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As he clawed his way back to consciousness, bits and pieces of how he’d gotten here were clicking into place in his brain. It had been chaos. One minute, he and Lincoln had been approaching the cavernous entrance to the tunnel. He’d been tied to a log across his shoulders with a gag in his mouth. They had come up the ruse to allow them entry to Mount Weather. And then Lincoln had given a cry of distress, pivoting as he’d pulled a dagger from his thigh. Bellamy had turned just in time to see a blur of motion and Lincoln being set on by three men, another three rushing towards him. He’d tried to run, but of course they’d caught him, added him to the other men tied together, led him into the cave entrance. Lincoln had stayed, had argued with the others in Trigedasleng, told them Bellamy was his catch. They’d ignored him.
He wasn’t going to blame Lincoln, but he felt an undeniable anger when he recalled the look of defeat on Lincoln’s face as he was led into the chamber with the others. Bellamy had given him one last shout of desperation as the door shut behind him. And now here he was, immobilized on a cold metal table, stripped down to his shorts, his ankles and wrists strapped down tightly. He heard the door creak open but couldn’t move his head to see who was entering, he could only hear footsteps.
A man appeared in his line of vision. He had dark, wavy hair and a scar across his lip. But it was his eyes that sent a chill through Bellamy. Dark brown and inscrutable, with a hint of malice. He stood and regarded Bellamy for a long minute, those dark brown eyes scanning his entire body, making him feel violated in ways he couldn’t explain. The man finally brought his eyes back to Bellamy’s own.
“You were chosen over several others. You should feel flattered,” the man said. “You could be hanging upside down having your blood drained right now.”
“How is this any better?” Bellamy hissed, straining against his wrist restraints.
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You speak English very well...for a Grounder,” he scoffed.
He started to tell this man he wasn’t a Grounder. He was from the sky. But that would ruin the plan. Wait, the plan? The plan hadn’t been to find himself here, strapped down and helpless. The plan had been for him and Lincoln to infiltrate Mount Weather, find the delinquents, and get the hell out. He kept silent.
“Where did you learn English?” the man was still talking to him.
“Books,” he managed to mutter. The man nodded.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked. Bellamy shook his head.
“My name is Cage Wallace. I’m the president of Mount Weather.” He paused and considered this. “Well, technically, my father, Dante, is the president. But that’s really just in name. I make all the decisions here.”
Bellamy cast his eyes around the small cell where he was imprisoned, seeking an escape route.
Cage watched him, smiling slightly. “You won’t be leaving here. Not until I say so. You might as well stop trying to figure out if you can escape.” He walked back out of Bellamy’s sight and rapped on the door. It opened and Bellamy could hear another set of footsteps enter the room. His heart began racing and he began straining against his bonds again.
Two faces now appeared over him, Cage and a brunette woman. She shone a bright pin light into his eyes, felt his pulse, took a few notes and then nodded to Cage. “He’s a good fit for this.”
“Glad you agree,” Cage said. He put his hand out and the woman dropped a syringe into it. It had a large cartridge attached filled with a bright red liquid. Bellamy’s eyes widened and he started shaking his head.
“What is that?” he demanded.
“This, my friend, is your future,” Cage said. “I hear the first one is the worst.” Without any other warning, he jabbed the needle into Bellamy’s neck and plunged the liquid into his vein. Bellamy screamed as the liquid seared through him and he felt his pulse quicken violently. He began struggling again as Cage stepped back away from him to watch.
He was queasy and lightheaded, the room was spinning and he squeezed his eyes shut, which didn’t help at all. Suddenly there was a jolt of pain shooting up from his wrists and ankles and sending his entire body into spasms. He screamed again. The lights dimmed as Cage increased the electrical shock the cuffs were sending into his body. He panted and cursed, flinging his head from side to side.
“Stop!” he cried.
