"Open the gates! Get out of the way!" Clarke screamed as they burst through the tree line.
The camp immediately erupted into motion.
"They're back!" a male delinquent yelled, pointing toward the tree line.
"Over there," a female delinquent called out, backing away in shock.
The delinquents scattered in terror, clearing a path as Clarke, Finn, and Wells rushed the screaming, bleeding Jasper directly toward the dropship. Monty, who had been anxiously waiting by the metal doors, sprinted forward, his face completely pale as he looked at his best friend.
"Is he…" Monty choked out, terrified of the answer.
"He's alive," Clarke ordered, not breaking her stride. "I need boiled water and strips of cloth for bandage. Now, Monty, go!"
As Clarke and the others disappeared into the dropship, a second wave of shock hit the camp. The perimeter guards backed away in awe as Bellamy and Murphy dragged the massive, bloody carcass of the mutated jaguar through the gates.
"Oh!"
"Oh, ho ho!"
Shocked murmurs and gasps of disbelief swept through the hundred as they crowded around to look at the massive, terrifying apex predator.
Bellamy dropped the beast in the center of the camp, wiping the sweat and dirt from his forehead. He looked at the starving, terrified faces of the hundred, realizing this was exactly the moment he needed to solidify his control. The panic of the morning vanished, replaced by awe. He had brought them a kill.
He had brought them survival. Instantly reclaiming his authority, Bellamy stepped up beside the carcass and spread his arms wide.
"Who's hungry?!" Bellamy yelled, his deep voice carrying over the crowd.
"Yeah!" the delinquents erupted, their fear instantly transforming into roaring approval.
"Bellamy! Whoo!" a male delinquent cheered, pumping his fist in the air.
While Bellamy commanded the absolute loyalty of the camp outside, the interior of the dropship was a frantic, blood-soaked nightmare. Jasper lay thrashing on the cold metal table, his skin pale and slick with sweat.
"Hold him down!" Clarke ordered, her hands shaking as she tried to clean the edges of the brutal spear wound with the boiled water Monty had frantically delivered. "The infection is already spreading. He's burning up!"
Aleksander stepped into the dropship, the heavy metal doors closing behind him, instantly muffling the loud cheers of the camp outside. He walked calmly over to the table and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small, tightly wrapped leaf containing a thick, dark green crushed herbal paste. He had subtly synthesized it using his Fey connection to the local flora on their run back, lacing it with a microscopic fraction of his own regenerative magic.
"Here," Aleksander said, holding the paste out to Clarke.
Clarke looked at it, her medical training making her instantly skeptical. "What is that?"
"A family recipe," Aleksander lied smoothly, his tone carrying an absolute, comforting certainty. "The Starks have always preferred natural remedies to synthetic pharmaceuticals. The alkaloids in this paste act as a severe localized antibiotic. It will draw out the infection, reduce the fever, and stop the necrosis."
Clarke looked at the calm, steady confidence in his dark eyes. She remembered how the impossible, soothing warmth of his hands had completely erased Octavia's pain the night before. If anyone knew how to keep someone alive against the odds, it was him.
Without another word, Clarke took the paste. She carefully spread the thick, green mixture directly over the inflamed edges of Jasper's chest wound, and then gently rubbed the remainder across his feverish forehead.
Almost instantly, Jasper's frantic thrashing began to slow. His agonizing groans faded into quiet, exhausted breaths, the Fey-infused paste already doing its work to pull him back from the brink.
The tension in the dropship eased only slightly as Jasper's breathing finally leveled out. The paste was working miracles, far beyond what any standard Ark medical supply could achieve.
Clarke was curious about the paste wanted to know what it is.
Satisfied that Jasper was stabilized, Aleksander turned his attention back to the tangle of wires and dismantled control panels in the corner. "Monty, how far have you gotten with the wristbands?"
Monty sighed, wiping grease from his forehead with the back of his hand. "I've bypassed the primary biometric sensors, but I haven't been able to get a good signal yet. The Ark's telemetry lock is stubborn."
