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SEPT 23, 2149 DAY ELEVEN ON THE GROUND
DAKOTA INTENTLY STUDIED THE DOTS OF COLBAT-HUED LIGHT GLOWING ON THE ENDS OF THE TINY NEEDLES inside of Clarke's newly unlatched wristband, blinking at the colors against the silver metal in interest as the Griffin girl rubbed her freed arm; her skin sore from the band's removal.
"Yes! I did it." Monty exhaled happily, emitting smiles from both Dakota and Clarke, who were crouching next to the brilliant boy in the darkness of the drop ship.
"It's still operational."
"Telemetric bracelets for the win." Dakota grinned in satisfaction, hopping back up to her feet.
"Nice job, Mon. Gotta patch it through the mainframe now, right?"
The dark-haired boy nodded, soon turning his undevoted attention to the open panel of colorful wires on the wall; thinking meticulously as he began connecting different coils onto the wristband's small, sharp points.
Dakota had been assisting him here and there in the struggle of trying to turn their wristbands- something that reminded them each day that they were still technically prisoners- into a miracle that could be used to contact the Ark. She had helped a little, and was the kind of person to learn and catch on quick to things, but for now she exited the drop ship; knowing this next part was beyond her understanding. And while she was fascinated with it, Monty simply didn't have time to teach her about his work right now; much more important things were on the line.
She inhaled the spiffing aroma of the earth's cedar-scented air as she brushed past their makeshift curtains and strode outside, never seeming to get tired of the blessed smell and fresh taste. Their little campsite had grown to be not so little anymore, their slice of home among the endless miles of rich forest having exponentially augmented over the past week. Tents were bigger and better, supplies more plentiful now that they learned to understand where and how to get certain items they were in need of, and various small, multipurpose huts and stands had been established. The most significant of the changes was their monumental wall; everyone having been pouring their hearts and souls into the one thing they felt they could rely on for protection. The grandeur of colossal logs were mercilessly sharpened into gigantic spikes, their deadly tips protruded outwards towards the trees, warning trespassers to stay away. However, grounders were most likely not intimidated by a wall of large, essentially immobile sticks; wether they had pointy ends or not.
As strange as their circumstances were, the hundred- more accurately the 96 plus Bellamy- were gradually building some form of a society. A screwed up, delinquent run, crime-riddled, and imperfect society. But Dakota liked it. She liked seeing people come together for a common cause, and she liked being a part of something bigger than herself. The only issue over the busy past 7 days- besides the fear of grounders, of course- had been the hotheaded blonde determined to make the Thompson girl's life a living nightmare.