Cage stood a little closer to him and raised a small device with a button on the top. When he pressed the button a shrill, high pitched tone filled the room. Bellamy wanted to cover his ears but couldn’t move. The noise continued and he felt himself start to give in to the desire to just dive into the blackness that was edging its way into the walls of his mind. He willed it to happen, closing his eyes as Cage began to speak again.
“You’re stronger than I thought. But we have time.” He didn’t hear anything else, just felt the bliss of unconsciousness as it closed around him.
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Octavia was one of the first to see Lincoln approach the gate to Arkadia. He was alone as he walked through the guarded entry, but she ran to him, hugged him tight and then pulled away and grinned at him.
“Where’s Bellamy?” she asked, leaning sideways to look around him. “Where are the others?” It was then that she noticed the look on his face, the way he carried himself. He started to shake his head slowly.
“No,” she said. “NO! Tell me where he is!”
Lincoln pulled her back into his arms. “I couldn’t save him,” he sighed. “They took him. He’s in Mount Weather.”
“So he’s alive,” she said, setting her jaw and looking up at him. “Tell me.”
“He was alive the last time I saw him,” Lincoln replied. “But we need to hurry.”
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It had to have been hours that he’d been unconscious. His entire body ached. He couldn’t identify the empty feeling that was lodged inside him. It felt like hunger but he’d been hungry before. Growing up on the Ark and dividing the rations for two people among three, he had known hunger his entire young life. This was deeper, more demanding. It was a need, not a want.
He heard the door open again. His body tensed.
“Get him prepped,” Cage said. The woman was there again, checking his pulse, shining that fucking light in his eyes, handing the syringe to Cage.
“NO!” he shouted. It didn’t sound like his voice. It didn’t feel like the words came from his throat. But it didn’t matter. The needle pierced his neck and he gritted his teeth through the searing pain. The heat came soon after. The drowsy, nauseating weightlessness came next.
He opened his eyes to see Cage watching him. He clenched his fists. He wanted to bring his hands to the man’s throat, to choke the life out of him. But he could only lay there, anticipating what was coming. It didn’t make it any easier. The high pitched tone, the electric shock, his body convulsing. He was powerless to stop any of it. Screaming wouldn’t make it stop either, but he could only hold it in for so long.
The blackness began at the edges of his vision again. Cage’s nod of approval was the last thing he saw.
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The rescue party had been kept deliberately small. Abby had insisted the majority of guards were needed to man the gates of Arkadia and Clarke had been able to convince her to relinquish only enough weapons for four people. She and Clarke had fought, loudly, just before she’d headed out with Octavia, Lincoln, and Miller.
Lincoln led them through the woods at a quicker pace than he and Bellamy had travelled. He was mainly trying to keep up with Octavia, whose desire to save her brother was making her reckless and noisy. She hacked her way through the dense underbrush, cursing the trees, the sky, the air. Clarke and Miller exchanged worried glances. They had seen the Blake siblings fight, they had seen them hold each other and offer comfort. They had never seen one without the other for more than a few hours and they were beginning to worry about Octavia and her desperation to find Bellamy. Clarke secretly wondered also how Bellamy was faring. She silently prayed he was still okay, that he could sense somehow that they were getting closer.
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Three days had passed and he’d lost track of time. Other than being led out of the tiny room with his hands and feet bound and taken to a primitive toilet every few hours, he’d been strapped down, staring at the ceiling. He had only been given water and his hunger had reached the point of desperation. Today, two guards had come in and unstrapped him from the table, exiting quickly. He rose shakily to a sitting position, testing his legs before putting his weight on them. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here, could barely remember his own name.
“Bellamy Blake,” he whispered to himself. “Bellamy Blake.” He was interrupted by the creaking metal door again. This time, the high pitched sound filled his ears immediately. He cowered in the corner of the room, his hands over his ears. Cage approached. That was his name, wasn’t it? Cage? He spoke in a low voice. Bellamy found it soothing, especially when the high pitched tone quit suddenly. Cage squatted down in front of him and looked at him sympathetically.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Bellamy opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He nodded. “Hungry,” he finally croaked.
