I do not own The 100. I do own Grace and her storyline, along with some of the other characters mixed into this story that is not in the show or the novels.
✧
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Grace Parker awakes to the same boring walls that have kept her imprisoned for the past six years with a shallow sigh.
Things haven't changed. She doesn't really know what she was expecting in the first place, but it wasn't this. The room is still an irritating pale grey. The bed beneath her is an incredibly thin mattress covered with a few thin sheets and one tiny pillow. The floor is bare. The vent above her bed squeaks for repair, begging to be fixed.
Grace looks around the room in displeasure. Everything is exactly the same, despite the fact that she's spent the last six years locked in here. A frown spreads across her face as she realizes how small of an impact her stay would make on the next prisoner to reside in her room. After today, when they sent her flailing through the airlock, she would be gone and there would be nothing left to remember her by.
Perhaps her sister would remember her. She would know that some redheaded girl had taught her to read, to take care of herself, to hide when the guards came, but would she keep her memory alive? It was possible. She was the reason Grace was here, and something like that wasn't something you could just forget, right? Grace hopes so. But, then again, she also hoped that her sister would forget everything about her so that she would be safe.
She pushes the thought away. Sitting up with a low, dissatisfied groan, Grace adjusts her tank top and lifts her hand to tug out the knots in her fiery hair. She wondered what time it was. It had to be early in the morning, seeing as none of the guards had woken her up for her morning breakfast of slop and water. She wondered if they would even give it to her. It would be the humane thing to do, but then again throwing a newly eighteen-year-old out of an airlock wasn't exactly a moral thing to do, either.
A soft hiss issues from her door. The big hunk of metal blocking her from the outside world slides open, revealing two guards dressed in bulky black clothing. One of them is an older, physically fit man who's balding, and the other is a significantly younger man with a thin figure and little to no muscle. Grace frowns when she notes that they only carry a single electric baton and another smaller item that Grace can't see.
Grace plucks her jacket from the foot of her bed, shrugging it on with three swift movements. She pulls her curls out from under the thick blue jacket, her eyes never leaving the guards. It was clear that they were here to bring her to the airlock, what else would they be doing?
