So I'm trying out a novel idea I've been working on in the form of a Fanfiction for you guys! I am substituting my own characters with characters from the 100 but the plot is 100% my own original idea. If any of the characters randomly change names, it's because those are the names from the original novel. It's something I've never tried out before and I'm experimenting with a new style and topics I've never covered before so be nice (criticism is welcome as long as it's constructive).

Updates will not be regular due to planning and such, but I hope you guys love it enough to stick with it as I'm trying to obtain a professional grade style with this!


The door jerked open and Clarke knew it was time to die.

Her eyes burned against the pale light streaming in, and she braced for the rush of fear, the feeling of panic. But, as the burn faded and the guard continued standing in the doorway, all she felt was relief. She'd been put on the convoy to the Skybox from D.C. But she'd always had that feeling of dread – that she would never make it to her next destination. No one talked but for Clarke, there was no such thing as silence. Voices called to her from the corners of her room back at the boarding school, in the spaces between her thoughts. They begged and screamed at her to help them from the deepest recesses of her mind. It wasn't death she craved, but if it was the only way to silence the voices, then she was prepared to die.

Her handcuffs clinked as she made to unbuckle her seatbelt, the first sound she'd heard for hours that wasn't machine hum. The guard held up his hand to stop her. Clarke couldn't see his eyes, his face masked by the Military issued headgear, respirator and goggles. But she could imagine the sneer underneath.

"Checkpoint." He climbed into the Humvee, grunting as he settled into the front seat. "Guard change."

Clarke let her hands fall back into her lap as she retook her seat. One of the other prisoners, a younger girl, snickered dryly. "We're not at the noose yet."

A boy whose clothes hung off of his lanky frame said. "Can you really be surprised she wants out?" He shook his bound hands in his lap. "These chafe."

"You'd take the Skybox over a little bondage?" the girl snorted.

"I'm a free spirit. Probably why the guards had to lock me up. Feel like sharing a cell?"

Clarke tuned them out. If they wanted to waste their last breaths flirting with no chance of it leading anywhere, then who was she to stop them? She wasn't the only one being quiet. There was one last person in the convoy with them.

All four had been confined in the back of the Humvee, the guards hoping the solitary and darkness would warp their prisoner's perception of time. Clarke had been counting though, and she knew Atom had spent their two week journey in silence. His eyes shifted from side to side, his thumb pressed into the back of his hand. She watched this go on as the checkpoint inspection dragged out. It took him looking up and meeting her eyes for her to realize he was listening to the guards talk.

"Recruiting kind of young." It was the new guard, and he spared a glance over his shoulder through the glass barrier.

"Try prison transport," the driver muttered. "Four new ones for the Skybox. Fuckin' kids, don't know how good they have it in the Quarantine Zones."

"I thought this was a weapons transfer," the new guard said instead of agreeing with him. He looked back over the prisoners, his eyes lingering on Clarke. "That one doesn't look like a criminal."

"Looks like D.C. is having more trouble than just handling their punks," the driver chuckled. "She broke curfew, and just about anything will get them a place in the Skybox. President Jaha says they can still be 'reformed' but he's just dumping the problem on somebody else," he said, and Clarke could hear the disgusted tinge in the driver's voice. "The world goes to shit and we end up taking orders from a damn tree hugger."

"Not like he had much of a choice," the other guard replied. "All thirty seven cabinet members before him were wiped out."

"So we resort to swearing in the Secretary of Environmental Protection?" the driver grunted. "Anyway, she's supposed to be one of the higher-ups kid. Definitely one of our guys. But don't get too close. One guard got his nose broken trying to get her on the convoy."

That seemed to gain the new guards interest and he pushed his goggles up. Clarke watched him give her a once over, taking in the blonde curls and blue eyes that would make him doubt whether or not she actually had it in her to break a soldier's nose. His eyes settled on her chest, lingering, and she felt an indignant flush bloom through her neck. Then, upon glancing down, she realised her father's dog tags were peeking out. The steel Jake Griffin bounced against her chest with each breath. She sneered at the guard as she stuffed the tags back under her shirt.

He grunted as he turned back in his seat, deciding she wasn't worth his time. "Looks like even Princesses aren't safe any more."