Cage nodded and stood up and Bellamy saw he had something in his hands. It looked bloody and raw. He didn’t care. His needs outweighed his revulsion. Cage let the raw meat drop to the floor and Bellamy grabbed it, sinking his teeth into it. A low animal sound of pleasure came from his throat. He heard the man standing over him chuckle softly as he ate. He tensed and considered attacking, but Cage was quicker. He pressed the button again and Bellamy scrambled into the corner. There were no electrodes attached to him but he felt the pain anyway. He looked up at his tormentor and saw the syringe.
“You want this, don’t you?” Cage asked gently.
“Yes,” he whispered, tilting his head so his neck was exposed. This time he was actually grateful to feel the now familiar heat, the lethargy, the release he’d come to need more than he’d ever needed anything in his life.
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They spent the first night in the woods, taking turns on guard duty. It had taken Clarke and Lincoln both to convince Octavia that they needed to stop for the night.
“We’re no good to Bellamy if we don’t have any strength to fight,” Clarke reasoned. “Just for a few hours.”
Octavia relented, and sat near the fire, sharpening her blades as the others discussed their next move.
“When we get to the cave entrance, it’s better for only two of us to go in,” Lincoln said. “You two should stay outside the entrance in case we get visitors.” Clarke and Miller looked at each other and nodded in silent agreement.
“How do you know there won’t be reapers already inside?” Clarke asked. The reapers were a bigger concern to her than other Grounders. She had seen firsthand what they were capable of.
“I don’t,” Lincoln shrugged. “But that’s what this is for.” He produced a device similar to what Cage had been training Bellamy with. “Raven made it. It hasn’t been tested so if it doesn’t work, we’ll have to rely on...”
“On this,” Octavia interrupted, holding up one of her long blades. “I’m not letting any fucking cannibals stop me from getting to my brother.” The look in her eyes made Clarke realize just how serious she was.
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He woke up on the hard concrete floor. His entire body ached, partly from sleeping on the cold, unforgiving surface but partly because there was a desire building in him for the next dose of drugs. He cast his eyes hopefully to the door, watching the small glass window for any sign of movement on the other side. Four days ago, he would have taken the opportunity to attempt escape, but now the only thing filling his thoughts was how soon he could be injected again. How soon would he feel the rush of heat, the haze filling his brain, the pain leaving. He was almost in tears now, clenching and unclenching his fists, breaking out in a sweat, his guts churning.
A brief motion caught his eye and he sat up as the door creaked open. He stood and his eyes widened when he saw the man with dark hair whose name he could no longer remember, followed by another man. This man towered over the other, but he seemed disoriented and staggered slightly. The man in the white coat pressed the button on the device in his hand and both Bellamy and the other man dropped to their knees, their hands covering their ears. They both watched warily as the man stopped the device and pulled a syringe out of his pocket, holding it up for both of them to see. He placed it in the center of the room on the floor.
“One dose. Two addicts,” he announced. “May the best man win.” He hit the button again and walked to the door, closing it behind him and standing to watch through the window.
Both men lunged at the syringe, and Bellamy let out a howl of fury when the other man’s hand closed over it before his own. He leaped on the man’s shoulders and wrapped his arm around his neck. The man was bigger than Bellamy, lunging backwards and slamming him into the wall, knocking the breath out of him but dropping the syringe as well. Bellamy flung himself onto it as the man picked him up and threw him across the room, raging at him in a language he didn’t understand. Bellamy grinned at him and raised the needle to his neck but before he could depress the plunger, the man was on him again, trying to wrench it out of his hand. It clattered to the floor as Bellamy kneed him in the groin. When the man doubled over, he grabbed his head with both hands and brought his knee up into the man’s face, knocking him out. He watched him crumple to the floor, stepped over his inert body, and swiped the syringe up quickly. He closed his eyes and sunk the needle into his neck and then lay back on the table to watch the world spin.
