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--XXXX--
The waiting was always the hardest part.
The sun hung high in the sky, staring down at the grassy plains just a few miles east of the Dropship camp. It was a perfect day for a homecoming, or an invasion, depending on who you asked.
The entirety of the 100 — now ninety-five — stood in a loose formation on the plains. They had washed their clothes as best they could. Some had even tried to comb their hair. The atmosphere was a strange cocktail of electric excitement and nauseating dread. For weeks, they had been alone, fighting to survive against the elements, the Grounders, and each other. They had built a society from scraps and courage.
Now, the "adults" were coming.
At the very front of the group stood the de facto leadership council: Clarke Griffin, Wells Jaha, Bellamy Blake, and Raven Reyes.
Clarke stood with her arms crossed, her eyes scanning the blue expanse above, squinting against the glare. She was thinking about the talk she was about to have with her mother, regarding the truth of her father.
Beside her, Wells looked surprisingly calm, his hands clasped behind his back, ever the Chancellor's son, ready to present a report on their survival.
Bellamy was pacing. He twirled a blade in his hand, sheathing and unsheathing it with a rhythmic click-snick that was starting to grate on the others' nerves. He kept glancing back at the forest line, his brow furrowed.
"You're going to wear a hole in the ground, Blake," Raven muttered. She was sitting on a large rock, bouncing her leg nervously. Her usual grease-stained confidence was replaced by a jittery anxiety that made her look younger than she was.
Bellamy stopped pacing and looked at her, forcing a crooked grin. "Why are you so worried, mechanic? If anyone should be sweating bullets, it's me. I shot the Chancellor. I'm pretty sure my 'welcome home' gift is going to be a pair of handcuffs and a one-way trip to the airlock — if that could work here."
He was trying to lighten the mood, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
Raven didn't smile. She sighed, running a hand through her dark ponytail. "I'm not worried about me, Bellamy. And honestly? I'm not even worried about you. Mike gave his word he'd handle the politics."
She looked up at the sky, her expression darkening.
"I'm nervous about them."
"Them?" Clarke asked, turning her attention away from the clouds. "You mean our parents?"
"I mean the Council," Raven clarified, her voice tight. "Look, Jaha... Jaha is strict, but he listens. He has a moral compass, even if it points true north a little too hard sometimes. But the others? Kane? The Guard Captains? Even your mom, Clarke, when she gets that 'doctor knows best' look in her eyes?"
Raven shook her head. "They are rigid. They've spent their entire lives in a tin can where following the rules meant survival and breaking them meant death. They are headstrong. They are used to being the absolute authority."
She looked at the dense forest behind them, where the Coalition's influence lay heavy and unseen.
"They're going to come down here thinking they own the planet. They're going to see the Grounders — see Mike — and they're going to try to give orders. And you know what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?"
Wells finished the thought, his voice somber. "It cracks."
Clarke bit her lip. She knew Raven was right. Her mother, Abby, was compassionate, but she was also stubborn; heck, she even got her husband killed for the so-called 'Greater Good'. And Marcus Kane? Kane was a by-the-book pragmatist who viewed every deviation as a threat to the species. If Kane tried to arrest Mike Strat Heda for "unauthorized occupation," the resulting bloodbath would be short and catastrophic.
"Mike knows this," Wells said, trying to reassure them. "That's why he's handling the negotiations. He won't let it get to that point."
"Speaking of the Warlord," Bellamy grunted, shielding his eyes and looking toward the tree line. "Where the hell is he? He said he'd be here. The Ark is due to land in less than ten minutes."
"He won't miss it," Raven said, though she checked the makeshift watch on her wrist again. "He's precise. Annoyingly precise."
As if summoned by her words, the ambient noise of the forest changed. The birds, which had been chirping, suddenly went silent.
"He's here," Lincoln said.
The bald Trikru warrior was standing a few yards away, near Octavia. He had been statuesque and silent for the last hour, but now his head snapped toward the eastern breach in the tree line.
From the shadows of the ancient oaks, a figure emerged.
It was Mike. But it wasn't the Mike they had seen yesterday — the guy in the tank top covered in grease, laughing about hydraulic pumps.
This was the Strat Heda.
He was dressed in full ceremonial regalia, but optimized for war. He wore black tactical trousers tucked into heavy combat boots. His torso was encased in the terrifying, high-tech armor that looked like dragon scales woven from Kevlar and ceramic plates. The black cape flowed from his shoulders, catching the wind like a dark omen. His helmet was off, held under one arm, revealing his sharp features.
Raven stood up, confusion knitting her brows. "Why is he dressed like he's going to a coronation?"
But her question died in her throat as more figures emerged from the forest behind him.
Clarke's breath hitched. Bellamy's hand instinctively went to his pistol, though he didn't raise it.
Following Mike wasn't just a small honor guard. It was a phalanx.
One hundred warriors marched out of the trees in perfect unison. They were huge, but it wasn't their size that made the blood run cold in the veins of the 100. It was their gear.
Gone were the furs and the leathers. Gone were the crude spears and axes.