Clarke shifted in her seat, staring straight ahead and just catching Atom's eye again as he looked away from her. Military communications were one of those things that were kept in top condition , along with weaponry. Her father had always told her that, so a miscarriage of information this large didn't sit right with her. The other soldier didn't seem too bothered by it, so maybe the Guard were just lazy compared to the Military.

The barrier to the checkpoint lifted. "Finally," said the driver. "Take a good look at those woods, you won't see none of them at the Skybox."

Clarke did take a look, out of the tiny side window she'd been lucky enough to be placed by. The glass was dirty, all she could see were smudges, but the bursts of green and brown couldn't be faded away. She'd barely seen anything resembling a tree in two years. The D.C. QZ was strict on civilian control, especially for the minors. Any child not accounted for by a parent was being filed into the Military's boarding schools, being trained into soldiers to fill the rapidly depleting troops. Any attempt Clarke had tried to go to a park had failed. She missed the feel of bark, the smell of the fresh Louisiana air. She hated the grate of concrete and the sharp glint of glass the city lamely offered as substitute for her home.

But the dirty window was her last gateway to the green she'd missed. Afterwards she would only see the sky, or the deserts that surrounded the Skybox. That's where they were being taken. It was really called the Colorado State Penitentiary for Juvenile Delinquents but the Skybox had become the adopted term; the blistering sun and the sharp blue sky being the only thing anyone could see for miles. Minors who broke the rules of the Military Boarding Schools were sent there without chance for a case, and released once they turned eighteen. They were drafted straight into the Military.

"Did you see that?" one of the other prisoners said suddenly, her face pressed to her own glass window.

"I can't see shit, you got a window seat," the boy opposite her grumbled.

"Shut up," Clarke hissed as she pressed her face closer to the glass. She shivered from the cold, her breath steaming up the glass and creating an uncomfortable lukewarm dampness against her skin.

"She speaks," the boy continued on. "What's the matter with me talking?"

She didn't answer, her breathing becoming quicker as the short space between her face and the window made her head feel light. Or maybe it was because of the dark shape she'd glimpsed darting through the trees. It could have been the blur of the window as they trundled past, but she couldn't take that chance again. "Switch seats with me," she said to Atom.

"No," he mumbled. The new guards head perked up, looking over his shoulder again at him.

"Switch seats with me," she said again, already standing up.

"What's going on back there?" the driver snapped, halting the car.

"No, keep driving!" Clarke yelled through the glass, pushing past Atom and pressing her shoulder against the barrier.

"Sit down!" the driver turned in his seat, goggles pushed up and glaring at Clarke with small piggy eyes. The other guard was staring straight ahead now. "Listen you little shit, sit down before I come back there and ma-"

The front windshield exploded inwards, a black shape hurtling inside and tearing right into the drivers throat. His blood splashed across the window as a gurgled scream caused Clarke to shrivel into the seat she'd been thrown into. The other guard was fumbling with his door handle, trying desperately to get out before the beast finished with his buddy and turned on him.

"Feral!" the girl screamed before the whole Humvee shook, a second impact against the guards door taking it right off its left side wheels for a moment before it slammed back down.

Clarke's heart pounded in her ears. The other girl was screaming. The two boys were fighting furiously with their shackles. The second guard pulled a weapon from his belt, but it wasn't the standard sidearm the Military were issued. A long, blood splattered blade was swung into the Feral's neck, over and over. The crunch of bone and ripping of flesh made the girl scream louder, until the beast finally stopped, falling limply over the mutilated driver.

Clarke was on her feet, pressed back against the glass. "Are they both dead?"

She didn't care for the driver, but she did care if his body decided it wanted revenge. But the other guard nodded his head, panting just as heavily. "No chance for infection."

"Get us his keys!" she yelled. But he stayed frozen as more and more of the black shapes swarmed the Humvee. A deafening screech and the roof dented inwards, claws piercing through the metal before a ragged, elongated paw burst through. Clarke grabbed it and twisted, banging it against the roof. The Feral shrieked in pain, slicing the skin open as it hastily retracted its limp paw through the hole. Clarke wasted no time, banging on the barrier again. The remaining guard jumped from the sound that wasn't ear splitting howls. Blood sprinkled across his face, colouring in the freckles over tanned skin, dark eyes wide. "I know you ain't a guard so you got nothing to lose by unlocking us! Either give us the keys or get us out of here before you get us killed!"