Two guards came in and dragged the still unconscious man out of the room as Cage entered and hovered over Bellamy.
“I think it’s time,” he said. He motioned for the guards to return and they dragged Bellamy roughly to his feet and walked him down a long corridor. The bright lights made him squint and a sea of color was swimming around his vision so he couldn’t focus on anyone’s face, on any of the doors he passed. They approached a large metal door that looked like the entrance to a vault and another man opened it. Bellamy was shoved roughly through it to find himself outdoors, squinting up at the sun. He turned but the door closed behind him. He panicked, banging on the door to be let back in, continued banging on it until his knuckles were raw and bloody.
The crackle of a loudspeaker startled him.
“I assume you’re hungry,” he heard the man’s voice say. “You’ll have to find your own food now. You bring back more of your people and you get another dose. Understood?”
He felt weak. He dropped to the ground and wept, clawing at the dirt, his hunger overtaking him. A whisper of sound from the woods made him turn his head and he crouched lower as a small deer approached. The deer turned her head and looked back at the two figures in hazmat suits who were following her and Bellamy noticed a bloody wound on her side. She had been shot.
“That’s close enough,” he heard the voice on the loudspeaker say. The two figures stopped and the deer was now trapped in between them and Bellamy.
Bellamy had no control over what he did next. It was as though a darker, animal part of his brain had taken over. He could smell the fear of the deer in front of him, but the stronger smell was her blood and his hunger had to be sated. He lunged at the deer and the split second she froze was all the time he needed. He flung himself at her legs, bringing her down to the ground with him. The struggle was short. He broke her neck with brutal precision as the two men watched and looked up at the outdoor camera, waiting for further instructions. The speaker crackled again, but Bellamy paid it no more attention.
“He’ll be fine out there on his own,” Cage said, unlocking the door. The two men stepped past the gruesome scene of Bellamy hunkered over the deer carcass and walked inside the building, the door shutting behind them.
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The four of them approached a clearing in the woods. They were only an hour’s walk from the cave entrance and Lincoln had everyone on high alert.
“The reapers use this entrance regularly,” he said. “Keep quiet and keep your eyes open for any signs of...violence.”
They all nodded and continued walking. “Do you think they’ve already harvested Bellamy?” Miller whispered.
“If they have, I’m burning that entire compound to the fucking ground,” Octavia hissed.
“Shhh,” Clarke warned, not wanting to entertain any thoughts of Bellamy being hung upside down, the blood slowly draining from his body. “We’ll get there in time.”
They edged their way slowly to the cave and when they were within a few hundred yards, Lincoln threw his hand up, gesturing for them to all hit the ground.
“What is it?” Clarke whispered.
“Reaper,” Lincoln replied. “Straight ahead. Just one so if we can avoid him, great. Maybe he’ll pass by if we lay low.”
Octavia crawled up closer to Lincoln and peered at the solitary figure, who was covered in blood and gore. He had his back to them and was pulling the carcass of a small animal apart, stuffing chunks of it into his mouth. Something about the way he moved made Octavia frown. She edged slightly closer, but Lincoln put his hand on her arm and stopped her. There was a sudden flurry of motion overhead as a bird took flight and the reaper threw his head up and whipped it around in their direction. Octavia gasped.
“Bellamy!” she cried.
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He squinted at the four people crouched in the woods just ahead. Dropping the bloody remains of the rabbit he was holding, he started towards them, his hunger growing with every step. He needed that injection. The man said if he brought him a Grounder, he could have it. Here were four.
He heard the brunette woman call out and he shook his head. Her voice sounded familiar. He stepped closer. She was saying something. It sounded like “Bellamy.” What did that mean?
The four people started towards him and as her face came into view, he took two steps backward, tripping over a branch and landing on his back. Her face. She was someone he loved some time ago. She was important to him. Wasn’t she? And the blonde woman, the one with blue eyes. He remembered those eyes. They had looked at him with kindness once. She was speaking to him with concern now, but he didn’t understand. There was fear in those blue eyes now and the fear was sparking his hunger, his need. They were building in him, choking him.
