I WILL have Clarke's perspective next. Unless you guys don't want that and I can have her perspective come in later. You tell me which one and I will do it. The more reviews posted, the faster I update. But I'll still update anyway. I don't update as frequently because I'm still finishing up my other fanfiction. But the reviews help my motivation.

I can't remember the last time I've felt the rain. The sun has taken refuge behind a blanket of clouds, snuffing out the blinding light. The last few rays that have managed to penetrate through are shielded by the a thick deluge of water.

The ugly, bruised sky is a welcomed sight.

I don't like the sun.

I pick my way over a fallen log, needles jabbing into the soles of my feet, but I don't care. I don't care that I'm soaked or that the rain mingles with the red sheen until it looks like blood and water are mixing together. My hair gets in my eyes and sticks to the sides of my head. The dirt has turned to mud and it squelches between my toes but it's all distant. I don't pay attention to any of it, save for the occasional noise around me that cuts through the downpour; the rustling of a bush. The snapping of a twig. It all makes me whirl around, so suddenly that I almost slip and fall over. I feel like I'm in overdrive, too aware of every little thing. I'm all instinct; all reaction. I'm a bomb and one wrong move will set me off.

I don't know how far I walk and a small voice nags at me that I'll lose my way back, but something else tells me I won't. After all, it's not that easy to misplace a mountain.

Anyone just beyond those doors is your target, I think back to the suited man's words. Target. It's not much to go by so I don't really know what I'm looking for.

That is, not until I actually come across it.

I hear the woman before I see her. Footsteps that should be quiet are much louder to me. It's almost like she's asking for the forest's attention. It hurts my head and I count to keep the headache at bay. I watch the wet area warily.

Then I see her; She holds a cloth over her head, blocking out the rain as she moves over the forested terrain. Bare-footed. Petite. Your task is to bring me back someone. I don't care who, so long as they're human.

She doesn't even see me coming. I wait behind the trunk of a tree as she passes and taking her down is almost painfully easy. I trip her and grab her around the waist, wrestling her against the ground. She fights, of course. She tries to buck me off and a scream bubbles in her throat but my hand over her mouth keeps her from releasing it. I feel her teeth work against my palm, fighting to bite me, but I just hold her jaw in place. I grapple with her hands and, using my free one, I pin them tightly behind her back.

The cloth has fallen off in the scuffle and I yank her back, until I can see her clearly.

Wide eyes meet mine, rounded in terror and it doesn't make me feel guilty or ashamed. It makes me feel powerful, and I'm rejuvenated by this girl's fear. That she's afraid of me.

Good. She should be.

The red tint fades for a moment and I pull her closer, until I can see the fingerprints embellished in the blue paint across her face; I can clearly make out the viridescent stars in her emerald eyes. Dark braids fall around half of her face, the other tied up in an elaborate spiral that I'm surprised has held in place.

Shallow breaths saw through her lips and she tries to push me away but I'm too strong for her and we both know it. My hand squeezes her wrists tightly-painfully- and her wriggling only makes it worse. She figures that out after a few more times. Her body suddenly slumps against mine in defeat.

"Chei," she says. At first it's just a whisper, but it grows more insistent, until she's repeating it over and over at my feet. I don't have to speak her language to know she's pleading for her life.

It passes over me like air. The word is meaningless and empty. I'm sure some part of me knows this woman probably has a family. She must have reasons to stay alive, but I've buried that part. It's dead.

I don't say anything as I yank her to her feet and steer her ahead. I don't keep my hand on her, and she takes it as a chance to get away. She tries to bolt, but I only have to reach out my hand and pull her back. Eventually, she stops, seeing the futility of it. I still wish the suited man had given me something to use as a weapon at least. But this is a test of my endurance. My allegiance. My dependency on a syringe filled with liquid.

The pain will just worsen the longer you go without your dose. Trust me.

Judging by how my throat feels like it's burning more now than it had when I left, I find myself believing him. The pain of it makes me more desperate and rushed, reducing what little understanding I've gleaned from the world around me. The crimson color is also deepening, turning from a diluted tint to a thin paint, as thick as blood itself. That doesn't help my concentration or my coherence and I'm practically shoving the woman forward in uncoordinated, jerky movements.

I can't waste any time. I have to reach the mountain. The Red. I have to. I have to I have to I have to.

"Please."

The English word startles me and I look down at the woman who's fallen for the umpteenth time, her blue-stained face now cut through by tears and rainwater.

Some small glimmer of hope shines in her eyes at my recognition. "You speak English," she says, and I can hear her relief. "Please, my Father-"

But I just shove her forward, harder, ignoring her pitiful attempts to save her own skin. I don't know what the suited man plans to do with her, but I know it's better if it's done to her instead of me.

That small window of light in her eyes blinks out and everything about her grows heavy. Her face falls. Her shoulders drop, body depleted of all hope.

But this woman has no one but herself to blame. She's the one who got too comfortable in the woods. She's the one who made friends with a place so full of monsters.

I'm halfway back to the mountain when someone stops me in my tracks. I stare at him.

By the red tinge to his blue eyes, I can tell he's like me but older. His shaggy blonde hair is twisted and gnarled. His clothing is a composition of swatches of animal skins and clothing that's so worn and stained it's hard to tell what any of it used to be. He also wears a set of armor that's so pale it looks to be made of bone. It is bone, I realize. The ribs of some lowly creature have been split to form a pair of shoulder pads.

