Hi. This is ma new fanfic, about the 100. I just got into this show, and i love it :). This is set after 'We Are Grounders' Part II, so there are spoilers from that.
The main POVs are Clarke, Octavia, Bellamy, Abby & Raven, maybe more in the future.
Each part is going to be a kind of episode, and there will hopefully be 16 episodes. (the same amount that are in season 2) Each episode might be in 2 parts, or one, depending on how i feel about it.
Enjoy!
Clarke
Clarke had had enough of the colour white. It was exhausting, actually, the amount of white in the room. Exhausting and extremely agitating. She was somewhere between running an infinite amount of laps around the room and trying to kill herself with her own fingernails.
Which was probably the desired effect.
Whoever these people were, they were not their friends. That Clarke had established early on, when Monty had been dragged out of his cell roughly by men all in white, and one of them had looked up at her maliciously. She had ducked down, her back to the door, her heart thumping wildly.
Please don't come in, please don't come in... She had begged silently, and her prayer had been granted.
Later, she cursed and yelled at herself, at her cowardice. She'd screamed at herself, for being so stupid, at Bellamy for not being there, at Monty for getting himself dragged off. She'd shouted for the Ark, for the 100, for the grounders even. She'd give anything for a glimpse of even Anya right now. Anyone but these terrifying white-garbed soldiers.
She had mood swings. One second she was fine, the next she was screaming her heart out, pounding on the door, kicking the bed. Once she even tried to tear the painting off the wall.
It didn't work.
She spent what felt like years trapped in nightmares, where her father and her mother and Finn and Bellamy and Wells and everyone she had ever known and loved chased her across an endless plain of black sand, screaming threats and insults in her ears, denying her protestations that they had all loved her once and endless streams of black slander tumbling from their mouths, until she couldn't stand it anymore and she just fell, screaming, hands over her ears, body curled in the fetal position, and their hands reaching for her. Then she would wake, still screaming, terror painting the white walls red and black.
She had seen no one since Monty was taken. She had no way of mapping time, but it had been at least a week ago. She was sure of that. She had no food, but strangely she was not hungry. There was no water either, but she wasn't thirsty either.
The nightmares weren't the worst of it. It was the isolation, the absence of company, the lack of human contact. Clarke was going insane, she knew it, and the worst thing was she had no way of stopping it. She even looked insane. She hadn't bothered to shower or even splash her face, although there was running water. She had no mirror, but she knew she looked awful.
And then there was the blood.
There was blood all over her hands, and she couldn't wash it off. A voice whispered in her head, or was it her whispering?
There's blood on your hands, Clarke Griffin.
Sometimes it was her mother's voice.
Sometimes it was her father's.
Sometimes it was Bellamy's. That was the worst. His arrogant, self-assured tone would softly remind her that her hands were not clean in this mess, never would be.
She was a murderer.
She'd authorized the murder of hundreds of Grounders, and Bellamy and Finn at the same time. It was her fault.
So dark was the torment that she lived in, that she didn't notice when they turned on the lights and banished the dark.
"Clarke? Clarke, are you okay?"
She looked up, and saw not the reality in front of her, but Bellamy, Bellamy who was dead but lived in this room, in her mind and in her dreams.
"Get away from me!" She shrieked, hurling her pillow at him with all her might.
"Clarke, Clarke, it's okay. You're going to be okay..." He murmured, edging towards her slowly.
She didn't have time to react before a syringe was jammed into her veins. Bellamy's face morphed into her father's, then Finn's... then a man she'd never seen before, with slicked back platinum hair.
She stared up at him, as her vision darkened and wavered, and wondered how she was ever fooled.
Octavia
Octavia was afraid.
Lying propped against a tree, she was vunerable to anyone and anything that came out of the shadows. Her leg was useless, making her useless.
She was surprised Lincoln had stuck with her.
She was even more surprised he hadn't left without her, to wherever he had been planning on going.
She stared at the dying campfire fearfully. Lincoln should have been back by now. But he was nowhere to be seen.
He had left a long time ago, saying he was just off to get more firewood.
He still hadn't returned.
And now Octavia was lying here, completely helpless, as the fear drew closer and beckoned her into the black depths of terror.
She couldn't help thinking of Bellamy. She wondered what he would say, when he learned of her death in the woods because a Grounder they never should have trusted abandoned her.
