I BEGGED DAD FOR A NEW TAPE-PLAYER. That's what started a twenty-four-hour game of cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek, whatever the hell you want to call it. Whatever it was, I didn't want to be around him. In those twenty-four hours between me running away and being dragged back, kicking and screaming, Dad was just Councilman Kane to me. Jaha-Worshipper, Prude of the Century, Mama's Boy, Asshole Caretaker—all nicknames, dedicated to him. Just for asking that I get my old tape-player replaced, and being rejected and called a "materialistic heathen," I began a lifelong detestation for him. It was just that simple.

I was sitting in the vents dedicated to filtering through sweet, artificial oxygen, my arms enveloping my legs as I laid horizontally. Nothing could be much worse; hell, I would have taken a space-walk or floating over this horrible situation my dad put me in. He'd yelled at me over a tape-player; he called me mean names, slammed cabinet doors, and threatened to give me to the Griffins if I didn't get my act together. I wasn't sure whether this was him being serious or taking out his pent-up anger from horribly-went council-meetings on the nearest person. I couldn't see the answer in his eyes, not like I usually could with him. All I seen was pure, unadulterated anger... and it was directed at me.

Dad was never this hostile. He used to be soft with me, vibrant and happy with the thought of being a father. But Mom died. Dad got cold and distant. When I brought my play-bunny up to him and begged that he tell me another story about Peter Rabbit and his thieving ways, Dad kicked me to the curb and demanded I find something else to occupy my tiny mind. I was young, I was fragile; when Dad told me to go away, I thought he really meant it. So I got used to leaving for longer than a day, finding my way through the vents and sitting for hours on end, just mumbling made-up endings and beginnings for Peter Rabbit's adventures.

Today was one of those days. Except, I wasn't young anymore. I was sixteen, full of life; I didn't have a stuffed bunny on my person or a mind full of tall tales about animal characters. All I had was a tape-recorder full of music a century old, and an invisible friend named Bells. And the terrible, artificial air that continuously swept me aside like a weightless tumbleweed, but I did not consider that an artifact of goodness.

I'd never seen Bells's face, but I knew his voice better than my own heartbeat. He was soft-spoken, his breath loud with exhaustion. I could recognize his breathing anywhere and anytime, just based on how unique it was. When he inhaled, it was like a man gasping for air or baby breathing for the first time; when he exhaled, it was like hearing a summer breeze released from the core of Mother Nature. I'd never tell him this, but I found him fascinating. He was like nothing I'd ever seen. And that was putting it lightly.

The first time he found me was that day Dad called me a materialistic heathen. I was sitting in the vents, crying loudly, my old and half-baked tape-player laying in my lap. It fused slowly and crackled with a staticky resilience, playing a song I'd listened to more than a hundred times since I was given the contraption by my late mother, but I could still hear my crying overtop the music. And that's when I heard someone cry out softly, "Hello? Is someone in there?"

I heard his breathing for the first time, then. I heard him sigh out when I didn't answer the first time, then say, "I hear your music. I hear you sniffling. So... what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said back. Anything else would have wound up choked and strained. I didn't want this stranger thinking I was completely bonkers.

"Doesn't sound like 'nothing' to me."

"Well, it's none of your business," I huffed immaturely.

"I guess not," he said back. We sat there in silence for a few moments, then he quietly asked, "Why're you crying for?"

I crossed my arms and glared at the white wall ahead of me. A swift breeze came flying by, and I was quickly growing irritating with this annoying boy's presence. Why couldn't he leave me to cry? Why did he have to regenerate comment after comment, even when I made it clear I wanted to be alone—that I wanted to be left in peace? Begrudgingly, I said, "My dad doesn't love me."

"Sure he does," the boy insisted. "He's your dad."

"Then why doesn't he act like one?"

The boy was quiet; I was positive he didn't know an answer to that. Then he said, "Sometimes people don't know how to show their love, so... they hurt your feelings."

I could tell he'd dealt with this sort of behavior before. "Where'd you learn that from?" I asked him, feeling less irritable in his presence.

