Author's Foreword:

Last summer, I wrote 118,000 words for my first complete, multi-chapter fanfic. It was one of the coolest things I think I've ever done, and the responses I received from my readers filled my heart with gratitude and my mind with inspiration. I'm really excited to dive back into it, this time with a shamelessly-dystopian adventure/mystery/romance.

Without further ado, enjoy Heads and Hearts.

Welcome to your life

There's no turning back

Even while we sleep

We will find you acting on your best behavior

Turn your back on mother nature

-Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"

"When the dust settled in the ashes of the last World War, our planet laid in ruins. Billions dead, millions homeless. What had once been the United States was now disintegrated chaos. No more structure, no more security, no more hope.

But then, in a little corner on the east, a community rose from the ashes. A small colony on a hostile planet. They rebuilt a town, named it "Arkadia", and framed it with a wall. They opened their doors and arms to the frightened refugees at their gates, so long as they adhered to one rule: Be sorted into two categories: Heads, or Hearts.

Heads, the system tells us, are intelligent and logical. They act with their mind, and they are capable of finding solutions to the greatest problems that plague Arkadia. They are our doctors and engineers, our lawyers and teachers. Simply put, Heads are the thinkers.

Hearts take action. Their passion - and compassion for others - remains unmatched. They cater to the wellbeing of others, helping keep Arkadia safe and healthy. Without Hearts, we lose the very thing that keeps us human: our empathy for others.

And that's what Arkadia, and this system, is all about - preserving the human race in a world that's tried everything to destroy it."

When Thelonious Jaha finishes his speech, his arms are outstretched on either side like wings. His palms are open and facing outwards, a sign of acceptance and encouragement. His chin is raised and eyes lidded with a smile, and he seems to wear a halo of confidence and reassurance around him. His appearance is no finer than anyone else's, his clothes are just a little dull and showing wear, with the save exception the chancellor pin he wears on his breast.

The auditorium around him fills with resounding applause at his speech, a thunderous swell of clapping and cheers. It certainly isn't a new speech, or anything unfamiliar - some variation of it is repeated at every holiday, every special event. Everyone knows the story of Arkadia, of the system that they are sorted into. But it represents the very thing that Arkadia tries to provide: safety. Security. The story has been paraphrased and simplified a hundred times over, but the constancy is reassuring in itself. Arkadia has a history. It has an identity. Against the odds it has been dealt, it is surviving.

Chancellor Jaha stands against the mosaic tiled wall of the auditorium, thousands of stones and glass pieces depicting a sunrise breaking over distant hills. The rest of the auditorium is paneled wood, with a high ceiling and sunlight slipping in from windows overhead. Every seat is filled, and there is a natural division down the center of the room. It isn't planned or enforced, but it just happens that Heads sit on the right while Hearts sit on the left. The division is clear to see, with Heads wearing their usual blue and Hearts wearing reds. It isn't forced, but it certainly isn't discouraged.

Meanwhile, the graduating students occupy the first two rows, their faces gleaming with anticipation. They sit according to rank in class, so Clarke Griffin is in the first seat on the aisle. She, like the other students, is dressed in some of her finest, which for her means her crepe cornflower blouse and matching blue headband. She sits with a straight back, crossed ankles, and her hands overlapped in a way that displays the small Head tattoo on her left hand. When her mother used to tell stories of Clarke as a child, Abby would always say she knew Clarke was a natural Head even as a toddler. It was in the inquisitive way she looked at the world, the way she fixated on a problem and tried everything to solve it. Now, Clarke sits at the top of her class, the best among the best. She would graduate with honors, and she has been holding an apprenticeship at the clinic for almost two years, courtesy of her mother's recommendation. In nearly every way, Clarke Griffin is a glistening, pristine example of the system at its finest.

"And now," Jaha says, turning from the wider audience to directly address the students. "I invite our graduating students to join us and receive their ceremonial pin, in recognition of their accomplishments. Please proceed when we call your name."

Clarke straightens in her seat, smoothing down her flaxen hair and wiping her warm palms on her pant legs. She watches as the members of the council rise from their seats on the auditorium stage, now standing as Jaha is. Her own mother resides on the council, and it is Abby Griffin who pulls forward two identical silver bowls. Though Clarke cannot clearly see what is inside, the teachers have taught them enough about the ceremony to know that the bowls hold the graduation pins - one bowl for Heads, the other for Hearts.

Jaha moves downstage beside the table with the bowls, and one of the council-women - Clarke recalls her name is Anya Woods - takes to the polished podium to read the names. She smooths the paper before her, clears her throat then calls out.

"Clarke Griffin."

Clarke rises, exhaling in a slow, calming breath. She tries to quell the nervous flutters in her stomach, instead focusing on taking steady, measured footsteps up the stairs and across the stage. She catches her mother's glance from behind Jaha, where Abby stands and claps with tears in her eyes. Clarke's heart swells.

