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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 FORTY-ONE*: ·.   .·: *





   Millie left a trail of blood through the vents.

To be clear, she had no idea where she was going. Millie's lack of direction was a result of her disorientation and confusion caused by her injuries. The loss of blood affected her cognitive abilities, making it difficult for her to navigate through familiar vents. She had never found the acid fog room; she didn't even know it existed until Bellamy.  Now, she knew it was the only thing getting them out of there alive.  Without reaching the acid fog room, they may be unable to neutralize the toxic gases and ensure their survival.

She had been down three dead ends and gone in circles for the past. . . how long has she been up here?

As she stared at her reflection in the vent, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of detachment. The vents had become her refuge, a place where she could hide from the chaos and the memories that haunted her. She knew that she couldn't stay in this makeshift sanctuary forever. The blood had dried in thin ringlets down her cheeks and all the way down her neck, dripping onto the fake guard's outfit.

With a grunt, Millie thrusted her foot forward and sent the grate cluttering to the floor. As she shimmied her way out, finding herself in an empty room. Most guards were on level five now, damage control. She wiped her hands, pulling the jacket and pants off her body, leaving her in the clothes they had gifted her.

The helmet had left deep imprints on her forehead and left her with a pronounced helmet hairline. Despite her best efforts to tame her hair, the helmet's impact on her overall appearance was undeniable.

She ditched her costume, throwing it in a pile to the side. Leaving her in the tan pants and black shirt. Millie frowned, wincing as she cracked her knuckles softly as she stood unmoving. The room was quiet, much like the rest of the bunker. It was plain and cold, and there was a large steel tank taking up the majority of the room. There were a few other smaller steel tanks scattered around the room, Millie gnawed on her lip as her eyes narrowed on a combination of letters and numbers in naive confusion.

The acid room?

Millie couldn't be so sure; she didn't have the slightest clue what she was looking for.

The blonde girl nearly hit her head on tank as the grating sound of steel being cut rang through the room, echoing off the walls. Her body shivered, as if it was being etched into her own skin. With nowhere to hide, Millie decided she wouldn't wait for her intruder to come to her this time. She tip-toed, carefully, peeking around the tank.

Bellamy Blake was in much better shape than she was.

She sighed, watching as he popped his head through the bolted vent. He was sweaty and covered in dirt- but there was no sign of blood on his face. Was she wrong to be envious? She was glad he hadn't gained any injuries, but the bitter part of her wondered if Bellamy Blake was becoming a better fighter than she? She realized that Bellamy's growing skill as a fighter meant he was becoming more self-reliant and capable of protecting himself. This made her question her own abilities and wonder if she was falling behind.

Millie shook her head, moving before she allowed herself to divulge deeper into her thoughts. "Took you long enough, I think this is the acid room. Is Raven still there?" She announced casually, patting the tank lightly.

Bellamy blinked slowly, she could hear his breath hitch, caught in his throat. A suspended moment of silence as if the shock had momentarily stolen the very sound of his voice, Millie blinked; then he was standing directly in front of her. Bellamy didn't seem like he knew what he was doing as his hand grabbed her chin gently, tilting her head to get a better look at her cut.

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