My invisible friend said, "From myself."

"Clarke! Come on!" Finn was talking fast to Clarke. Then his attention transferred to a frozen, bug-eyed Monty; "Monty! Come on—we gotta go!"

"Monty, E, get up!" Octavia snapped at his stock-still figure, eyes warily glancing around the overhead trees.

I had joined Monty in suddenly prancing to my feet, but my jaw was agape, and the entire left side of my face was covered in blood. "That stick... that spear... was thrown from the trees... right into the kill spot..." I started crying. "We're next..."

Finn grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me back and forth, in frantic, repeated motions. "We're going to be okay, Kane!"

Okay? Okay? I tried to shake free from his grip, but his hands were like titanium. He held me against him, and we all raced for the trees, getting farther and farther away from Jasper.

"Who are they?" Finn cried through a whisper.

"What are they?" Clarke corrected, glancing behind her like an idiot.

Octavia ran beside Monty, and she looked utterly panicked. "We are so screwed..."

Then, a scream. Clarke frantically said, "Jasper! He's alive!"

Finn shook his head, telling her, "Clarke, wait—" but he was too late; she was already racing for the trees, against time, desperate to get back to a guttural-screaming Jasper. "Wait, wait! Stay out of the trees—"

We got to the creek, where we'd last seen Jasper. But the thing was... Jasper wasn't in sight. And neither was the thing that took him.

"He was right there," Finn breathed, his grip on me loosening.

"No... where is he?" Monty asked, blinking repeatedly. He looked on the brink of losing his fucking mind.

Clarke said lowly, "They took him."

It was on the third day we met in the vents that my invisible friend decided to ask for my name. He said, "So what's your name?"

If I wasn't mistaken, I caught a bit of curiosity in his voice. Or maybe it was a flicker of tones, and I was merely imagining it. I quietly said, "Eowyn."

"Eowyn? Like Lord of the Rings?" I detected the smile and laughter in his voice, this time something I knew I didn't imagine.

I shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "My mom used to love Tolkien. I have all his manuscripts in my bedroom." I felt giddy just speaking about it—something that brought me close, closer than ever, to my mom. My namesake, my closet full of books.

"I like Tolkien, but I prefer Martin," he said nonchalantly. I tried giggling to myself, but the sound echoed all around the vent so of course, my invisible friend heard it. "What? What'd I say?"

"I've never even read Tolkien's books," I said, still giggling, "but I've read all of Martin's."

My invisible friend gasped. "Really?"

I nodded—again, even if he couldn't see it. Then, curiosity got the best of me. I muttered, "What about you? What's your name?"

He said, "Bellamy."

Without having a chance to even ponder his name and its various meanings, I quickly said, "Bellamy? Like the One Piece character? Like the actress who played on Scandal?"

Bells laughed quietly and said, "I guess."

"Doesn't feel too good when you're the one getting teased, huh?" I asked, biting my lip and refraining from grinning like a lunatic.

"When it's from you, I don't really mind." His smile was so pretty, like a dozen dazzling stars shining just for me.

That was the first time I'd ever felt affection, and I didn't know whether to be afraid of what that meant... or to smile like a loon, eager for the future.

Monty and Finn helped Octavia hop back to camp, but I decided to just trudge along at the end of the group. We were meant to be hurrying—whatever kids did when fearing for their lives—but I didn't see a point, especially when the cause of our apprehension was long gone, taking Jasper with it. But I supposed I could understand, however little this mattered to me.

I no longer liked this place, or the freedom it carried—not with devils with pinpoint accuracy hiding in the trees like shadows of the night. Neither did the others; I could see it in the worry drenching their brows. We were all feeling it, that detestation for the Ark and the Council's decision to send us here, to our deaths. But it wasn't radiation that greeted us; it was grounders, bloodthirsty savages. It was radiated creatures hungry for human flesh. There were two-headed deer, for crying out loud. This place was literal Hell, and quite frankly, I would rather be hiding up in the vents with inevitable floating facing the forefront of my mind than dealing with this bullshit.