"Keep trying," Clarke urged, her eyes darting between Jasper and the makeshift comms station. "We need to get a message to them."
Aleksander stepped closer to the console, studying Monty's wiring. "Monty, what you're doing is brilliant. Keep refining it, and ask me if you have doubts." He then turned his dark, calculating gaze to Clarke. "But Clarke... what exactly are you planning to say when you hit that button?"
Clarke didn't hesitate. "That we're alive! That the air is breathable, and they need to send the Guard down to help us fight the Grounders."
"And then what happens, Clarke? Think about it," Aleksander challenged, his voice cold and relentlessly logical. "Marcus Kane lands. He steps out of his ship in his pristine uniform, looks at a forest full of indigenous warriors who know every leaf and shadow, and what does he do?"
Clarke hesitated, the certainty faltering in her eyes. She knew Kane. She knew exactly how rigid and militant the Council's enforcer could be.
"He starts shooting," Aleksander stated brutally. "Kane doesn't know how to survive; he only knows how to enforce. If the Guard lands today, they will treat this planet like a colony. They will march into the woods, trigger every trap, and start a full-scale war. We won't be saved. We'll be caught in the crossfire of a massacre."
Clarke swallowed hard, the terrifying image of Ark guards gunning down the trees flashing in her mind. "So we just let them suffocate up there?"
"No," Aleksander replied evenly. "But we don't hand them the keys to a warzone either. We need leverage. We need a map of Grounder territories. We need to be so deeply entrenched in this mountain that when the Council lands, they have to rely on us to survive, not the other way around. If they land now, they're in charge. If they land in a month, we are."
The absolute tactical brilliance of his argument silenced her. Clarke hated playing politics with people's lives, but she couldn't deny the logic. If Kane came down now, he would strip them of all autonomy and likely get them all killed by the Grounders in a matter of days.
"You're right. It's logical," Clarke admitted reluctantly. "But we need weapons to fight back right now. And we are running out of the medicines that were in the drop supplies. We can't survive a month without them."
"I have a way for that," Aleksander said smoothly, thinking back to the hollow, metallic thud beneath his boot in the ravine. He had the coordinates of an underground bunker locked perfectly in his mind. "But I need hands to carry the haul. Who is coming?"
Monty perked up, eager to get out of the suffocating dropship, but Aleksander raised a hand. "You stay, Monty. The communications array is too important. If you haven't cracked it by the time we get back, we'll rebuild the transmitter together."
Monty slumped slightly but nodded, turning back to his wires.
"I'm ready," Clarke said instantly, grabbing her jacket.
Aleksander turned and walked out the heavy metal doors of the dropship, spotting Wells standing near the perimeter wall. He gestured for the Chancellor's son to join them. Wells, desperate to prove his usefulness, immediately jogged over.
As they gathered near the edge of the camp, preparing to slip out through a gap in the rusted metal wall, a figure suddenly dropped down lightly from a low-hanging tree branch right in front of them.
"If you're on a supply run, I'm coming with you."
Octavia stood there, a rebellious smirk on her face. Thanks to the secret pulse of magic Aleksander had fed into her leg earlier, the massive, agonizing swelling was completely gone. She was putting her full weight on the limb without so much as a wince.
Clarke looked at her leg in shock. "Octavia, you shouldn't even be walking—"
"I feel fine," Octavia interrupted smoothly, shooting a knowing, appreciative glance at Aleksander before looking back at Clarke.
"And Bellamy is busy playing butcher with that jaguar. He won't even notice I'm gone. I'm sneaking out."
While on Ark, Raven is called into a level of the Ark that is considered off-limits. Abby tells Raven that the Ark is dying and for unknown reasons, while the 100 they sent below are dying for unknown reasons. Abby reveals a 130-year-old escape pod and tells Raven to get it ready in nine days. Raven tells her she can do it but she is going with Abby to earth.