A/N: Welp, this was suppose to be three chapters but after that kickass premire, I got inspired to continue this, so enjoy. This is still based off my version but it will mix a bit with the show as it aires. This might get a little confusing, but bare with me.
Clarke was finding Bellamy. She had made up her mind as soon as she realized she was wearing his shirt. She must of grabbed his instead of hers when after they'd...shaking her head she started searching her room for possible tools, she found an air duct. Arming herself with a knife, pole, and rope, she climbed quickly up into the duct. The small tunnel fit her perfectly. Dust gathered on the smooth surface, whisking into the air when she breathed or moved. She made little sound crawling from room to room. Each room looked the same. White with white furnature. She made it past a room called Unit 23. It was different. The room wasn't white. It was grey, red, and rusty brown. A few voice echoed through the shaft she was in. Suddenly a rather fat man dressed in a nice suit and another guard dressed in all black walked to the door. They stood, talking for a few minutes.
"My nephew's fasninaction will hopefully be fullfilled once he's had her for a bit."
"Yes, sir." The guard spoke with a faint accent.
"And what of the Grounder?"
"Unlikey the man will last longer than forty-eight hour, Sir."
"I'm sure. Surprised he's made it thus far." The fat man laughed, "He won't for long."
"And the girl?"
"Peter is in his room, he doesn't seem interested in his plaything yet. Maybe I will slip in and see what is so special about her." He winked at the guard, and Clarke could taste bile in her mouth.
"But first, I should check up on my nephew. I give him what he wants and he doesn't even start on her."
Nephew? Was that man the Commander? And was his nephew Peter, a.k.a. Dr. Simons?
"You're posted out here." The fat man spoke as they left through the only presumed door. Slowly Clarke opened the grate and lowered herself into the room. It reaked of blood and iron. The red on the walls was actually blood, and the brown on the floor was dried blood. There was chains that dangled from the corner of the room, knives held in their place on the wall. A few toys of torture were placed around the room in no apparent order.
This was the room of death.
"Bellamy?" Clakre whispered. The lights seemed too bright, all the metal shinning back in her eyes. Then she saw him.
He was in the far corner of the room, blood dripped off his body in large droplets. He was hanging by his hands from a chain. His mouth was cut, his stomach was purple from repeated beatings. His arms were cut deeply and bleeding. He wasn't moving.
"Bell?" Clarke whispered, feeling her stomach retch at the sight of him.
"Princess?" He whispered back, his head unmoving. She couldn't see is face.
She rushed over, yanking at his restraints.
"Clarke, get out of here." He hissed, his mouth drooling blood.
"No." She shot back, finding the achor to his chain.
"Clarke, if they find you,"
"Bellamy Blake, I am not leaving you here."
"As you wish." He spat, yanking with her until the chain snapped open, letting his hands slip through. "How did you get in?" Clarke smirked as she pointed to the air duct, nearly laughing at Bellamy's groan.
Clarke hosited herself up, helping yank Bellamy up. His eyes were glassy, purple rings marked around his eyes. He was exhausted, and every fiber he had showed it. They needed to rest...and they also needed to talk.
Crawling a few rooms away, she found a large warehouse area. It housed statues and small art effects by what Clarke could tell. And at the far end of the room was a supply closet. All she had to do was move a statue or a painting and conceal the door. The only issue; Bellamy was near the brink of passing out. His wounds still bled, leaving droplets here and there. His nose might be broken from the wheezing noise he was making, his left eye near swelling shut.
"What did they do to you?" Clarke whispered, tapping on his cheek lightly to wake him.
"This...woman, shhee," His eyes started to close, "She gav me sometin, it burned, I don't fee good." He slurred.
"Bellamy, we need to get you to the closet." She whispered, his mouth turned up.
"Back for more?" His smile widened, despite his eyes being closed.
"Listen here you ass," Despite herself, Clarke was smiling, "This is a shitty pep-talk but you need to get your ass moving with me, okay?" His dark eyes opened, peering at her. She could see a small spark burning behind them. He was going to burn himself out just for her sake.
"Lez go." He slurred, following Clarke down through the duct to the ground. The air was chilly and smelled of dust and something old, like the fabric of a abandoned house. There was no guards, and from what she could tell, this room housed minor artifacts, perhaps ones collected from war. She was sure there would be a room bigger with more things, but she ignored the wrench of her heart. She would never be able to see the art of their past.