Slowly, we made it back to our campsite. When we got here, I first heard shouts, chanting, cheer. I quickly grabbed Octavia from Monty and Finn, gesturing for them all to rush forward with Clarke and see what the commotion was all about. Hopefully it wasn't anything serious, like a lynching or something.

"Ten bucks says Mini Jaha's part of it," I whispered to O, gently trudging along with her.

Octavia rolled her eyes, but she smiled and took the bait nonetheless. "You're on. I bet it's Murphy."

"Or both!" We shared a laugh at that.

We emerged from the trees, and the first thing I heard was Clarke yelling, "Wells! Let him go!" Wells had some guy in a chokehold, a knife held to his throat.

I smugly looked at Octavia, who looked grudging to hand over nonexistent cash. However, before she could cough up a handful of invisible ones, Murphy cursed like a sailor and jerked out of Wells's hold; apparently it was him getting his ass whooped. My jaw dropped, and O said lowly, "I'm not surprised."

"Me either," I said after, because honestly, it was to be expected.

Murphy darted forward, his own makeshift knife in hand, slashing at a matured Wells, but Bellamy came forward and put a hand in front of Murphy. He sternly said, "Drop it," to the younger boy, shoving his chest like he needed an extra serving of discipline and lessons on proper Earth etiquette. Murphy muttered something to himself, but slowly moved away from Wells; that's when Bellamy turned to face his returning citizens, and he caught sight of me and Octavia.

"Octavia... Eowyn. Are you alright?" He hurried towards us, his hands resting on our shoulders, individually. He eyed the nasty wound visible on Octavia's leg, then the gross blood and scratches gracing my dominant hand.

O nodded and quietly said, "Yeah," while I smiled and shrugged an indefinite, "I don't know!"

Bellamy turned his gaze to Clarke, but his hands didn't fall from our shoulders. "Where's the food?" he asked gruffly.

Finn stepped a foot forward and asserted, "We didn't make it to Mount Weather."

Bellamy's eyes seemed to stray towards O and I's wounds. "What the hell happened out there?"

"We were attacked," said Clarke, a bit ominously.

Wells stumbled forward, staring at Clarke with overdramatic concern that'd be obvious to a blind grandma. "Attacked? By what?"

"Not what. Who. It turns out, when the last man from the ground died on the Ark, he wasn't the last grounder," Finn explained.

Clarke stepped forward, staring around at the delinquents with solemn conviction. "It's true. Everything we thought we knew about the ground is wrong. There are people here, survivors. The good news is, that means we can survive. Radiation won't kill us," said the Griffin girl gravely.

Finn scoffed and muttered, "Yeah, the bad news is the Grounders will."

Wells had the expression of a curious duckling, and he looked from all the members of our party; I could immediately tell who he was looking for. "Where's the kid with the goggles?"

Clarke's expression dropped. "Jasper was hit. They took him," she said. Then, her eyes dropped to his wrist... which was barren. My eyes widened with shock. "Where is your wristband?"

Wells jerked a finger at Bellamy and company. His expression was full of disdain, now. "Ask him," he spat.

Clarke glared between Bellamy and Murphy. "How many?"

Murphy proudly said, "Twenty-four and counting."

And that was the last straw for Princess Leia. She stepped forward and loudly said, "You idiots. Life support on the Ark is failing! That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground is survivable again, and we need their help against whoever is out there. If you take off your wristbands, you're not just killing them. You're killing us!"

I didn't understand her need for dramatics; the Ark was obviously going to pinpoint the suspiciousness of vital signs peaking then falling altogether. They would realize that we were popping off our wristbands. But I didn't voice my thoughts on the matter, especially considering Bells and Clarke had some civil war brewing.

Bellamy looked at the delinquents, who seemed like they were listening to reason. But Bells was a hell of a speech-giver, and he could give Clarke a run for her money. "We're stronger than you think. Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same? We can take care of ourselves. That wristband on your arm? It makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore! They say they'll forgive your crimes. I say you're not criminals! You're fighters, survivors! The Grounders should worry about us!"