She shook her head. There were two things wrong with that statement.
1) 'If' he learned of her death, not 'when'. He might think she had just taken off with Lincoln permanently. (not a good thing)
2) Lincoln wouldn't abandon her. He wouldn't. Never. He loved her. Right?
But it was becoming a more and more prevalent thought in her brain. Normally, she prided herself on being strong and brave, but here, alone, fear was catching.
The leaves rustled, as if sharing her anxiety. Somewhere above her, an owl hooted.
The pain in her leg was intensifying. She wondered if the arrow had been poisoned. Probably.
Suddenly a twig snapped. She gasped, and snapped her head up. "Lincoln?" She dared to whisper, her heart in her mouth.
A low growl answered her. That was not Lincoln, nor any human.
A large black wolf padded into her line of sight. She had to fight the urge to scream. Glowing yellow eyes were focused on her, and dark jaws parted to reveal sharp bloodstained teeth.
She scrambled backwards, all pain forgotten in her fear, and then cried out in agony. She searched desperately for something to use as a weapon, and her hand fell upon her sword, left carelessly on the leaves. She snatched it up with a sigh of relief, and unsheathed the blade, raising it high.
The wolf eyed it warily, before continuing its slow, careful advance. Then it stopped, and crouched, ready to spring.
Octavia swallowed nervously, gripping the sword with both hands.
The wolf leapt, and its head came flying away from its body, Lincoln standing over it, knife raised.
He chuckled. "You do get yourself into some tight spots, don't you?"
Bellamy
Upon blinking his eyes open wearily, the first thing Bellamy noticed was the silence. It was thick and heavy, pressing down on him and suffocating him.
The second thing he noticed was that it was rather hard to breathe. He coughed and spluttered for a bit, before finally realising what the problem was.
The tunnel roof had collapsed on him.
Damn.
As he struggled to free himself, the silence was shattered by a cry for help. He recognized the voice, would recognize it anywhere - Raven.
He struggled harder.
"Oh my God! Bellamy!" He looked up to see Finn, his face dirty and bloody, one arm hanging uselessly by his side, a sight he had never been so glad to see in his life.
Finn leant over him, pushing debris away with grunts of pain and effort.
And suddenly, he could breathe. He took great gasps of air, savouring the sweet taste of oxygen, before standing slowly.
He took stock of both his and Finn's injuries, noticing the numerous scratches on both of them. The worst was Finn's arm. Hanging limply by his side, it looked bad.
"I think my shoulder's dislocated," Finn said, the pain evident in his strained tone.
Bellamy nodded. "Clarke will see to it." He replied, but he felt uneasy for some reason.
He turned around to face the dropship. Picking his way over to it, he noted the blackened skeletons littering the ground.
"Looks like it worked." He commented, leaning over one particularly pitiful skeleton. It was curled up in the fetal position, knees tucked up beneath the chin.
Bellamy continued across the space towards the dropship, and that's when he noticed the door was open.
He jogged the last stretch, fear making his heart pound. Where were they? Where was everyone?
He leapt up into the ship in one bound, shoving the tarpaulin curtain aside. Immediately he spotted Raven, lying where they had left her, terror, pain and determination written plainly on her face.
He started towards her, but Finn beat him to it.
"Raven!" The younger man exclaimed, rushing over to her and kneeling by her side. "What happened? Where is everyone?"
She looked up, not at Finn, but at Bellamy. "They're-they're gone."
"What? What do you mean, gone?" Finn asked fearfully.
"I don't know. They all went out there to check if the Grounders were dead, and then there was this... red smoke, and I must have blacked out." Raven replied, her voice growing stronger. "We fried 'em, though? The Grounders?"
Bellamy nodded. "They're all dead."
"But what happened? Where's Clarke? Where's Jasper?" Finn questioned. "We need to find them."
"You do that, Spacewalker. But I won't be much use." Raven said, a shade of bitterness in her voice.
Bellamy looked at her questioningly.
"I'm paralysed, remember? Waist down." She explained angrily.
Suddenly, he could hear voices from outside. Grounders? The rest of the 100?
He ducked out of the dropship, to see not Grounders, not the 100, not even Reapers. He saw people he hadn't expected to see. At all.
He saw people from the Ark.
Opinions are gratefully received, but no flames pls.
The next chapter should be up within a few days or so.