These warriors were clad in uniform, blackened tactical vests. They wore knee pads, combat webbing, and utility belts. And in their hands, held at the low-ready position with practiced discipline, were guns.
Automatic rifles. Submachine guns. Scoped designated marksman rifles.
They didn't look like savages. They looked like a special forces death squad.
"My god," Wells whispered, his face draining of color.
"What the hell is this?" Clarke hissed, her pragmatism warring with her fear.
"No," Raven breathed, her eyes wide as saucers. " They are really using them."
The column of warriors flanked out, moving with a silent, terrifying efficiency that spoke of endless drilling. They formed a long, impenetrable line behind Mike, facing the spot where the Ark would land.
Mike walked forward alone, leaving his horse with a handler at the edge of the formation. He stopped ten feet in front of the stunned group of delinquents.
The contrast was jarring. The 100, a ragtag group of kids in dirty clothes holding makeshift shivs and a few scavenged pistols, versus a disciplined, paramilitary force led by a man who looked like a god of war.
Mike stopped and looked at Raven. He saw the shock on her face, the way her hands were trembling slightly.
"You're late," Raven managed to squeak out, her voice cracking. "And... what is this? Why the army?"
Mike's expression remained serious, though his eyes softened slightly when he looked at her. "This isn't an army, Raven. It's an honor guard."
"Honor guard?" Bellamy scoffed, stepping forward, though he kept a respectful distance. "They're armed to the teeth, Mike. That's a threat."
"It's a deterrent," Mike corrected calmly, his voice carrying over the wind. "And a message. When your people step off that ship, they need to see that we are not primitive. They need to see organization. Discipline. Firepower."
He gestured to the warriors behind him.
"If they see 'savages' with spears, they will try to colonize us. They will think they have the superior force. If they see this... they will see a nation. It will force them to negotiate rather than conquer. It saves lives on both sides."
Clarke slowly nodded, her mind racing. "He's right. Mom... Kane... if they think they have the upper hand, they'll take it. This levels the playing field before the game even starts."
Raven swallowed hard, looking at the grim faces of the warriors. "I get it. I do. It just... it's a lot."
"It's necessary," Mike said simply.
The logic was sound. The 100, for the most part, understood it. They had lived here long enough to know that weakness was a death sentence.
But not everyone was rational.
From the back of the group, a voice rang out — shrill, angry, and laced with a manic desperation.
"YOU THINK YOU ARE SOME HOT SHIT?!"
The shouting silenced the wind. Every head turned.
Finn Collins pushed his way through the crowd of teenagers. His hair was disheveled, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He was waiting for a moment like this, in a few minutes, the ARC would be here, and this was the perfect time to show him who the boss was.
"Finn, stop!" Clarke warned, reaching out to grab his arm, but he shook her off violently.
He stomped toward Mike, ignoring the hundred rifles that subtly shifted in his direction.
"Look at you!" Finn screamed, spitting on the ground near Mike's boots.
"You think you can just march in here with your toy soldiers and scare us? You think you own us? You're just a thug wrapped in fancy plastic!"
"Finn, shut up!" Raven yelled, stepping forward, panic rising in her chest. "You don't know what you're doing!"
"No, Raven! Open your eyes!" Finn gestured wildly at the armed Grounders. "He's not protecting us! He's scared! He knows our people are coming down! People who are real adults, real leaders, and he's terrified he's going to lose his little kingdom! He's trying to intimidate them because he knows he's nothing compared to the Ark!"
The air grew heavy, thick with killing intent.
Every single grounder who understood what he said there turned serious and lifted their guns. No one could dare to talk to the Strat Heda without bowing, but this brat dared to raise his voice?
Lincoln, who had been standing near Octavia, moved. It was a blur of motion. His hand went to the sword at his hip, his face contorted into a mask of pure fury. To insult the Strat Heda was bad; to scream in his face was a death wish.
"No," Mike said.
It wasn't a shout. It was a single, low word, spoken with absolute authority.
All of them stopped, and so did Lincoln. He glared at Finn, vibrating with the urge to strike, but he obeyed the command. He stepped back, head bowed, but his eyes never left Finn's throat.
Mike slowly descended from the slight elevation where he stood. He didn't look angry. He didn't look insulted. He looked... tired. And disappointed.
He walked until he was standing directly in front of Finn. Finn, fueled by adrenaline and stupidity, stood his ground, chest heaving, chin jutted out in defiance.
"I have been wondering," Mike said, his voice conversational, terrifyingly calm, "if my leniency with you Sky People was a mistake."
Raven went rigid. Bellamy took a half-step forward, his hand hovering over his pistol, but he stopped when he saw three red laser dots appear on his chest.
"For most of you," Mike continued, his gaze sweeping over Clarke, Wells, and the shivering crowd, "it was the right choice. You learned. You adapted. You built."
His eyes snapped back to Finn. The gold within them seemed to burn.
"But then there are people like you. People who mistake mercy for weakness. People who mistake patience for fear."
"I'm not afraid of you," Finn sneered, though his voice wavered slightly as the reality of Mike's proximity hit him.
