The first thing Ethan Cole noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind no hum of electronics, no distant engines, no recycled air whispering through vents. Just a heavy, suffocating stillness that pressed in from all sides.
Then came the pain.
A sharp, biting ache bloomed in his wrists, followed by the cold kiss of metal against skin. He tried to move and heard the unmistakable rattle of chains.
Okay, he thought dimly. That's new.
His eyes snapped open.
Gray metal walls. Narrow cell. Bars reinforced with bolts thick as his thumb. A floating digital panel glowed softly just beyond his reach, numbers counting down in red.
00000.
Ethan's breath hitched.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no"
Memory crashed into him all at once.
The accident. The screech of tires. The blinding headlights.
Then darkness.
And now this.
His gaze darted around the cell, heart pounding. The design was unmistakable utilitarian, brutal, designed for survival at the cost of comfort. He'd seen this place a hundred times.
On a screen.
On Netflix.
"Oh my god," Ethan breathed.
He was on the Ark.
Ethan didn't scream. Panic flared, sure, but something colder and more controlled rose beneath it.
He knew this world.
He knew what was coming.
Execution floated through his thoughts with horrifying clarity floated out into space for crimes no one on Earth would blink at. The Ark didn't forgive. It rationed mercy like oxygen.
His eyes locked back onto the countdown panel.
Zero.
A soft hiss filled the cell as the panel flickered, then went dark. A moment later, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Boots. Multiple.
The guards stopped in front of his cell.
"Ethan Cole," a woman's voice said, bored, authoritative. "You're being transferred."
The door slid open.
He squinted against the brighter lights of the corridor as two guards stepped in, unclipping his restraints. His legs wobbled when they hauled him upright this body was younger than he expected. Lean. Underfed. Maybe seventeen?
Right, he thought grimly. Juvenile.
That tracked.
They marched him down the corridor, past other cells. He recognized faces instantly.
Octavia Blake defiant even in chains, eyes blazing as she stared back at him.
John Murphy smirking like he dared the universe to kill him.
A boy sitting quietly, jaw clenched, eyes hollow.
Bellamy Blake.
Ethan swallowed.
This is real.
They stopped at a sealed door. It slid open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a large chamber filled with other teenagers exactly one hundred of them, if the Ark's math was right.
The guards shoved him forward.
"Welcome to the ground," one of them said dryly.
Ethan barely had time to register the sentence before the door slammed shut behind him.
Chaos greeted him instantly.
Voices overlapped shouting, laughing, crying. Some kids stared in awe at the massive dropship chamber, while others paced like caged animals. A few sat silently against the walls, already defeated.
Ethan scanned the room, cataloging faces with a speed born of obsession.
Monty. Jasper. Harper. Raven's not here yet. Finn. Wells.
And there
Clarke Griffin.
She stood near one of the terminals, blonde hair pulled back, eyes sharp as she studied the room like she was already calculating survival probabilities. She looked thinner than he remembered from the show, more fragile but there was steel in her posture.
Ethan's chest tightened.
You don't know me, he reminded himself. Not yet.
A loud crash echoed through the chamber as someone kicked over a crate. Bellamy stepped forward, voice rising above the din.
"Listen up!" he shouted. "We're on our own now. No rules. No Ark. Whatever the hell this place is we survive together, or not at all."
A few kids cheered.
Ethan didn't.
Because he knew exactly what this place was.
And how many of them wouldn't survive it.
The dropship shook violently as it tore through Earth's atmosphere. Ethan was thrown against the wall, gripping a support beam as alarms blared and red lights flashed.
Panic spread like wildfire.
"We're gonna die!" someone screamed.
Not yet, Ethan thought grimly.
The impact came hard.
Metal screamed. Something exploded. The world flipped sideways, and then
Silence.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Clarke was on her feet, already barking orders.
"Is anyone hurt? Check for injuries!"
Ethan pushed himself up, heart racing, lungs burning with air that smelled real. He staggered toward the ramp as it slowly lowered, revealing
Green.
So much green it hurt.
Trees stretched endlessly beneath a blue sky unmarred by ash or fire. Birds scattered into the air, their wings beating freedom.
Earth.
Someone laughed. Someone cried.
Ethan stepped onto the grass.
We survived Praimfaya, he thought. But that was just the beginning.
By sunset, camps were forming. Fires crackled. Groups clustered together, alliances forming with the speed of desperation.
Ethan sat near the edge of camp, sharpening a crude blade made from wreckage. He'd kept his head down, spoken little, listened a lot.
Bellamy was taking control unofficially, but effectively. Clarke was pushing back, arguing for structure, rationing, planning.
Just like before.
Just like it was supposed to be.
Clarke approached him as the firelight flickered across her face.
"You're new," she said. "I don't recognize you."
Ethan looked up, meeting her gaze.
"Ethan," he said carefully. "I try not to stand out."
Her lips twitched. "That's going to be hard here."
"I know."
She studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. "You were calm on the dropship."
"I've had time to think about survival," he replied truthfully.
Something passed between them curiosity, maybe. Recognition.
"Good," Clarke said. "We need people who think ahead."
She turned to leave, then paused. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start figuring out how not to die."
Ethan watched her walk away, the weight of the future pressing down on him.
Tomorrow, he thought, the Grounders start watching.
And somewhere out there, a girl named Lexa was growing into a commander who would one day change everything.
Ethan tightened his grip on the blade.
He had one advantage no one else did.
He knew how the story ended.
And this time
He intended to survive it.