[A/N:So I am not rewriting it, but I will create a pure technology based The 100 later on. Where MC just improves everything from the Ark, he takes over and creates Technology and later comes to Earth.]
The next morning, the air inside the camp was buzzing with a sharp, focused energy. The newly established inner circle—Clarke, Wells, Octavia, Bellamy, Jasper, and Monty—were geared up and ready to move.
Before they left, Aleksander pulled Clarke aside.
"Tell Finn to stay back and watch the camp," Aleksander instructed quietly. "Remind him that Raven needs him here. We can't have him freezing up out there."
Clarke nodded, understanding perfectly. She walked over to Finn, who was hovering near the gates, and smoothly sold him on the idea. Finn clearly wanted to go with Clarke, but with Raven resting in the dropship, he reluctantly agreed to stay behind and play guard dog.
As the group assembled by the gates, Aleksander walked down the line. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing the shoulders of their jackets. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer rippled across the fabric before vanishing into the material.
Aleksander leaned in, lowering his voice so only the six of them could hear. "I just cast a hardening charm on your clothes. The fabric will feel the same to you, but if a Grounder arrow or spear hits it, it will react like solid Kevlar. You're armored."
Bellamy smirked, adjusting his collar. "I could get used to this magic thing."
With Aleksander leading the way, the trek to the pre-war supply depot was incredibly fast. His Fey senses easily mapped the safest routes through the irradiated terrain, bypassing Grounder traps and dense brush.
Halfway there, Jasper and Monty wandered slightly off the path, their eyes locked onto a cluster of strange, spiky nuts growing at the base of a massive tree.
"Hey, look at these," Jasper said, reaching out. "Think they're edible?"
"Don't touch those," Aleksander commanded, not even breaking his stride. His connection to the natural world pulsed, instantly reading the toxic chemical makeup of the plant. "They aren't safe. The toxins inside cause severe, violent hallucinations."
Also, he remembered it from memories of exiles.
Bellamy stopped, his tactical brain immediately shifting into gear. He looked at the nuts, then up at Aleksander. "Could they be weaponized?"
Aleksander hummed, considering it for a second. "Possibly. If I extract the core compound through alchemy, I can create something similar to a hallucinogenic smoke grenade."
Bellamy's eyes lit up. "Grab them, Monty. Use your gloves."
They soon arrived at the coordinates of the pre-war depot. It was an underground concrete bunker, buried beneath decades of overgrowth. The heavy steel door was completely rusted shut, the locking mechanism fused together by time and the elements.
"Stand back," Aleksander told them.
He raised his hand. Vibrant, wispy green energy crackled around his fingers. With a sharp twisting motion of his wrist, the vibrant green whispy energy gripped the heavy steel. The metal shrieked and groaned before being violently ripped straight off its hinges, crashing into the dirt.
They clicked on their flashlights and stepped inside.
The excitement, however, died almost instantly. The depot was ruined. The walls were covered in thick, toxic mold, and the air smelled like rot and stagnant water. It was incredibly disgusting, and Clarke immediately realized that the hundred couldn't use this place as a fallout shelter.
"It's gutted," Clarke sighed, shining her light over the empty racks. "Whatever was in here, they distributed it before the last of the bombs went off."
"Not completely," Bellamy muttered, prying open a plastic crate in the corner. He pulled out a handful of thick plastic tubes and snapped one. A bright, neon green glow illuminated his face. "Glow sticks. Great. We can throw a rave."
Clarke opened a nearby metal locker, smiling slightly as she pulled out a stack of sealed, vacuum-packed thermal blankets. "Hey, it's not a total loss. We need these."
But Bellamy wasn't interested in blankets. He was frustrated. He kicked a rusted metal barrel sitting in the middle of the room.
The barrel toppled over with a heavy thud, the lid popping off. Instead of water or rations, thick, dark machine grease spilled out across the concrete floor.
"Dammit," Bellamy growled. But as the grease drained, the beam of his flashlight caught the dull gleam of black metal hidden inside the sludge.
Bellamy froze. He reached into the grease and pulled out a fully intact, military-grade assault rifle.
"No way," Jasper breathed.
Inside the barrel, wrapped in heavy plastic and preserved perfectly by the grease, were a dozen assault rifles and several heavy metal boxes of ammunition.
Aleksander walked over, grabbing one of the rifles. He wiped the grease away and expertly checked the action and the barrel. "The firing mechanisms are in perfect condition. The grease kept the moisture out." He popped open one of the ammo boxes, inspecting the brass casings. "We have a limited supply of bullets, but that won't be a problem. I can cast a replication spell to duplicate the ammunition."
Bellamy grinned, racking the bolt of his rifle. "Now we're talking."
They hauled the weapons up to the surface to clean them off and distribute them. Since Aleksander and Bellamy were the only ones with actual combat knowledge, they split the group up to teach them the basics of handling the heavy firearms.
While Bellamy took Monty, Jasper, and Wells, Aleksander took Clarke and Octavia.
"Keep the stock pulled tight against your shoulder," Aleksander instructed calmly, standing behind Clarke and adjusting her stance.
Clarke leaned back slightly, her shoulder pressing intentionally against his chest. She looked up at him, offering a sweet, highly deliberate smile. "Like this?"
"Exactly," Aleksander replied smoothly.
Octavia narrowed her eyes, instantly catching Clarke's territorial shift. Not to be outdone, Octavia lowered her rifle and stepped right into Aleksander's personal space, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
"I don't know, Alex," Octavia murmured, stepping close enough that their jackets brushed. "The recoil feels a bit heavy for me. Can you show me how to brace my feet again?"
Clarke shot Octavia a sharp glare over the barrel of her gun, which Octavia met with a smug little smirk. The apocalypse and the Grounder threat hadn't stopped the fact that both girls had staked a claim, and neither was willing to back down. Aleksander, entirely aware of the brewing rivalry, merely sighed internally and adjusted Octavia's stance with professional, magical detachment.
Once everyone had a decent grasp on the safeties and reloading, they began packing the rifles to head back.
Aleksander slung a rifle over his shoulder and walked casually over to Bellamy, who was loading a magazine. Aleksander didn't look up, keeping his voice to an absolute, unreadable whisper.
"Don't react," Aleksander murmured. "Just keep loading the magazine."
Bellamy's hands didn't stop moving, but his entire body went rigid. "What is it?"
"Dax," Aleksander whispered, his Fey empathy locking onto the dark, murderous intent bleeding out of the trees about fifty yards to their left. "He followed us from the camp. He's hiding in the brush."
Bellamy kept his head down, but his jaw clenched tight. "Why the hell is he following us?"
"I heard his thoughts as we were leaving the gates," Aleksander explained, his voice cold and analytical. "He isn't here to scavenge. He's here to put a bullet in you."
Bellamy's blood ran cold as Aleksander's warning from the dropship violently clicked into place. The mastermind behind the coup cannot afford for you to ever talk to the Ark again.
"He's here to tie up the loose end," Bellamy muttered, realizing Dax was sent by Commander Shumway to silence him.
"Yes," Aleksander confirmed smoothly, turning slightly to adjust his jacket. "And he is waiting for you to be alone."