"Congratulations, Miss Griffin," Jaha says, shaking her hand in a firm but gentle grasp. There is a special warmth in his smile for her; Clarke has been close to the Jaha's for her entire life, especially close to Thelonious's son Wells. They are practically family. Clarke beams back at him and waits patiently as he clasps her new graduation pin onto the collar of her blouse.

"Thank you, sir." Clarke gives a quick nod, then crosses the stage and returns to her seat. Glancing at her collarbone, she admires her new pin: It is a polished silvery color and circular in shape, with the sign of the school on it, a "G" for graduate. The only slight difference between hers and a Heart's pin is the colored emblem in the middle. Hers is blue, and it is the same sign that all Heads have tattooed below their left thumb: an arrow pointing upwards. Heart pins have a red emblem with their sign: a circle with a balanced cross inscribed inside.

It is a little while before any Hearts are called up to receive their pins, as naturally the Heads are the top of their class. Raven Reyes is the first Heart to be called, graduating seventh in rank. She strides up to the stage like she owns the world, a wide, glowing smile breaking across her face. There is plenty of cheering through the audience's polite applause, as Raven is popular and well-liked among her classmates. Octavia Blake, for instance, isn't afraid of cheering. She is seated in the second row, dressed in a maroon sleeveless top, and clapping enthusiastically. When Raven flashes her radiant smile in Octavia's direction, she can't help but cheerfully cry out, even if it earns her a few glares from other students. So what? Let them stare. Octavia isn't afraid of the extra attention.

She is used to attention. Since coming to Arkadia fourteen years ago, she's been under the scrutinizing eye of the Arkadia community. Refugees are welcomed into the city, but always received with wariness and hesitation, especially those old enough to have experienced the outside world. People are polite to the Blakes, but hardly friendly. Things had only become worse when her mother was killed in a freak accident, leaving Octavia and her older brother on their own. Soon, the attention shifted from wariness to pity. Luckily Octavia's brother was old enough to look out for his sister himself, allowing the siblings to stay together. They live on the outskirts of town, Bellamy always encouraging his sister to fly under the radar while Octavia would blatantly refuse. She likes to be recognized. Her beautiful appearance - pixie face, jade green eyes, long ebony hair - and explosive personality makes her hard to ignore and impossible to forget.

The boy next to Octavia tries to shush her, bumping her with his elbow and placing a finger to his lips. Octavia rolls her eyes. "Go float yourself, Del." She retorts under her breath.

She settles into the back of her seat, getting comfortable until she finally hears her name called. She knows exactly when it is coming, not because Del has just received his pin, but because she's been watching Anya. The reader pauses, swallows, then announces, "Octavia Blake." Perfect.

Octavia's lips pull up into a smirk as she crosses and climbs the stairs. Her reputation is preceding her, just the way she likes it. She's always been one to stir up trouble, just enough to get recognized but never enough to get caught. Little things: clever vandalization, petty theft, trespassing to have a good time. She sees no incentive to stop; ever since she'd started flying in the face of rules, people have come to like her more and more. She walks with her chin raised and eyes blazing, ready to challenge anyone in her way. If Jaha notices this confrontational body language as Octavia receives her pin, he doesn't show it.

"Congratulations, Miss Blake," he says to her, his voice tight and controlled. But something behind his eyes finally betrays him. A strange combination of hesitance and dominance and repulsion. Like he's facing the one problem he cannot solve. Octavia doesn't take her eyes off his face as long as he fastens the pin to her collar. She recalls that she's supposed to thank the Chancellor, so she pours some saccharine sweetness into her voice as she does.

Walking off the stage, Octavia for the first time feels the weight of those hundreds of eyes in the auditorium. She turns, gaze settling on one pair in particular. He stands at the back of the seats, by the door he'd likely just slipped through. He's not in uniform, but he wears dark clothing that blends him into the hanging shadows. Even from afar, Octavia can see the most important features stand out: clapping hands, twinkling eyes, a proud smile. She'd been hoping Bellamy could get out of work for her graduation. And here he is.

After the ceremony, Clarke stands underneath one of the scrawny trees in the school yard. The sky overhead is gray and overcast and the little sun that trickles through the clouds casts a filmy glow. Clarke watches the tide of parents and students rolling out from within the building, all full of excitement and relief. But not her mother, who had been lingering behind somewhere in the auditorium. Clarke's eyes scan for a familiar silhouette. She hears her mother before she sees her.

"Clarke?"

Clarke rushes into her embrace, grinning. "I'm so proud of you," Abby purrs into Clarke's ear, breaking the hug to get a better look at her new graduate. "You've worked so hard to get here, and you've earned it."

