OUT OF MIND² ━━ Bellamy Blake

𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈: Sins And Their Sinners

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SINS AND THEIR SINNERS

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im in the hospital w/ mono rn LMFAO

          USUALLY LYRA IS a pretty big fan of ignoring her problems until they go away. Which is pretty obvious, given everything that she's done over the past three months.

Sadly, she doesn't think that it is going to be an option this time.

Mainly because she's bound and gagged in the airlock. Not only that, but so are all of her friends. Octavia is right beside her, writhing like mad as she tries to pull against her restraints, but it's useless. Lyra's fettered in a way that she cannot twist her head back to look at the rest of them, but it's pretty easy to imagine matching looks of terror on all of their faces. And she can still hear Raven whimpering; the mechanic hasn't stopped crying since Emerson killed Sinclair.

Yeah, this problem is pretty hard to ignore.

     Suddenly, Emerson's walkie crackles.

     "Emerson." Clarke's familiar, cool-under-pressure voice cuts through the static easily. "I know you're listening. We need to talk."

     Lyra feels dizzy with relief. That's right ━━ Clarke and Bellamy haven't been captured. They're OK.

"I don't need to do anything," responds Emerson coarsely. "You should've killed me when you had the chance."

Lyra doesn't know what he's referring to ━━ the day they irradiated the mountain, maybe ━━ but Clarke seems to. She responds in a voice like steel. "And now you're here to kill me, is that it?"

"Something like that," he sneers.

"Then let my friends go," Clarke says brazenly. "Do that and you can have me."

     "You're brave, Clarke. I'll give you that. They're lucky to have a friend like you," drawls Emerson, though he hardly looks surprised. Lyra is half-sure he'd expected Clarke to pull something like this. "Come to the airlock. No weapons. Right now."

     Certain that Clarke has a better plan then just getting herself killed, Lyra feels her fear start to ebb.

Lithe footsteps thud against the dull alloyed corridors. Moving herself in a way that the rope rubs her skin raw until it burns, Lyra manages to twist painfully to see Clarke approaching. She's still in her Wanheda garb, the leathery trench coat grazing the floor as she moves slowly but surely towards the airlock. The various metal harnesses and sheathes along her person glitter deftly as she holds her hands up in the air in surrender. There is no sign of Bellamy.

"I held out my part of the deal." Clarke's gaze is dead set on Emerson; she doesn't even look at the rest of them. "Your turn. Let my friends go."

"Tell Bellamy to show himself first."

"I don't know what you're — "