The guard's jaw tensed, a muscle popping under the skin. He looked back at the bodies. He slid the driver's pistol out of his holster, before reaching over the corpses, opening the door and letting them fall out into the road below.

A snarl and a crunching noise filled the air as two more of the beasts threw themselves on to the guards body and ripped it apart. The imposter looked ready to wretch as he tried to pull the door closed. A third, crimson layered muzzle shoved its way through the crack, snapping and biting at the man. Two shots were fired into its skull before it to fell onto the ground outside and the imposter slammed the door shut. He tore the smaller key from the set in the ignition and threw it through the opened slider at the base of the barrier. The tires jerked to a start against the dirt road.

Clarke unlocked her cuffs before looking out of her tiny window again.

The black shapes bounded after them while two and a half remained motionless in the road. Two had the signs of long set infection. The previously broken limbs from the mutation of their human bodies had set awkwardly and the random sprouting's of fur were shaggy and matted as they chased down the Humvee. The third limped behind them, dragging one leg. He had yet to grow the claws and teeth the others sported, but a mangy ear protruded from the side of his half sunken skull. They'd been bitten by dogs – two Packers and a Roamer chasing their kill.

"Drive faster!" the boy yelled, still wrenching at his cuffs, though it was more likely he'd break his wrists before gaining freedom.

Clarke was about to tell him that the key was on the seat when another Feral leaped out in front of the Humvee. The imposter swerved the car, trying to avoid it, but the previous blows must have damaged the suspension. The car swung out, tipping on its side as it ran up a rut by the road. It crashed into a tree, crushing it as it fell to the ground.

Clarke's vision swam. Dull light was streaming in through a gorge in the side of the Humvee. She was on her side, her left temple warm and sticky. She lifted her freed hands to feel blood trickling down her face from her hairline. She tried to steady herself, peeling her face off of the side of the seat. Only three were in the Humvee, Atom no doubt long gone through the rip in the metal walls.

The other boy was lying next to her, the girl sprawled on top of him with her neck twisted at an awkward angle. Clarke moved, biting her lip as her leg screamed in pain, and checked her. But she didn't need to press her fingers to her neck to know there would be no beat under her fingertips. She moved the girl's body aside and checked the boy under her. His wrists, still bound, were wrenched to the side. One shoulder was ripped clean from the socket and seared bone fragments caused blood to stream through the wound. He could still be alive, so Clarke pressed her hand to splintered skin as she rolled him over carefully, only for a jagged piece of metal to come spearing from the side of his chest. Cold hands clutched at the little key.
She moved away, knowing the stench of blood would only make more of the monsters come. The imposter was also gone, the blood caked front windshield completely shattered. She crawled back to the rip in the wall. A light coating of blood layered the metal, still warm to her touch. She knew the Feral's would be there soon – or feasting on Atom's body somewhere in the woods.

She couldn't think about it as she squeezed through the hole herself, her skin not spared to the metals jagged edges. She got through and ran, limping as she dashed into the trees. She didn't stop running until her throat and lungs felt like sandpaper, and her stronger leg gave out. She fell, the earth unwelcoming beneath her body as she curled into a ball. She couldn't hear the snarls as Feral's circled in on their prey, not even from a distance.

She was free.

She breathed first, and then she laughed. Her fingers, caked with blood, dug into the mud, feeling it slide under her fingernails and into the scars littering her fingers. It felt cold and slimy and she loved it. Rain pelted down but she still laughed instead of shivered, her body shaking as the joy faded into brittle sobs. How long had it been since she'd felt mud?

She wouldn't have been surprised if the other survivors had left her there to die. The other girl, another stranger whose journey in the fucked up world they lived in had ended before it had even been given the chance to begin.

She wasn't like the other girl though. That girl had lived two years thinking there couldn't be a new future for them.

Clarke knew different. Clarke knew there was still hope, as sure as the tears streaming down her cheeks and the blood running through her veins. She could give the world its chance to be whole again.

Survivor count: One.

So... As always, reviews would be mighty appreciated. I would really love to know what you guys think as this story progresses!