"Thanks Mom."

"How does it feel to be a graduate now?" Abby asks with sparkling eyes.

Clarke takes a moment to find the right word. "Important. Like every little decision, every little thing matters so much more now."

"Well luckily you don't have to worry about getting a job assignment, that's already taken care of. I spoke with Jackson and the rest of the clinic board, and they agree that we should begin increasing your hours and responsibilities regarding your apprenticeship. It'll ease you into full-time shifts at the clinic." Something shifts in Abby's face. "Speaking of…"

"What is it?"

"They buzzed me during the ceremony," Abby says sheepishly. "That gentleman with the heart condition, the one I was telling you about, he got worse over the afternoon. They moved up his surgery to just under the hour, and I need to work into the evening."

"Of course," Clarke nods, understanding the circumstances. "How long?"

"Six hours, maybe seven? Could be later." Abby takes hold of Clarke's shoulders. "I'm so sorry to leave you on your graduation night. I'll make it up somehow." She fumbles for ideas. "Maybe you could spend the evening at the Jaha's? I'm sure they'd love to have you."

"Actually, Wells and I had talked about going somewhere tonight, maybe with Raven. You know, to celebrate."

"Fantastic." Abby smiles, relief in her eyes that Clarke will not be entirely alone on her special night. Something buzzes, and she checks the white wristband on her arm, reading a small message in the screen. "Shoot, I don't want to be late."

"Go," Clarke tells her, hugging her mother for one last time. "I'll be fine. Really."

Octavia is leaning against the brick wall of the schoolbuilding when Atom sneaks up behind her. She doesn't see him coming, just feels his nose bump her jawline as he nestles into her shoulder.

"Atom!" She jumps, spinning right into his wandering hands. She giggles, feeling his grin against her skin. "Stop, Atom, Bellamy's here."

"I don't see your brother anywhere." He has a point. Octavia hasn't seen him since leaving the auditorium, but she knows Bellamy is around.

"He's somewhere. And you know he wouldn't approve of any of this."

Atom pulls back, pouting. "So, what, we keep this a secret forever? We're graduates now, Octavia. Adults."

"I'm still living with Bellamy, and as long as I am, I have to keep him somewhat happy." She folds her arms, looking him up and down. Atom is easy on the eyes, no stunner but she certainly isn't complaining. They aren't exclusive, but their relationship - if it could be defined as that - is playful and wild. Octavia isn't looking to be tied down anytime soon.

Atom digs his hands into his pockets like a little schoolboy. "Murphy and Mbege and I were talking, and we had an idea."

"What kind of idea?"

"One you'd like." His eyes are sly and excited. "How'd you like to get a tattoo?"

Octavia's brow furrows. "Tattoo like this tattoo?" She points to the mark on her hand, but Atom shakes his head.

"It could be whatever kind you want. A symbol, a name, a picture, whatever you'd like."

"They don't do that, Atom. Tattoos are for classification, they're…" Octavia's voice drifts off, reading the look on Atom's face. "What are you thinking?"

"Remember Trina? Well, turns out she's assigned to facilities over in the classification center. Her keycard gets her into the wing where they store the tattoo supplies, and her friend Pascal is one of the tattoo printers."

"Are you serious?" Octavia's face blossoms into a smile, throwing her arms around Atom's shoulders. "Let's do it."

"Great. Mbege and Murphy are going to meet us behind the classification center in half an hour, so we've got to move."

Octavia nods, and she finally spots her brother's familiar figure across the courtyard. She watches his eyes narrow and chin raise as he takes in Atom and his close proximity to his baby sister. Octavia knows that's Atom's cue to leave. She gently pushes his shoulder, whispering, "I'll meet you there. Half an hour."

As Atom slips around the corner, Octavia adjusts the bottom of her top and crosses to Bellamy, a sweet genuine smile on her face. "You came, Bell."

"Of course I did," He sweeps her into an embrace, and she relaxes in the warmth of his arms. Octavia's memories of her mother are limited and fading fast, but Bellamy has always been her constant. Her home.

"How'd you get out of your shift? You said your boss is a dick, that he wouldn't let you."

Bellamy shrugs. "He's still a dick, but I stretched the truth to make it a surprise for you. Thought we could do something to celebrate." His hooded eyes flicker in the direction where Atom disappeared. "Though something tells me that's not going to happen tonight."

Octavia sighs. "It's a group of us, Bell. We wanted to do something special, you know."

"A group?"

"Yeah," Octavia tries to downplay it. "Atom, Murphy, Mbege, a whole bunch of us."

Bellamy's eyebrows rise. It's times like these that he feels so much more like a parent than a brother. He is only three years older than Octavia, but circumstances forced him to grow up quickly. He folds his arms. "Can I trust you to stay out of trouble?"