Clarke made it to the door first, Bellamy a few strides behind her. The door was unlocked, and with a yank she opened to a small, dank room. The walls were a dull grey, matching the concrete on the ground. A few broken pieces of old things were strewn about the room. A old bench, what looked like what was once apart of a double bed, paniting laid carefully on the fabric. Such a shame Clarke would probably end up damaging it.
Moving the pantings, Clarke made a small bed made out of the fabric from the room. The old bed frame that acted as a large canvas holder was now repurposed back into a bed.
"Lay down." Clarke instructed, moving Bellamy to the bed. The white of the fabric became marred with the red of Bellamy's blood. He was in bad shape, but it was if his body had no clue.
"What did the woman do to you?" Clake asked, brushing his dark hair from his eyes. He sighed, unable to open his eyes anymore.
"She injected me...the serum...was red, itchy-it felt hot." He looked like a boy. So innocent it made Clarkes heart lurch. "I thought...I was gonna die."
"I would never let you go without a fight." She smiled, but her eyes filled with hot tears.
"I know Princess." He smiled, "I know."
Then he fell asleep.
"Peter!" A familiar voice boomed in the metal corridors of Dr. Simons appartment. He was busy re-attatching the flesh of his lip. Clarke had bitten right through. Even when they took her heart away, she still fought.
She was special indeed.
"Yes Uncle?" He called back.
"We started the cycle on that man. Once he recieves they next dose, he will beg for death! What a day that would be!" The Commanders voice echoed harshly through the white metal walls. Dr. Simons felt his ears flinch. "Were are ya, boy?" Peter rolled his eyes, of course he would refer to him as a boy and that grounder a man. No matter how much he worked, he was never good enough.
"In the bathroom! I...cut myself shaving!" The lie was easy enough to blurt out, but it would be realized as a lie once he left the bathroom.
"You silly boy! No biggie, anyhow, I just wanted to tell you of the success! And I hope you enjoy your spoil, you don't have her forever!" A harsh laugh echoed off the walls. Peter could hear the door open, and slam shut. He looked up at the plain white framed mirror over his plain white sink. This place lacked emotions, but now the place was alive with false pride and the only thing he felt was anger.
He was going to make Clarke pay.
Clarke was startled awake by the sudden heat at her side. She had fallen asleep next to Bellamy, careful not to lay on any of his wounds. Opening her eyes she saw Bellamy was curled against her side, his thick black hair damp with sweat, his complextion had paled. He looked like a ghost, but he felt like a volcano at her side.
"Bellamy?" She whispered, shaking him slightly. When his eyes opened, Clarke bit back a panicked scream. The white of his eyes had turned to the color of fresh red blood, his pupils grew nearly blocking out all the color of his iris.
"Clarke," He croaked, "Clarke? Where are you?" He felt out in the darkness, his hands grabbing her torso and hands.
"Bell," Clarke hummed, "Bellamy, I am here, don't panic, okay?" She cooed, holding his head to her chest, brushing away his hair, "How do you feel?"
"I...burn...it hurts. Where am I? How did we get here?" He clutched her closer, like a boy would to a teddy bear when he was scared.
"Bell, we are at Mount Weather, they injected you with something, it must be causing you to internally bleed."
"Mount Weather?" He repeated the name as if it was foreign to him, then he wrenched himself away from her, "Wait, who are you? Get back!" He hissed, pushing her off the bed. Clarke fell on the cold floor, hitting her head as she collided with the concrete.
"Bellamy!" She hissed, but in a panic he jumped on top of her, his hands crushing her throat. He was ten times stronger than her, his musceles in his arms bulging with the sudden strain. His mind was playing with him, but worse than that, he was killing her. Clarkes lungs burned in her chest, her mind racing to escape his grasp.
"Bell...please...look at me." She croaked out, but his hands seem to clench tighter, she felt like her head could simply pop off. "Bell-" The light was going out, the room fading from grey to black, and the last thing she could see was the red of Bellamy's once sweet eyes filled with hot anger and fear.
So, keeping this kinda close to the show, what do you think? Also, a familiar face will be showing up soon, and they might be Clarke and Bellamy's only escape, that is if Bellamy doesn't kill Clarke, or vise-versa.
Thank you for reading this story, it means a lot you guys! Don't forget to follow/fav/comment, I love it when you guys do! Thanks Luvs!