Delinquents cheered and screamed for him, saying, "Yeah! Yeah!" Murphy was throwing up a fist, as a personal salute to his authoritative leader.

I didn't want to eavesdrop, especially considering the shitty day I was having, but I watched as Finn dragged Clarke off to a "secluded" piece of land, away from the clamoring delinquents. "What do we do now?" Finn asked with worry.

Clarke said, "Now we go after Jasper."

What do you know—Princess did have a brain in there somewhere.

All of our group scattered, and I was off making my own knife from the metal of the dropship. It was actually pretty fun, given that you needed to scrape off metal then shape it into a point; I could do this for a living, if I wasn't an engineer. Wick would agree that this was a pretty cool career path, whittling metal.

I was so invested in carving a bunch of daisies into the end of my knife that I didn't notice the shadow looming over me until a cough and clear-of-the-throat occurred. Beside myself with panic, I jumped and let loose the most girly squeak that had ever escaped me in the entirely of my lifetime.

It was Bells, of fucking course. He laughed a hearty laugh—one that had him keeling over and holding his stomach—and I stood up and glared at him. "That wasn't funny, you asshole," I grumbled, pointing at him with my injured hand. "I coulda had a heart attack, y'know!"

Bellamy continued to chuckle, but his brow was strained with worry as he stared at my fingers. "It was priceless, trust me. Best memory of my time down here," he assured before his eyes became serious again. "I just wanted to... see if you're okay, and to thank you for what you did for Octavia. She could have died if you weren't there. Makes me feel like a shitty brother but not have come with... and look at what happened when you risked your life for her." He gently grasped my hand, eying the ugly scratches aligning in between my fingers like stars in a solar system. "Needs cleaned," he muttered, arching his brow up at me.

"It's just some blood," I said with a shrug. "Blood's nothin' detrimental."

"You could get an infection if you don't get it cleaned and wrapped in gauze," he said, expression stern. He pulled me into his side and began walking into the hustle and bumble of our campsite. "I'm taking you to Clarke. Alright?" I was ready to make a comment, but I suddenly lost my ability to talk when I felt something cold press into my side. I jumped, giving Bells the nastiest look I could muster. "What?" he asked me. I simply pointed at the thing that just scared me half to death. "Oh..."

I hissed, "What is that, Bellamy?" Truthfully, I was just angry with him for making me have a near panic-attack. I didn't give a rat's ass what it even was, but I couldn't deny my curiosity.

Bells was ready to comment but we suddenly came upon O, sitting alone on a log. I quickly abandoned my investigation on what the hell touched me, and I dropped to my knees. Once on the ground, I hugged Octavia tightly.

O smiled slightly into my shoulder and patted me lightly, but her head lifted and craned up to look at Bellamy; I knew this because I felt and heard her movement. "I'm going too, whenever you all leave."

Bellamy sounded agitated and completely final when he said, "No, no. No way. Not again."

I pulled away from Octavia and pointed at him. "That doesn't go for me, mister! I am going, and that is final."

Bells opened his mouth—probably to argue—but a suddenly-there Clarke intercepted by saying, "Bellamy is right. Your leg's just gonna slow us down."

I whipped my head to her, staring at her with confusion. Why was she here? Had Bellamy sent a messenger ahead that I needed medical treatment? The answer was quickly revealed when Clarke pointed at Bellamy and said, "I'm here for you."

I raised an eyebrow; what the hell did she want from Bellamy? Wells suddenly appeared, like a tiny, unwanted shadow, and hissed, "Clarke, what are you doing?"

Clarke crossed her arms and stared at Bellamy, a determined look on her face. "I hear you have a gun." I gaped with utter bemusement as Bellamy begrudgingly lifted the end of his shift to show a delectable abdomen and a loaded gun. "Good. Follow me."

"So that's what the hell touched me," I muttered to myself, eying Bellamy with apprehension. How the hell did he acquire a gun onto a dropship? That would forever remain a mystery to me. Probably had something to do with the shit he was blabbering on about before O and I left on a mission yesterday.