"Probably not."

"O…" His voice is a cautionary grumble. To a stranger, he must look intimidating, with his inky curls hanging shadows over his eyes. But this is her brother, and she can't help but laugh a little.

"What? I'm just being honest." They start off through the courtyard, matching their steps on the gravel. "How about this: I'll try to stay out of trouble. Seriously, Bell, we just want to have a little fun, you know?" That isn't the right way to phrase it, as Bellamy's eyes widen. "Not that kind of fun. I'm not stupid."

"You don't always make the best of choices."

"Neither of us do." Octavia says. Her internal clock reminds her that she won't have a lot of time to make it to the classification center in time. "I'll be careful. And I'll be back by curfew."

"Fine. Just don't do anything to get yourself in trouble, okay?"

Octavia chooses not to answer, giving Bellamy a brief hug instead. "Catch up to you later," she says with a grin, turning down the street with a little spring in her step.

"Where are you leading us?"

"You'll see soon enough." Wells tosses it back over his shoulder, where Clarke follows close behind. They travel in a little cluster: Wells leading, then Clarke, Raven, and Finn. Clarke wasn't expecting Finn to join them, and something about it makes her a little uneasy. She knows how, even though he's been spoken for by Raven, Finn still thinks of Clarke too fondly for a friend. It is an infatuation that Clarke frankly finds silly. Raven is one of Clarke's closest friends. She won't jeopardize that, not even for someone as charismatic and charming as Finn. And besides, Finn is a Heart. Romantic relationships between Heads and Hearts never happen.

Clarke remembers asking her mother about that, as a child. She recalls watching a couple walking down the street, hand in hand. They were both dressed with red, so Clarke assumed they were both hearts.

"Mommy," she asked. "What happens if a Head and a Heart got married?"

"That's a funny question. What made you think of that?"

"I was just curious. Could they fall in love?"

Here, Abby paused. Looking back, Clarke still cannot determine if her mother was choosing her words carefully, or if she really couldn't find an answer. "Well, the system shows us that both Heads and Hearts are important to keeping balance, but they're very different. I think a Head and a Heart could definitely respect each other, or be friends. But love takes understanding. I don't know if they could do that."

Clarke can see where her mother was coming from, especially considering the seat Abby's been holding on the council for over ten years. But her father, while he was still alive, tried to take a slightly-different approach. Clarke remembers the way he used to speak about the division as if it wasn't as important as everyone else made it out to be. Somedays, it was just about a wardrobe of red or blues and a tattoo on a hand. Other days, he almost made it sound like he thought the system was a nuisance. But those talks were infrequent and never lasted long.

Clarke can't seem to shake off her father's opinions. After all, the division cannot really be that bad. It makes some things complicated, like job sorting and romantic relationships. But it gives everyone a place in Arkadia, where they can be productive and useful. They have a built-in community of people who understand them, and work that is compatible to their personalities. Clarke has heard this reasoning a hundred times, and yet, since her father left, it is as though there is some small part of her that remains unconvinced. Like a little seed of doubt grows within her, and she just can't seem to stomp it out yet.

They leave behind the familiar school courtyard, traveling along the sidewalk past rows of nearly identical houses, all sleet gray and minimalist in design. It's one of the nicer areas of town. The lawns are well-kept and exteriors flawless, like those old photos of pre-war suburbs. It's Arkadia's great imitation of normalcy. They pass neighborhoods and make their way towards the city center, the pathways becoming more crowded with people returning home for the evening. Overhead, the sun hangs low in the sky. Wells weaves them throw the tide of pedestrians, sticking to the edges and trying to avoid stopping for anyone he recognizes.

"Any idea where we're going?" Clarke asks Raven, who falls into step beside her.

"No clue." Raven's cheeks are flushed and she hurries to keep up the pace. Her bum leg - nerve damage that she's faced since birth - makes it difficult for her. Clarke notices it in the tiny details: how Raven's fingers clench unconsciously into a fist with painful steps, how her breath is quick and she bites the inside of her lip. But naturally, Raven will never admit it. Clarke's known Raven for years, and she's never once hear Raven admit that her leg slows her down or makes things difficult. She just keeps a smile on her face and burns a fire in her eyes. And even with a bad leg, Raven Reyes - with her signature red jacket and feisty attitude - carries herself like the world is hers for the taking.

City Center hums with late-afternoon energy. It's a wide courtyard with the most important buildings around it in a ring. At the far end is the administrative center. It looms over the others, with its impressive white marble columns and pre-war architecture. Two rows of little shops frame the Center, open for business for those people with enough credits to spend on luxury. The square is filled with people, milling about in conversation or on their way home. Clarke and the others stay on the edges, trying to be discrete, and she keeps her gaze down on the inscribed stone border around the square: The words are Arkadia's motto: In honorem heri cras aedificare domum, "In honor of yesterday, we build a home for tomorrow".