“Get away from me!” he howled. He knew he would hurt them. He knew he didn’t want to. “Get away!” he shouted again. “I...I can’t,” his voice faltered. “I can’t control it.”
“Bellamy,” the brunette woman said again. “It’s Octavia. You know me. I’m your sister.”
He shook his head and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Need...my...shot. He said...” He started striking himself on the side of his head, trying to dredge up the words from his tormented brain. “If I brought Grounders to him, I’d get my shot.”
The woman came closer.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he choked out. “Please, don’t.” He scrambled further back but she kept coming.
“You won’t hurt me, Bellamy,” she said gently. She had her hands in front of her, palms up. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to help you.”
He felt the rage take hold and couldn’t control it. He lunged at her and as his hands closed around her throat he heard a high pitched tone and dropped to the ground, curling into a ball.
The four of them were all pinning him to the ground then. He struggled, kicking his legs, throwing his fists, but they held him there. The blonde woman looked to one of the men and gave a nod and the next thing he felt was a hard blow to his head and then blackness.
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It had been a struggle to get him back to Arkadia. He had woken once, but his hands and feet were already bound together. It hadn’t stopped him from fighting to get free, from biting and kicking at anyone who came close to him. They’d had to resort to stuffing a gag in his mouth and Lincoln throwing him over his shoulder to carry him the rest of the way.
Clarke had run ahead to tell Abby what was happening and she met them at the gate. A small crowd had gathered as they brought him in and Octavia felt rage rise in her chest.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” she screamed. “Don’t you have some work to do?”
They all slowly scattered, but not without looking back to catch glances of Bellamy still struggling against his bonds while he was dragged into the Ark.
Abby set Bellamy up on an IV immediately. “He’s dehydrated,” she said to the room. She was examining him and he was thrashing his head back and forth, his cries muffled by the gag. When Abby pulled the gag gently out of his mouth, he looked pleadingly at her.
“Please...no shock. Just need...the injection. I won’t fight.” Abby frowned at him and then at the others.
“What is he talking about? Why would I shock him?”
“It’s how the reapers are conditioned,” Lincoln said, eliciting a gasp from Octavia. “They inject the drugs, then they shock them while they send that signal into their brains. It teaches them to instinctively cower when they hear it.”
Clarke fought back tears as Abby put her hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “Bellamy, no one here is going to hurt you. I need you trust me. We’re going to take care of you.”
Bellamy’s eyes grew black with rage. “I don’t want you to take care of me,” he growled. “I want you to fucking FEED ME!”
“Miller, go tell Jackson we need to prepare for a blood test.” Abby said. Miller sprinted from the room. “We need to get him detoxed from whatever this drug is,” she said. “I need a blood sample.”
Octavia stepped forward and placed her hand on Bellamy’s head. “Hey, big brother. How about we give you that injection, okay?”
He turned his head slightly and glared at her. “I’m not your brother.” But his expression belied his confusion. “You’ll give me the shot?”
“Mmm hmmm,” she said soothingly. “But you have to be still.”
Abby had been preparing a syringe of a powerful sedative and approached him again. He looked at her, then back at Octavia and nodded. Abby wasted no time in plunging the needle into his arm and he was out in less than a minute. She then took a blood sample and left to her lab as the remaining three stood around Bellamy.
“What do we do now?” Clarke asked, tracing her finger lightly along his face. “I can’t believe what they’ve done to him.”
“I don’t know very many of my people who’ve been able to recover from this,” Lincoln said. Octavia frowned at him as Miller came back in the room.
“No,” she said, struggling to speak through her tears. “Bellamy is a fighter. He’s going to be okay.” She squeezed his hand. “I believe in you, brother.”
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It would be over a week with constant care and being hooked to an IV for Bellamy to break free from his addiction. Octavia never left his side. She barked at anyone who tried to get her to take a break and more often than not, Clarke would come in to find her asleep, her head resting on her brother’s shoulder.
