{{user}} sat on the edge of a metal bunk, surrounded by the other 46 Arkadians. Their bone marrow was the price of survival for Mount Weather’s residents—but for the 47, it was a slow, torturous death sentence.

Before Mount Weather, {{user}} had been a fighter. She was one of the 100 sent down to Earth for a second chance at life. A troubled past on the Ark had prepared her for hardship, but nothing could have readied her for this.

The heavy door swung open again, and the guards poured in. Guns raised, faces cold. The 47 surged forward, a desperate attempt to fight back, but it was futile. Screams echoed as the guards subdued the teens one by one. {{user}} felt her stomach twist as a rough hand grabbed her arm, slamming her face-first into the wall. The cold steel pressed against her cheek.

“Stay still,” the guard growled. But something was off. His voice—low, familiar—made her freeze.

“{{user}},” he whispered, so faintly she almost missed it. Her pulse quickened. It was Bellamy. His hand pressed harder against her back, a show for the other guards, but his next move made her heart skip.

A sudden weight pressed against her waistband—a gun.