They leave behind the square, and as they do, Clarke can't help but pass a glance at the job distribution building. It's short and brick and practical, exactly as you'd expect such a building to be, and tomorrow it will have a line of eager graduates extending out the door. Luckily for Clarke, she already has her apprenticeship at the clinic. But others - like Raven, who notices the building too - will have to play the odds.

"Maybe I should try to be first in line tomorrow." Raven says.

Clarke looks at her skeptically. "You'd have to be up at dawn, and I know you're not a morning person."

"Yeah, but it'd be worth it in the long run. And I heard someone say that all the good jobs go early."

"I don't think that's how it works." Clarke says, an uncomfortable feeling settling in between them. Because they both recognize that unspoken truth: It doesn't matter how early you go to get in line. The good jobs tend to go to Heads.

"I mean, I'm not looking for anything crazy, like engineer or something. Just an entry-level job, and something… good. Interesting. Something I can use my brain for, maybe."

"Isn't that what the Heads are for?" Finn mutters under his breath. It's loud enough for Clarke to hear, and she's certain that Raven is trying to ignore it.

"Hey," Clarke says reassuringly. "I'm sure something good will come along."

"Easy for you to say," Raven teases. "You've been working at the clinic for years now. You have a job."

"Apprenticeship." Clarke reddens as she corrects Raven, wanting the subject to change. Wells leads them through the section of Arkadia known as the "warehouse district". Instead of identical houses or little storefronts, this side is full of long, boring-looking buildings with generic signs painted onto the walls. Off in the distance are the farmlands, recognizable for their wide fields and weathered barns. The only activity here comes from the few trucks pulling out of their parking lots, making for a quiet walk. They reach the edge of the forest in no time.

Trees fade in gradually, the ground underfoot changing from asphalt to gravel to scrub undergrowth. "The forest?" Clarke asks.

Wells nods. "Keep up." He pushes a branch out of their path, veering left and never looking back to see if they're still following.

"Slow down a little, I haven't been out here since…" Clarke pauses to think, a memory dawning on her. "Wait, Wells. Are we going to the climbing trees?"

He turns around, a warm smile on his face. "Alright, you guessed it."

"What climbing trees?" Raven asks.

"When we were younger, Wells and I used to play on these big trees. We'd sneak away from our parents and come out here. They had these trees with all these low, wide branches, and if you climbed to the top the view was amazing." She feels the nostalgia swell in her chest. "We couldn't have been much older than eight or nine."

"It's been a long time." He adds. "I thought it'd be fun to revisit, not just for old time's sake, but if we climb high enough, we should be able to see over the wall."

Clarke hears Finn stop. "Over the wall?"

Wells shushes him. "Lower your voice. And yeah, over the wall."

"Seriously? Cool," Raven grins. "I've always wondered how it looks on the other side."

They meet behind the classification center, between one of the large dumpsters and a furnace. Octavia rounds the corner, arms folded and trying to look nonchalant while her nerves are dancing. She calms down a little when she sees Atom. He is joined by the two Johns, each called by their last name: Murphy and Mbege.

"Octavia Blake." Her name lazily rolls off his tongue. John Murphy is a slick creature, with hooded wide-set eyes and a hooked nose. He appraises Octavia as she approaches the group, and – from the look on his face – he likes what he's seeing. "Nice of you to join us."

"Simmer down Murphy," Octavia says, unamused. She gives a quick nod to Mbege, who wisely keeps quiet, then turns to Atom. "Who are we waiting for?"

"We were waiting for you, but now it's just Trina." He motions to an unlabeled gray door. "She'll unlock it and get us inside, and Pascal can get us into the room with the tattoo printers."

"Awesome," Octavia grins. She tugs down the hood of her jacket. "Just curious: Why'd they agree to help you?"

Atom shrugs. "Trina owes me a favor." He lowers his voice, not keen on having the Johns listen in. "She gets really bad migraines, but with her job and family issues she doesn't have enough credits for the painkillers she needs. She's tried the alternative herbal stuff, but it doesn't work the same."

"So how does this involve you?"

"You know I work in transportation. Well, one day one of my shipments just happened to have an entire case of the high-tolerance painkillers, the ones she really needed. My partner was running late, so when I was alone I cracked open the canisters and took out half of the pills in several of the bottles. The stash won't last forever, but it'll last a while so long as she doesn't waste them."

"Atom, if they found out it was you, you could be arrested. And with painkillers involved…"

"It was a few weeks ago," he admits. "If they knew it was me, they would've caught me by now. I think I'm in the clear."

