The 100: Survivor

Spending most of his life locked in a cell, Sen had long since resigned to dying a pathetic death. However, by some miracle, a few days before he turned 18 and was scheduled to be floated, he suddenly found himself being sent down to Earth in a space shuttle with 99 other juveniles like himself. With newfound hope, Sen decides to survive. [First attempt at writing a character with actual character development]

Kw0z · TV
Not enough ratings
12 Chs


The chamber fell silent once more, all eyes fixed on Lexa. Her gaze remained fixed on Sen, a storm brewing behind her dark eyes. It was a tense moment, the fate of the Ice Nation children, and potentially Sen himself, hanging in the balance.

Then, a hint of a smile played on Lexa's lips, a flicker of amusement or perhaps a grudging respect for Sen's audacity. "Very well, Sky Person," she finally declared. "You will be given this opportunity. But be warned, failure will not be tolerated."

A collective sigh rippled through the room. Some Grounders seemed intrigued by Sen's plan, while others remained wary, their expressions etched with skepticism. But for now, at least, the children were spared.

Lexa turned to Grok. "Take the Sky Person—Sen—to the prisoner holding area. He will begin his… interrogation… immediately."

Grok grunted in acknowledgment and roughly told Sen to follow. "Come, boy."

Sen rose, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He had gambled, and for a moment there, he wasn't sure he'd won. But now, he had a chance, a chance not just to survive, but to carve out a place for himself in this ruthless world. A place of power.

As they walked through the echoing halls, Sen stole a glance at Grok. The Grounder warrior's face remained impassive, but a flicker of something akin to grudging respect flickered in his eyes. Perhaps Sen's defiance had earned him a sliver of respect, or perhaps Grok simply admired his audacity.

Interrupting the silence as they walked, Sen prompted Grok with a serious question: "So, how long have you been the Commander's slave for?"

At first, Grok didn't answer, but then he tilted his head towards Sen, and said, "The slave's don't live nearly as well as I do."

Despite Grok essentially ignoring his question, Sen had just focused on what he said.

They actually had a slave system down here?


A stifling stench of sweat, mildew, and fear hung heavy in the air, clinging to the rough-hewn stone walls of the prison cell. The flickering torchlight cast grotesque shadows that danced maniacally across the uneven floor, slick with grime and despair. Sen, perched on a splintered wooden stool that reeked faintly of something rotten, scanned the room with a practiced indifference.

Across from him, huddled in a shivering mass on the cold, damp ground, were the captured Ice Nation children. Their ragged clothes, once vibrant with the Ice Nation's icy blues and whites, were now dulled and stained, mirroring the hopelessness etched on their young faces.

Amara, the eldest, sat with her back ramrod straight, her chin held high despite the tremor in her hands. Her defiant gaze, once a spark that dared Sen to break her spirit, was now clouded with a chilling fear that gnawed at the edges of his carefully constructed apathy.

Amara, the eldest, locked eyes with him. Her gaze, once defiant, was now clouded with apprehension.

"What do you want with us?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Sen shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Information," he replied, his tone flat. "The Commander wants to know what tricks you Ice Nation folks have up your sleeves."

Although ripple of distrust run through the group after he said that, he didn't care.

Truthfully, their secrets held little personal interest to him. This was all a game, a twisted performance designed to impress Lexa and secure his own survival. The children were simply pawns, unfortunate casualties in a larger power struggle.

"Why help us, then?" Amara persisted, her voice a sliver stronger this time.

Sen smirked, a cold, mocking gesture. "Helping you? Don't flatter yourselves. I'm simply facilitating the extraction of information. Think of it as… interrogation with a more… playful facade."

The children remained silent, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and something else – a dawning comprehension of his true motives. He didn't care. Let them see him for what he was: a self-serving survivor navigating a ruthless world.

He stood abruptly, his bored expression replaced by a mask of practiced efficiency. "Alright, listen up. Today's lesson: hand-to-hand combat basics. Not enough to overpower a seasoned warrior, mind you, but enough to give you a fighting chance if things go south."

A flicker of hope sparked in a few of their eyes, only to be quickly doused by Amara's sharp realization. "A fighting chance against who?" she challenged.

Sen's smirk widened. "Against each other, perhaps. Makes the information gathering a bit more… lively." He ignored the gasps of horror that rose from the huddled group. This wasn't about teaching them self-defense; it was about manipulating their desperation, turning them against each other for his own amusement, and ultimately, Lexa's favor.

As he demonstrated basic blocks and parries, his movements were swift and precise, devoid of any empathy. He was a teacher, yes, but a teacher with a twisted curriculum - one that exploited fear and fueled paranoia.

By the time dusk fell, casting long shadows across the chamber, Sen felt a cold satisfaction settle in his gut. He had played his part, showcasing a twisted form of "cooperation" with the children. Whether Lexa bought it, only time would tell.

He dismissed the children with a dismissive gesture, their wary gazes trailing after him as he exited the cell. The image of Amara's face, however, lingered in his mind. A spark of defiance still resided within her, a flicker of something he couldn't quite place.