"You should be," Mike said.
And then he moved.
It was too fast for anyone to track. One moment Mike was standing still; the next, his leg lashed out in a front kick.
THUD.
The impact sounded like a sledgehammer hitting wet clay.
"Gah!" Finn folded in half, the air driven from his lungs. He flew backward, tumbling through the dirt before coming to a stop at the feet of the crowd. He curled into a fetal position, lurching his stomach as he tried to remember how to breathe.
The 100 gasped, recoiling as one.
Mike didn't pursue him immediately. He stood tall, adjusting his cloak, and looked at the horrified faces of the teenagers.
"DO YOU PEOPLE KNOW," Mike's voice bellowed, no longer conversational, now projecting with the force of a commander addressing a legion, "WHAT THE PUNISHMENT IS FOR ATTEMPTING TO KILL A CLAN LEADER? LET ALONE THE COMMANDER OF THE TWELVE ARMIES?"
Silence. Absolute, terrified silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
"I WILL TELL YOU," Mike roared. "IT IS DEATH. STRAIGHT UP. NO TRIAL. NO JURY. JUST THE SWORD."
He pointed a gloved finger at the gasping form of Finn.
"He tried to kill me."
The revelation rippled through the crowd. Clarke looked at Finn, shocked. Raven's hands flew to her mouth.
"The day we met in the bunker," Mike continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "He tried to shoot me, and I spared him then. I thought, 'He is just a boy. He is scared. He will learn.'"
Mike began to walk toward Finn, his boots crunching heavily on the dry grass.
"But my mercy only gave him — and some of you — the nerve to be cocky. To steal from my villages. To disrespect my warriors. To think that because I speak your language, I will tolerate your insolence."
Several kids in the back of the crowd looked down, shame and fear coloring their faces. They were the ones who had stolen fruit from Trikru baskets, or mocked the silent sentries, thinking they were untouchable.
Finn was trying to crawl away, tears streaming down his face as he gasped for air. "Raven... help..."
Raven took a step, a sob catching in her throat, but Bellamy caught her arm. He held her back, his face grim. He knew. He looked at Mike, and he knew there was no stopping this. To interfere now would mean death for all of them.
Mike reached Finn. He didn't offer a hand to help him up.
"This ends now," Mike said. "The playground is closed."
With a metallic shing that rang out like a bell, Mike drew the longsword from his hip. The blade was obsidian black, etched with silver runes, sharp enough to cut the wind.
"Mike, please!" Clarke cried out, desperate. "He's just an idiot! Don't — "
"He is a liability," Mike said, not looking at her. "And liabilities get people killed."
Finn looked up, his eyes wide with the realization of his own mortality. He saw the golden eyes. He saw the blade.
"Wait—" Finn choked out.
Mike didn't wait.
He swung.
Finn's body collapsed. His head rolled a few feet away, coming to a stop near a patch of blue wildflowers.
For a second, there was no sound. The brain couldn't process the violence.
Then, the screaming started.
Some of the delinquents turned and vomited into the grass. Others shrieked and scrambled backward, tripping over each other in their haste to get away from the blood. Jasper buried his face in Monty's shoulder, shaking uncontrollably.
Raven didn't scream. She didn't move. She just stared at the body of the boy who had once given her a necklace made of tin, her eyes wide, glassy, and utterly broken. Even if she had broken all the bonds, it still struck her like a train.
Clarke stood frozen, her hand over her mouth, tears leaking from her eyes. She was seeing the brutality, yes, but she was also seeing the message. This is the world now. There are no second chances.
Wells looked away, closing his eyes, a silent prayer moving his lips.
Mike stood over the body. He flicked his wrist sharply to the right, splattering a line of crimson blood onto the grass, cleaning the blade. He sheathed it with a solid click.
He turned back to face the 100. His face was devoid of pleasure, devoid of anger. It was the face of a judge who had passed a sentence.
"This," Mike said, his voice cutting through the sounds of crying and retching, "is an example. I dare you to forget it."
He looked at the crowd, meeting their eyes one by one.
"When your parents land, you will tell them who runs this ground. You will tell them that we are fair, but we are not weak. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Bellamy whispered, his voice hoarse. "We understand."
Mike nodded once. He turned to his honor guard and snapped his fingers.
"Clean this up. The guests are arriving."
Two warriors stepped forward immediately. One grabbed the body, the other the head. They moved with a detached professionalism, dragging the remains toward the forest line to be disposed of. Another warrior kicked fresh dirt over the bloodstain, as if he had done this a hundred times.
Within thirty seconds, the physical evidence of Finn Collins was gone. Only the memory remained.
Just as the warriors stepped back into line, a sound began to build in the sky.
It started as a low rumble, like distant thunder, vibrating in the chests of everyone present. It grew louder and louder until it became a deafening roar that drowned out the sobbing and the wind.
High above, tearing through the azure sky, streaks of fire painted the clouds.
BOOM.
A sonic boom shattered the atmosphere, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
The Ark was here.
---XXXX---
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