A loud sound interrupts their careful quiet, as the door swings open. A girl appears in the doorway, with a long brown braid over her shoulder and shifting eyes. She carries a stack of clipboards and folders. "Quickly," she says, keeping her voice low and ushering them forward. Atom approaches first, Octavia following close behind.

Inside, the hallway is halfway lit, the fluorescent lights overhead dimmed and painting the interior with a slight greenish tinge. Immediately Octavia looks up, scanning the ceiling for any surveillance cameras. She's only been in the hall for a handful of seconds and she already feels like she's being watched.

"Don't worry," Trina assures them. "They can't see us right now."

"No cameras?" Mbege asks to check.

"Not back here. It'd be a waste to have them. No one wants to watch us take out the trash." She leads them further down the hall, everyone careful to keep their footsteps light and quiet. Octavia – like most people in Arkadia – has been in the classification center just once before: to take the sorting test that labeled her a Heart. She'd been a child when she took it, just five years old, the standard testing age. All she remembers of the place was a small, empty room with a table in the center, and funny questions on the tablet they provided her with. Afterwards, she can recall getting escorted to another room to receive her tattoo.

To this day, Octavia has never once doubted that she is entirely a Heart. In her mind, the sorting couldn't be more accurate. When she thinks of Heads, she thinks of those know-it-all brains from school: like that quiet and calculating Lexa Woods, or Clarke Griffin, the perfect poster child for Heads. That's not her. That's never been her.

A young man approaches them, with short dark curls and a dusting of a goatee. Octavia's blood runs cold, until she notices the ease with which Trina receives him. She introduces the man as Pascal and Octavia can relax.

Trina stops them at a corner, distributing the items she's been carrying. She hands Octavia a clipboard. "There's a camera up ahead. Keep your head down and walk at a normal, even pace. We'll stagger and go in pairs. Keep this in your hands and you might be able to pass for a worker from a distance."

Octavia's not sure if she can put her faith in Trina's plan, but there's really no other option. Trina directs the Johns to go first, Atom trailing just behind. Then she moves with Octavia at her side. Glancing from the corner of her eye, Octavia notices the camera: a little black bulb on the ceiling, shiny and reflective. They pass through with silence, and Octavia releases her breath when they round the next corner and there's no nearby camera.

"This way." Trina leads them down a smaller hallway labeled Maintenance. Here, they move quickly, the only sounds coming from their footsteps and some distant machine hum. They reach an unmarked door and Trina extracts her passcard, swiping it through the scanner.

Atom furrows his brow. "Won't they know you've been in here, if you've scanned your passcard?"

"Yeah, but I've been in here before for odd errands. They shouldn't think anything of it."

"And if they do? It'll come down on your head."

Trina shrugs like it's nothing. "I'll be careful. Now get inside, all of you."

Clarke hurries along behind Wells, her eyes scouring the landscape for the familiar childhood landmarks. As day slips into twilight, the lazy sunlight seeps through the foliage overhead in slices, painting the forest with patches of yellow light. From behind her, she hears Raven trip over a branch and swear.

"Careful," Clarke admonishes her with a laugh. "We're going to need to be very quiet, the wall isn't that far now." On her right, she catches it: the mangled stump of a fallen tree. It is peppered with moss and decay, and Clarke knows she's found the correct one. "Here," she says, nudging Wells and stepping off the fading path. "Go right."

He nods in recognition. "Do you remember when we tried to build a fortress out here? We lashed together branches with twine you stole from your dad's workroom."

"You got a splinter on your finger, a really bad one, and it took me half an hour and three different tools to get it out."

"What seven-year-old even knows how to remove a splinter?"

"I did," Clarke says proudly. They lead the group to a slight left at a recognizable knot on a tree, then watch their forest landscape shift. Underfoot, the ground begins to slope upwards, almost unnoticeably at first. Then, straight ahead, Clarke sees the swooping branches of the climbing trees. They are enormous and leafy, and the trunks still look thick and sturdy enough to support the weight of several anxious teenagers. Clarke grins, hit with nostalgia. She pauses for just a moment, listening for any sounds they should be concerned about. When all that answers is the forest quiet, she nods and walks forward to grab a branch.

Clarke never had good climbing hands. Even as children, Wells's were better; they were bigger and better for strong grips. Clarke has smaller hands with long, narrow fingers. Hands that can sew the tiniest of sutures, or handle a scalpel with caution and preciseness. Careful, medical hands. But she likes the feeling of rough wood against her palm as she climbs, the sensation of calluses forming in new places. She is methodical with her climbing, always testing the foothold before placing her weight on it, visually measuring each branch against her weight. Before she pauses to catch her breath, she is at least twenty feet up in the air. She settles at the base of a wide branch, knowing that she probably shouldn't go much higher. Leaning against the trunk, she is thankful for her blue blouse; in the fading light, she can blend right into the shadows among the branches.

