Ethan Beckett craves fun and chaos over the nuisance of rules and demands. But when disagreements begin on the ground, he's surprised to say he sides with the people who don't want chaos to be all they are.
Chaos is a drug. But death is something y...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ethan's running, running after the messy tracks of the Rover's wheels, past bodies that blur in his peripheral, ignoring how much this is gonna kill for his ankle when the adrenaline is gone.
He sees the Rover, but he also sees Bellamy, standing defensively in front of the gate with his gun held high. Ethan thinks about pushing forward, taking Bellamy down for Kane to get through. But he won't make it, and that niggling feeling in the back of his head still cares enough about Bellamy to call out,
"Bellamy, get the fuck out of the way!"
But he remains firmly planted in the dirt, expression unchanging.
Kane, fortunately, does not run Bellamy over. The Rover halts harshly when he slams on the breaks, hitting his hands against the wheel in defeat.
Ethan has to physically dig his boots into the dirt to stop himself from actually skidding into Bellamy, instead bumping into his side, chest rising and falling harshly.
Meeting Kane's eyes, blank and devoid of hope, he knows they've lost.
The plan was good. It should've worked. But it was his own people that ruined it. He shoves Bellamy a step to the side, "Fuck you!" and again, "Whatever happens next is your fucking fault!"
Bellamy takes it with a lack of eye contact, lips flattened in a thin line.
The guards come through, hands trying to detain him and Ethan fights back, hoping to catch a few knees with his boots. He tosses his elbow into a set of ribs along the way until the guards force his arms behind his back.
When he hears the clatter of stiff metal, Ethan tosses his head over his shoulder and laughs flatly, "Hey, I used those same cuffs on your mum last night."
"Shut up." Barks a familiar voice.
He'd hoped Michael had died, but obviously that wasn't the case.
"Oh, it's you." Ethan digs his feet into the ground, and abruptly, shoves himself backwards.
Success was so close, the both of them almost slamming into the dirt if it wasn't for the other guards. They steady them both and Ethan groans.
His knees hit the ground first, then his chest. When the cold metal bites into his wrists, it's much tighter than it should be.
Ethan focuses on an empty space in the air, dejected, and refuses to look up from the boots that stop in front of his face.
Shit.
Shit.
He drags his weight when they haul him inside the ark, satisfied by the struggling grunts every time they adjust their grip.
Lock-up is guarded by twice the amount of people, he notices, when they turn the corner.
The grounders, pale, eyes barely squinted open, sit on the floor looking defeated. Harley, Lincoln and Sinclair huddle together in silence.