He pushed the thought away, a shiver running down his spine. No, he wouldn't allow anything to stir emotions he'd buried so deeply. He was a survivor, a player in this deadly game. And in this world, hearts were a liability, a weakness he couldn't afford.

The flickering torch sputtered and died, plunging the cell into an inky blackness that mirrored the hollowness within him. He huddled deeper into his threadbare cloak,

Sleep, when it finally came, offered no solace. Nightmares, vivid and terrifying, rehashed the events that led him here – the betrayal, the escape, the brutal capture. He woke with a jolt, heart hammering against his ribs, the taste of fear metallic on his tongue.

The first sliver of dawn light crept hesitantly through the narrow gap in the ceiling, painting the grimy straw with a sickly yellow hue. The air, thick with the stench of stale sweat and fear, seemed to solidify in his lungs with each labored breath. With a groan, Sen rose from the stool, his muscles stiff and protesting.

Across from him, the huddled mass of children remained motionless. Had they slept at all? He couldn't tell. Their faces, pale in the dim light, were etched with a mixture of exhaustion and despair. Amara, ever watchful, was the first to stir. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes meeting his with a guarded intensity.

"What now?" she asked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

Sen shrugged, the movement feeling alien in the oppressive silence. "Same as yesterday," he replied, forcing a casualness he didn't feel. "Today, we'll learn some basic disarming techniques."

The children exchanged uneasy glances, a silent communication that spoke volumes. They didn't trust him, and rightfully so. Yet, a glimmer of something else flickered in their eyes – a desperate hope, a sliver of defiance that refused to be extinguished.

"Disarming who?" Amara challenged, her voice sharp as a shard of ice.

Sen met her gaze, a flicker of something akin to annoyance crossing his face. "Doesn't matter," he countered, his tone clipped. "The techniques are the same regardless of your opponent." A carefully constructed lie, but one that held a sliver of truth. Disarming skills would translate, even if his true agenda remained shrouded.

"Now… Amara, come up and stand in front of me. You'll be the example."

Though it may be childish, Amara's failure to understand her situation slightly irked him. She was a mere prisoner and yet she tried challenging his word?

Though he didn't care much about it, he had to snuff that habit out of her, lest she get herself killed. So he'd teach her a small lesson of pain.

Amara continued standing with the rest of the prisoners, not responding.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Sen said harshly, his voice low and dangerous.

He took a menacing step closer, looming over the small girl. "You'll stand in front of me, and you'll learn what I tell you to learn. Unless…" he paused, letting the threat hang in the air, "you'd rather I show the others how easily a defiant tongue can be silenced?"

Amara's eyes narrowed, but a flicker of fear betrayed her bravado. She remained rooted to the spot for a heartbeat longer, then with a defiant huff, she shuffled to the front of the group. She felt ashamed of herself for having ever thought that Sen would have mercy on her before.

Amara's eyes narrowed, but a flicker of fear betrayed her bravado. She remained rooted to the spot for a heartbeat longer, then with a defiant huff, she shuffled to the front of the group.

Sen gestured for her to stand with her feet shoulder-width apart, mimicking a fighting stance. He wasn't going to teach her actual combat techniques, not really. This was about control.

"Alright," he began, his voice dripping with condescension, "today we'll learn a simple disarming technique. Useful if you ever find yourself facing a Grounder with a dull butter knife, perhaps."

The other children shifted uncomfortably, the sting of his mockery evident. Amara, however, held his gaze unflinchingly.

He launched into a demonstration, his movements exaggerated and slow, designed to be easily understood. He showed her how to deflect a (pretend) attack, how to create an opening to disarm her opponent. But as he moved in close to demonstrate the final disarming move, he saw his opportunity.

With a swift twist of his wrist, he caught Amara's arm in a painful lock, his grip surprisingly tight for someone who hadn't seen a real fight in weeks. A gasp escaped her lips, her eyes widening in surprise and pain.

"See?" Sen sneered, leaning closer so his breath tickled her ear. "A little too slow, wouldn't you say? Maybe next time you'll think twice before questioning your superiors."

"You really are lucky I was ordered to supervise you and not any other grounder, Amara. Lose the attitude and be grateful."

He held the lock for a beat longer than necessary, relishing the flicker of fear in her eyes. Then, with a sigh of mock exasperation, he released arm, turned around, and left the cell.

"That's it for today, and every other day for that matter. This little experiment was fun, but unfortunately, none of you have any kind of talent. You can blame Amara for her attitude.

Hearing that their fighting lessons would be ending, everyone lowered their head in disappointment. That is, until they heard the reason the lessons would be ending. And then they lowered their heads to look at Amara, who was on the ground clutching at her wrist.

All of their eyes filled with disdain at her ruining their only opportunity to escape using their lessons. A childish thought, but one would expect no less from children.

Seeing their disdainful gaze towards Amara as he walked out, Sen, with his back turned, could only smile. "Perfect."