Capitol is still in lockdown, meaning the Commander is still searching for and initiating a new Flamekeeper or they both left to enforce the blockade. A reluctantly relieved wave lightens the weight of dread in her blood; for once, they can handle it on their own. For once, Myles doesn't have to be the one they all turn to and ask what to do. For once, the weight of the responsibility to keep everyone alive doesn't have to fall on her shoulders.
"Y'know what we should do?" Myles asks out of nowhere, trying to distract herself from the thick air settling in her chest with the familiar bubbling feeling of needing to cry. Murphy's head rolls towards her, the blankets he lies on tugging gently at the movement. "Sketch Emori. Something to show around and figure out where she's been."
At the idea, Murphy sits up and pushes off of the bed, striding across the room to where the redhead's bag and medkit sit on the floor against a short cupboard.
"It doesn't curve until a bit higher," Murphy corrects, gesturing with the hand that isn't helping hold the hand-stitched notebook of parchment up so the redhead can draw without putting pressure on her stomach.
Sitting up had been a strenuous task that had caused her stitches to bleed, but the bleeding stopped ten minutes ago. Myles had given up, content with only halfway sitting up. Directly on her left, Murphy sits up straight, looking over the weak red-haired teen's shaky hands as they carefully mark up a piece of parchment with Emori's face in charcoal. She's not Clarke, and can't do all the detailed shading with anywhere near the accuracy the blonde can, but she can get a damn close likeness. In order to get the kind of effect Clarke gets when shading, Myles does better with a variety of colours, instead of just the black that charcoal gives you to work with.
They've only been working on the drawing for about a half hour, and it's already looking decent. It's most certainly enough to get an accurate memory from someone who's seen her, the young woman easily recognisable from the sketch.
"Like…" Myles enquires slowly, carefully raising the tattoo that covers from a smidge above the tip of the teen's nose to above her eyebrows. "Here?"
"Bit more," the brown-haired teen urges, tilting his head forward to keep a close eye on it. "Yeah, about there."
"And it's a curve, right?" Myles checks, "like the shape of her eyebrow?"
"No," Murphy denies, "like a rainbow to her temple." Myles starts slowly lining it with a gentle pressure that'll allow her to fix it if necessary. "Like that, yeah."
"That looks like her?" Myles quizzes, moving her hand out of the way and scrutinising it in the flickering candlelight as if she could know if it was wrong.
"Yeah, it's a like photo," Murphy agrees, reaching his free hand out to gesture unhelpfully. "But the tattoo goes from her nose, across her face on the left side."
"Like the rainbow?" The redhead inquires, hovering her hand over the teens nose without touching the charcoal to the parchment again.
"Yeah," the brown-haired teen nods once, "a thin line from the bottom, down here, and it ends here like a bird flying with its wings open flat." Myles had been following what he meant until he said that, and now her hazel eyes only blink blankly at the drawing trying to figure out what that meant. "And above it here is like a shark's tooth, but rounder."
"Okay," Myles says slowly in confusion, "can you expl – "
Myles cuts herself off when her walkie-talkie crackles to life on the cupboard with her weapons and their braces.
"Aggie, Clarke," Jasper Jordan, one of the red-haired teen's best friend's, calls over the radio, his staticky voice rushed and panicked. "Come in." Myles snaps her wide hazel eyes to Murphy, but he's already crawling off the bed and walking over to it. "Aggie, for the love of god, answer."
"Yeah," Myles breathes out after clicking the transmit button when Murphy jogs it over to her. "Yeah, I read you."
"Are you still in Polis?" Jasper asks, his breathless voice wavering in confusion.
Hazel eyes sweep up to Murphy's dark blue as he sits on the edge of the bed beside her.
"Yeah, I haven't left," the redhead answers, her perplexed expression matching his. "Is Clarke not with you?"
"No, I don't know where the hell she is," the brown-haired teen crackles out anxiously, "I need you both here." Murphy straightens, and ice cold dread chills Myles to the bone, her hazel eyes falling from the other Arker's to stare at nothing. Panic swirls in her mind, her best friend's freaked out voice squeezing her lungs tightly. "Our failsafe's bombed. Arkadia is critical red, we – "
"Wait," the red-haired teen interjects, the shortwave radio signal cutting out slightly as Jasper hovers over the antenna with jittery movements. "Slow down. What the hell happened? Is the blockade up?"
"The blockade formed before noon," Jasper informs them, "Pike went to hear the terms with Bellamy and some other asshat, but the dick shot them. They're rejecting the blockade."
"Listen to me," Myles responds seriously, her heart thumping under her skin painfully around her bullet wound. "Polis is on lockdown. If Lexa and Clarke aren't there yet, you need to initiate the original Plan B."
"We tried that this morning," her best friend refutes immediately, making frantic hazel eyes lock back on the wide and shocked dark blue eyes of Jonathan Murphy. "They know we have inside men, they found the bug. They set us up. We thought they were going to gun down the whole fucking blockade, but it was a ruse. Sinclair tried to jam the automatic rifles in the armoury, but they were watching him. They arrested him," it's enough for Myles, prompting the redhead to try to pull herself up through pitiful grunts. Murphy presses down on the red-haired teen's shoulder gently, but Myles brushes him off, rolling onto her side to swing her legs over the edge of the bed and to the floor. "So we tried the riot. Started it in the cell to get them to come in and break it up, it went only downhill from there."
"Stop it," Murphy snaps at her, standing up to tower over her and keep her on the bed. "You're gonna split your stitches."
"They need help," Myles refuses, trying to weakly push away his hands as the arm holding the walkie slowly pushes against the bed to ease her into a seating position.
"Marcus was supposed to grab Pike," Jasper continues, undeterred from the argument Murphy and Myles are having that he can't hear because she's no longer holding the transmit button. At the sound of Marcus' name, the man who's loved her like she's his daughter, Myles stills, looking at the walkie-talkie. Murphy's demeanour shifts, conflicted dark blue eyes staring at the redhead. "Get him out while his army was distracted, but they knew."
"You can't go," Murphy reminds her, holding her shoulders as one of her arms wraps around her throbbing stomach, feeling warm blood bubble on the wound from the combination of adrenaline and moving.
"I don't know how they found the access panel in Engineering," Jasper tells them, not knowing the conversation going on over his voice.
"Why not?" Myles counters through clenched teeth, trying to push herself up to stand from her sitting position with a strained groan as sweat drips down her clammy skin.
"And knew that was his way out," the brown-haired teen's crackly voice chatters, "but they were waiting."
"You've been shot," the Arker in front of her argues firmly, looking at the redhead like she's lost her mind. "You can barely sit up. You can't help them."
"Marcus was just arrested," Jasper finishes, and any hope of the red-haired teen staying in Polis flies out the window.
The heavy weight of dread that was pumping through her veins with the pain the simple movement punishes her with shifts, finding a home on her heart. Pleading hazel eyes remain locked on Murphy's hard gaze, both Arker's seeing the others slowly warp into a soft, defeated expression.
"When you were in that lighthouse," Myles starts quietly, but surely, "watching those videos, did they happen to show you how to drive?"
Murphy blanches, his eyes widening comically as his head juts forward in shock.
"Aggie?" Jasper calls over the radio urgently, his anxious voice filled with concern.
"Drive?" Murphy echoes, giddy confusion swimming through his tone, "the thing people used to do in cars? That drive?"
Myles tilts her head to the side, replying, "if you don't know how to drive, then we have no other choice. I have to get up." Hazel eyes flick between his two dark blue, lifting up the walkie-talkie and pressing the transmit button again. "I hear you, JJ. We're on our way."