The others follow up in suit, Wells moving quickly and deftly. Finn and Raven take their time; Raven moving as quickly as her leg will allow her, and Finn waiting patiently for her out of courtesy. They don't make it nearly as high, but Raven's face shines with sweat from the exertion of making it halfway up, so they linger lower.

"Look." Wells says, pointing out past the trees. "West." Through the leaves, Clarke catches pieces of a pink sky, glowing red where the sun sets over distant hills. The landscape is indistinct, but it is clear that it's past the fence. In fact, as Clarke lowers her gaze, she can make out the concrete wall and barbed wire. The wall is that magical part of Arkadia that everyone knows of but very few ever get to see. Even getting this close to the wall - practically a few paces away - is treated as a crime. A sting of fear settles in her stomach, so Clarke focuses on the sunset instead.

The world beyond the wall is a mystery to almost everyone in Arkadia. Especially Arkborns like Clarke – people who were born and lived their entire lives inside the walls. Nearly all of Clarke's friends are Arkborns, since refugees are more uncommon than one would expect. But every so often, some innocents from the outside stumble upon Arkadia and, if they're earnest and their intentions are harmless, they're accepted in. There's a long process of classification and identification, as it's always more difficult to assimilate outsiders into Arkadia's system than raise Arkborns under its influence. And then there's the undeniable stigma around refugees, even years after they've lived in Arkadia. Clarke thinks of Octavia Blake. Some let the stigma get to them, others spit it right back in the system's face.

Her eyes drift closed, not looking for sleep but relishing in the rest. Her breath is slow, listening to the hiss of the wind through leaves. She cannot tell how long has passed - it feels like seconds, or days - when Raven whispers her name.

"Clarke, I think something's down there."

She whips around, following where Raven points at the ground. Her breath clenches in her throat, but she cannot see. Shifting her weight, Clarke grips the branch she sits on and begins to inch along it.

"What are you doing?" Wells whispers, but Clarke ignores him. She moves slowly, climbing out just far enough to see the ground. Instead, she sees the concrete base of the wall. And more importantly, four shiny letters in blood-red paint.

KANE

Clarke's insides turn cold. It is a word reserved for the shadows, a name no one will admit to knowing while everyone does. A cover-up gone wrong. Clarke's been hearing stories about Kane since she was a child, and even now she has no way of separating myth from reality. Some say Kane was a monster of a man, others say he was quiet and withdrawn. Either way, he publicly denounced the sorting system, a thousand stories telling it in a thousand different ways, and somehow made it past the wall. He fled into the wilderness, and his name remains as an example of escape. Naturally, the council did everything in its power to squash the legend of Kane. It's one of the many unspoken rules of Arkadia: never mention Kane in public.

Even from a distance, Clarke can tell that the paint is fresh from the way it drips. The letters must be almost as tall as herself. But the "A" in particular is fascinating: it's no ordinary "A". Instead, some extra lines are added so, as Clarke stares at it, she can see both symbols for Heads and Hearts inscribed inside. It's artistic, almost.

Then she hears the dreadful sound of running footsteps. Eyes wide, Clarke watches in horror as a trio of guards race to the wall, their black uniforms unmistakable. She turns to her friends, not knowing what to do. Their faces mirror her own, and so they stay frozen up in the trees.

The guards speak quickly and without any concern for volume, so Clarke catches snippets of their conversation. She listens as one man radios in, reporting "highly-malicious vandalization" along the border. Another guard drags his finger through the paint, feeling it's only partially dried. They examine the surrounding undergrowth for clues, and Clarke doesn't breathe as she sits suspended twenty feet above them.

Just when she thinks it's over, just when she knows they'll be found out, the radio emits a loud blur of static. Clarke nearly jumps right off the branch in surprise. The guard answers it gruffly. "What is it?"

The chatter coming through the radio is broken and difficult to hear from where Clarke sits. Instead, she watches a change come over the guard's face, and he nods. "Yes, sir." Once he clicks off the call, the guard swears and calls out to his companions. They disappear along the wall in the southern direction.

After three more minutes of silence, Clarke finally moves. Her joints ache from holding the tension, and she inches back along the branch.

"We should get out of here," Raven pants.

"Exactly," Wells agrees. "They'll be back as soon as they sweep that other area."

"Why did they leave?" Finn's brow furrows.

Clarke still feels something cold running inside her. "We need to go." She waits for Raven, on the lowest branch, to start her descent, then follows Finn and Wells. As soon as her feet touch solid ground, she takes off running.

Octavia isn't sure what to expect on the other side of the door, which leads her to a small dark room. Pascal flips a switch on the wall, turning on the bright overhead lights. There are glossy metal tables and three fancy chairs, the kind Octavia remembers seeing in the clinic a long time ago. The walls are covered with shelving and drawers, all dark steel with small neat labels. When they walk, the tiles on the floor make fill the room with too much noise.