Bellamy smirked, apparently overhearing what I said. "What? Think it was something else?" he teased, and my cheeks heated up.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph... "Go float yourself!" I said quickly, only half-joking.

Bellamy chuckled lightly, then quickly turned back into a serious state-of-being. He crossed his arms, showing off his bulging muscles. Bells asked Clarke, "And why would I do that?"

Clarke was quick to say, "Because you want them to follow you, and right now, they're thinking only one of us is scared." Her voice lowered with each syllable.

There was turmoil—conflict—in Bellamy's eyes. But it suddenly registered in him that hey, maybe Clarke was right, so I saw the exact moment where he realized he needed to go with us to save Jasper. "Murphy. Come with me. Atom? My sister and Eowyn don't leave this camp. Is that clear?"

I pointed at Bellamy. "Nuh uh, buster! I am a free, independent woman, and I refuse to stay here with a bunch of idiots! Besides you, O," I quickly backtracked, but the statement still stood.

Bellamy shook his head at me, looking unhappy with my determination to come with. "Never mind," he relented. "Just make sure my sister doesn't leave, then."

Octavia rolled her eyes. "I don't need a babysister."

Bellamy ignored her and said, "Anybody touches her, they answer to me. Now let's go." He gave me his signature "What am I going to do with you?" look, and I happily hugged O before skipping after him. I was just happy that he forgot I needed medical attention—

Bells suddenly halted. When I looked up in confusion, he turned around. "I'm going to get some gauze and alcohol, and you are going to sit there and not complain once, or you're out from the search. Okay?"

I muttered, "Alright, Dad."

He was turning to go find the materials when I said that. He grimaced. "Please don't call me that ever again."

"Okay, Dad!"

Bellamy came back mere minutes later, and I sat quietly as he disinfected my wound, then wiped away the blood. Then he wrapped my hand in gauze. "Tell me if it's too tight," he said quietly, and I nodded. Then, he gently wiped the dried blood on my ear. I could tell he was curious how that had happened, but he surprisingly kept himself cool and collected. When he was done, I bounced to my feet, ready to run to the gathering group of rescuers, but Bells quickly stood. He grabbed my arm, and leaned down to my ear. "Don't leave my sight. Stay close. And for the love of God, don't try to be a hero. Okay?"

I could tell he was completely serious about this. Without any delay, I nodded. "Of course, Bells. I'll pinky-promise, if that's what it takes."

Bellamy chuckled, shaking his head. "No, no..." He grabbed my uninjured hand, and tugged me along to where Clarke and them were. Clarke and Wells were walking into the shrubbery, but Murphy was waiting like a loyal minion.

Murphy muttered, with a hint of disdain, "Since when are we in the rescuing business, huh?"

Bellamy slowly released his grip on my hand and I trudged along with them as we hit the trees. "The Ark thinks the prince is dead. Once they think the princess is, too, they'll never come down," he muttered, his voice lower than I'd ever heard it down here. "I'm getting that wristband, even if I have to cut off her hand to do it."

I rolled my eyes. "A bit morbid, Bellamy."

That caught Bellamy's attention. He glanced at me, then down at my wristband. I rolled my eyes at that, knowing exactly what he was thinking. If I was meant to be enraged at him for his thought process, I wasn't; Bellamy apparently did something that could get him killed, and the Ark was all about capital punishment. I didn't want my dad anywhere fucking near Earth, or Bellamy. I muttered to him, "We'll take it off when we get back, okay? Not right now. It's on my injured hand."

Bellamy smiled. "Of course, darling." It was like he didn't know I was catching onto his desperation to keep the Ark from coming down. Well, I guess that was just another thing to add to my list of ever-growing problems—but this time, I sure as hell wasn't going to try and fix the issue. Let chaos ride, right?

A/N: Just wanted to say that the story will flesh out and become more original soon, haha. Should I keep to The 100's storyline or have things happen that aren't in the script? I don't want to go completely AU, but I may take some elements not featured in the actual show so that the story can be a little more interesting than it currently is.