A/N: Hello, readers! I've fallen in love with The 100 and the characters. I've had this story idea in my head for a while now, but my inspiration for actually writing it came from LoVe JH writer15's fic, Loving You Is a Bloodsport. Check it out! Disclaimer- Not my characters. Cover made by the wonderful Steph. Enjoy!

146.

Clarke pushed her head against the grey cement and sighed deeply, her hand dropping from the most recent tick mark she'd drawn. There were 146, now, which meant she'd been here for 146 days. That's almost five months.

More than five months since her father was murdered.

More than five months since she'd been put in solitary confinement.

More than five months since her death sentence had been warranted.

More than five months since she'd lost everything.

Dammit. She was letting herself go again. She straightened up, looking at the wall ahead of her with dead eyes. It was so dull, so lifeless in this box. It had been so long since she'd seen the outside world. She could remember days spent running through the halls, her medical apprenticeship, playing chess with Wells. God, Wells. She could feel red-hot anger bubbling up. Wells, one of the few people she trusted, had betrayed her. He had caused all of this. Absolutely all of it.

She glanced out the thick glass, looking at the stars she'd never be able to touch- and the Earth she'd never be able to visit. How she had dreamed of that planet. The blue sky, the green grass, signs of life, everywhere. She remembered when she still thought of the colors. Her world had lost that since her father..

She was doing it again.

She picked up the piece of charcoal serving as her only art tool, looking at it critically. She had found it in the crack in the wall next to the bed, and she was surprised no guard had taken it from her. Probably her mother's doing. Her mother- a flash of pain lit up in her chest. She missed her more than anything.

Taking the charcoal to the corner of the room, she started drawing. It was all that kept her sane in this world. This life? This life was barely worth living.


Bellamy looks at the clock, willing it to spin faster, faster. The more time passes, the closer he will be to becoming a cadet- and that means more security for Octavia, better rations, and maybe, something to focus on other than this hellhole he'd been forced to remain in.

He doesn't have any room to complain- his sister has seen nothing but the interior of their pod since she'd been born. But he wasn't complaining, really, just thinking the obvious. Lately, he had been good at stating facts. Like the most important one of them all- he wasn't doing this for him, he was doing this for her. Suddenly, the door opens.

He stands up as fast as he can, banging his knee on the table, a repeat incident of the last time the smug commander visited. Speak of the bastard- the commander walks into the room, the same smug look on his face. It feels the same as that day. The only difference was this time, he doesn't have Bellamy's mother to grope. He shakes his head slightly, moving the thought from his mind as he looks up to the man.

"Commander." He said bluntly, bringing his hand to his forehead in a robotic fashion, showing the proper respect without actually giving a damn.

The commander nods to him in return. "Cadet." He smooths down his uniform in a way that makes Bellamy cringe. Everything he does is just a little too slick, a little too polished. Bellamy didn't buy it.

"It's time for your first assignment, boy," He says, picking at a thread on this jacket. Bellamy's hands ball into fists. It's not as if he was so unimportant- "You'll be working in the containment units."

Bellamy's hands release. Containment units? Does that mean what he thinks it means? "Sir-"

"Don't interrupt me!" The man thunders, looking up with fury. Bellamy feels his fists return. "Listen here, and listen well, because I am not repeating this. You'll get no coddling from now on, that's for damn sure. Civilian life makes you soft. We're going to change that. Got it?"

Bellamy chokes down the grimace and nods, stick-straight.

"Good. You'll be working in the containment units. Delivering food, checking up on prisoners, doing rounds, and providing disciplinary actions. Whatever we need, you do it, and you don't hesitate. Normally, we wouldn't put such fresh meat with the prisoners, but we've been short of late, and you've got nothing to lose. You'll start tomorrow." He finishes, giving Bellamy a glare. "Understand, son?"

Bellamy nods. "Yes, sir. Just to be clear, I'll be working with the 18 and unders, correct?"

The commander's glare hardens. "You keep asking stupid questions, and you'll be working as a janitor. How's that for an answer?" Bellamy has never hated him more.

"Understood."

The commander walks stiffly to the door. "Oh, and cadet." He turns, door halfway open. "Don't forget to remind your mother of our meeting tonight. Wouldn't want my recommendation to go to waste." Bellamy swallowed thickly.

"I'll remind her," he manages, settling his stomach as he sets his fist on the table. The door shuts. Bellamy closes his eyes. Tomorrow.. tomorrow, everything will change.