But then Pascal opens a drawer and starts pulling out long black tools with wires and needles. And suddenly, all Octavia can think about is what her tattoo should be.

"Shit, man," Murphy says with a wide smile as he looks at Pascal. "We're really doing this."

Trina passes a slim notepad to Octavia with a pen. "Draw what you want, and Pascal will do his best to replicate it."

Pascal nods. "I'm no artist, but I'm not bad."

Octavia drops onto one of the chairs and begins to sketch. She tries a whole variety of designs – her initials, her mother's name, little sketches of the moon or a butterfly. But she certainly isn't an artist, and nothing seems to do justice. She becomes distracted, however, when Mbege sits for the first tattoo.

Glancing over Pascal's shoulder, she sees the sketch: It's a line of flames, angry and jagged. Appropriate, she deems. Mbege's always been the guy to play with fire, even as a child. He's practically a full-blown arsonist. He sits backwards in the chair, facing the back of the seat. Pascal tugs down the top of his jacket's collar, the top of his back exposed. "Here?" Mbege nods yes.

Pascal aligns his foot over a floor pedal, then presses down and the machine whirs to life. Holding the needle apparatus in his hand, he adjusts a few controls before inking the first line into Mbege's skin. Octavia watches the solid dark line appear across his back, then another line. They join, forming the peaks of the sketched flames. Her blood pulses behind her ears, nerves jumping and sparking. And even though, for the life of her, she can't decide what her tattoo should be, she couldn't be more excited.

Pascale gets halfway through the fourth peak when the power cuts out.

It's not all at once. First the tattoo machine goes, the humming going silent. Pascal swears loudly as he stomps on the pedal, but then the lights flicker and shut off. Octavia freezes.

There's a fumbling sound, then Trina flicks on a small flashlight stolen from one of the drawers. She points it at the door as Atom runs to the panel. He jams his finger repeatedly on the "open" button, but the door won't budge. "They know we're here."

In the thin silvery light, Octavia notices a label reading "miscellaneous tools" on the wall. Fingers flying, she yanks open the drawer and rummages through. She settles on a sturdy iron bar, like some variant of a crowbar. This should do. "Here," she says, rushing to the door and shoving the end of the bar at the crack along the door's edge. Octavia leans with all of her weight, but the door is stuck.

"Move." Murphy hisses at her, elbowing her out of the way as he grabs the bar from her fingers. With a grunt, he pushes until the door screams, a sharp scraping sound as it breaks past its lock and slides open.

"Go!" Atom yells, and they spill out into the hallway. Octavia yanks her hood back up, stumbling over her feet as she follows Murphy around the corner. She wants to turn around to check on Atom, but she hears a different set of clomping footsteps racing from the other end of the hall, echoing off the walls. Security guards.

She risks a glance, spinning over her shoulder to see no one behind her but the growing shadows of the guards. Ice settles in her chest, desperately hoping Atom's found another route of escape. Distracted, she trips over her steps and lands face down onto the floor. Her head throbs and she struggles to catch the breath that's been knocked out of her. But she can feel the footsteps pounding on the floor beneath her cheek, so she forces herself up and moving again.

"Stop!" A deep voice barks out from behind her, but Octavia keeps running. She can hear the guards a dozen paces behind her. Trying to buy time, her eyes catch a rolling cart off to one wall, and she drags it into the center of the path behind her, knocking it over to barricade the hallway.

It doesn't slow them down for long. Just as Octavia sees her escape – the frosted glass of a window up ahead – she hears the first gunshot.

The bullet bursts past her ear, a dart of air and sound. She flinches. She hears the second crack but doesn't feel the wind of this one. Instead, her shoulder erupts. It's like a fire, scalding the back of the arm. She cries out, but the window is just a few steps ahead. Skidding to a halt, Octavia thrusts the heel of her boot into the glass with all she can muster, hearing the satisfying sound of the windowpane shattering. Without a second glance back, she throws herself through the window, tumbling out in a mess of glass shards and dropping onto the asphalt. Her eyes sting, and she doesn't even know why. She doesn't bother to open them, just jumps to her feet and runs, runs until her legs cry and her ears stop ringing.

.

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And that's just chapter one.

Similarly to what I did with Kingdom Come, I'll be pulling inspiration and classic cliches from other dystopian novels, some of which you might already be seeing ;) I'm looking forward to weaving it altogether into something very new.

(Also, I have the entirety of this story mapped out and ready to be written, so yay for prewriting and organization!)

If you've liked what you've read, I'd love to hear about it. Or even if you didn't, or you're just waiting for me to get to it... hit up those reviews!

Stay tuned,

-K.T. Grace