My eyes drop to his hand, at the sharp knife that's gripped in it.

The woman cowers back but I don't let her get that far, latching onto her arm before she can move much farther. She freezes, and the man's eyes land on her. Desire flashes in them.

I'm suddenly confused. I didn't think there was more to desire than the Red.

He crouches down and whatever thought I've managed to hold on to flies from my mind. I barely have enough time to dive out of the way before he springs on me.

I hit the mud and flip over as fast as I can, sending my heel into the man's face. There's a crunch and a garbled scream, but it isn't enough to stop him. He comes again. The knife grins at me.

He aims it for my thigh but I pull myself up and out of the way. I use my body weight to my advantage and launch myself at him. It's like hitting a wall, but he gives. He tumbles back until he's splayed across the ground and he doesn't have the chance to move before I'm on top of him.

I latch onto one of his wrists and slam it into the dirt. Again and again. His hold on the knife loosens and I wrest it out of his grip. I hold it over him.

His hate-filled eyes stare at the knife and almost turn somber, like he knows what's coming next.

I don't even know, and it's suddenly like someone else is clutching the knife in my hands. It's as if, a moment later, someone else is pointing it downward and plunging it into the man's chest.

Those blue eyes bulge and I watch whatever life they once held drain from them. He stops seeing me, eyes perpetually trained on the angry sky passed my shoulder.

My heart is pounding, beating in sync with the rain and I pull out the blade, slick with blood. The water washes it off almost instantly; the ropes of red drip down and into the mud. I stare at it.

At least I have a weapon now.

The sound of crunching leaves grabs my attention and my gaze snaps to the woman, who's started running. Something animalistic has me on my feet in an instant and I race after her, knife still in my hand. She doesn't even bother to look back until I'm nearly on her. My free hand reaches out and I grab her by the scruff of her clothing. She lets out a yelp as she falls backwards, hitting the ground as hard as that man had. Maybe harder.

I stand over her and watch as an ugly red line blooms over her neck. She chokes, struggling to reclaim the oxygen that has been knocked from her lungs.

I don't drag her up right away. Instead, I bend down beside her, knife aloft. She looks at it and then her eyes meet mine. I see no defiance. No fight in her. There's only submission and I flash the blade again, its crude edge gleaming dully from the water trickling from its tip.

She's shaking- lips parted in terror, fingers curled into the dirt as if she can physically hold on to her life.

I don't say anything. My voice is too far away, but my message is clear. I know I can't kill her, not when she's my only ticket to the Red, but she doesn't know that. I can practically see the bloody scenarios she's painting in her mind.

Her fear is tangible, but this time, it doesn't please me. In fact, it annoys me for some reason and I channel it into the knife, squeezing it until my knuckles turn white. The lack of Red is making me unpredictable and I make sure to keep a little distance between us.

Because if I'm being honest, I really don't know what I might do.

She's bleeding by the time we reach the mountain. Her hands are scuffed and her knees are raw from falling. She's finally stopped trying to get away, stumbling forward in silence other than the sounds of her quiet whimpering. I almost wish I'd taken someone stronger;bringing her back doesn't seem like a huge testament to my abilities.

I stop in front of the circular door. I don't see any others until I pull it open and step back into the tunnel. The rain disappears and I shake the water from my hair. The world grows darker, and my eyes are struggling to adjust to the lack of light.

I have my hand on the girl's shoulder so I feel her tense impossibly more when she takes in the other men. There's only a few but I'm instantly on my guard. I watch them as I pass, tossing them glares if they even think of trying what the other guy did. The blade is still at my side and I angle it in a way that ensures they see it.

In front of me the girl's head dips down, her gaze frozen on her feet as if a single look at anyone will provoke them to attack. I actually don't think she's wrong. I keep walking, glaring at those around me. When I reach the door that leads deeper into the mountain, I shove the woman down, until her knees hit the dirt.

And then I wait.

It doesn't take long. Two minutes, if that. The door swings open and there's a Suit, holding the device. I flinch. They haven't turned it on though, and I'm very aware of the knife in my hand. If they think I'm a threat, I know they won't hesitate to turn on the screams, so I drop it.

The suit looks at the knife for a minute and then turns back to the open door. They nod.

And in comes the suited man. All poise and precision. His eyes find mine and he sizes me up before they settle on the girl. He appraises her, head cocked to the side, an amused look spreading across his face. He holds his own device but makes no move to turn it on. Not yet, anyway.

He takes a closer inspection at the girl, sweeping her mud-caked braids behind her shoulder. She doesn't look at him.

The suited man sighs and for a second, I think he disapproves. But then, without looking at the Suit standing close to him, says, "Harvest her."

I watch as they take away the girl, leading her back through the door. I doubt I'll ever see her again.

Maybe I feel a twinge of empathy, but it's consumed by the hunger. With those two words I take as approval, I kneel on the ground. It doesn't matter if I look weak. Right now, I'll do anything for the Red, and the suited man knows it. He doesn't even seem concerned over the knife in the dirt in front of me as he pulls the syringe out.

"You're getting the hang of this, Reaper," he tells me, and drops it beside the weapon.

I snatch the syringe up eagerly. Ravenously. I don't even wince at the needle as it goes in.

Instantly, the fire is put out. The hunger is sated and I sigh in relief.

So that's my name, I think. Subject. Fighter. Killer. Reaper.

Recalling the knife drenched in blood, I can't help but think it fitting.