Bellamy hallucinations and screaming subsided gradually, but he still had episodes of rage, causing Abby to insist he stay both sedated and bound.
One morning, before the sun had fully risen, Octavia felt him stir and raised her head sleepily. She smiled at him but his eyes were full of tears.
“Octavia?” he said in a small voice. She sat up fully. It was the first time he’d called her by her name in a week.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she said.
He started to cry then. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” He paused and a horrified expression passed over his face. “Did I...did I hurt anyone?” he asked.
She took his hand and squeezed it tight. “No, Bellamy. You didn’t. I promise.” He nodded and turned his head away.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For saving me.”
“Hey, my brother, my responsibility.” That made him smile. His next words surprised her.
“We have to go back.”
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In the end, no one could convince Bellamy otherwise. So they repeated the original plan but this time Octavia would pose as Bellamy’s prisoner. Bellamy had stripped back down to the ragged clothes they’d sent him out of Mount Weather in and Octavia walked behind him with a rope around her neck. Clarke, Miller, and Lincoln followed at a distance, radios and weapons ready.
As they approached the vault door, Octavia could see her brother’s shoulders tense, could see his steps falter.
“You okay?” she whispered. He gave a curt nod and continued. They were within thirty yards now and she glanced up to see a figure in a hazmat suit approach.
“What did you bring me?” a voice called.
“Cage,” Bellamy said in a low voice. He pulled Octavia along, closer to Cage. When they got within ten feet, he gave a low, inarticulate growl and held up the end of the rope.
Cage smirked and walked closer. Octavia’s eyes shifted to Bellamy and she could see how fearful he was, but she didn’t dare say anything. Her hands, which were tied behind her, were nimbly untying the binds as she stood, waiting. Cage took out a small device and held it up, forcing Bellamy to take two steps backward as he held out his other hand for the rope. Bellamy shook his head.
“Oh, I see,” Cage said. “You want the drugs first, huh?” He pulled a syringe from his pocket and held it up so Bellamy could see it. “Give me the girl, and I give you your high.”
Octavia saw a strange expression cross her brother’s face and she felt panic rise in her chest. No, Bell. Don’t do this. Her hands continued to work on the knot behind her back.
Bellamy bit his lip and clenched his fists. Then, suddenly, he dropped to his knees, holding the rope out to Cage. As he tilted his head for the injection, Octavia knew she had to act. With a final tug, she freed her hands, reached over her head and grabbed the scabbard of the long blade she had strapped to her back. She heard shouts in the distance as Clarke and the others advanced towards them but it didn’t stop her.
“You son of a bitch,” she hissed. “You’re not getting him back.” She swung the blade in a wide arc and sliced Cage’s hand off neatly at the wrist. His hand and the syringe fell to the ground as he screamed. Bellamy dove for the syringe, but Octavia kicked it out of reach. Just as Lincoln and Miller grabbed each of Bellamy’s arms to help him up, Octavia drove her blade into Cage’s chest, knocking him backward with the force of the blow. He fell onto his back and she shoved the blade further in, standing over him and watching his expression change from horror to pain and slowly to a quiet blank stare.
Clarke joined her and bent over Cage, ripping his security badge off his chest and picking up his severed hand. Miller gave her a baffled look.
“We need a fingerprint scan with the badge,” she said flatly. “And one of you will need his suit so the security cameras think it’s him coming back. Let’s go.”
After Bellamy slipped into the hazmat suit he adjusted the rope around Octavia’s neck again. He gave a short wave to the outside camera and badged himself in, covertly holding Cage’s severed hand to the fingerprint scanner. Once inside, he turned and gave Octavia a tight embrace. “Second time you’ve saved me in as many weeks,” he said. “I owe you.”
She smiled at him. “No you don’t. You kept me alive for 16 years on the Ark. I’m just paying you back. Now let’s go save our friends.”