Chapter Text
They were dying. Breaches popped up monthly, diverting resources and at times taking lives.
The poisonous air from the outside cocooned the Mountain, trapping its inhabitants.
One hundred couples were selected for Project Prometheus, proposed by Dante Wallis nearly twenty years into his presidency, when his ten year old son had been burned by radiation in a breach. The story goes that it took two months, even with the Treatments, before Cage was able to leave the infirmary.
They'd been collecting Outsiders, or "Grounders" as the new generation called them, for decades. Their blood was the only thing that kept the crippled Mountain alive.
But the Treatments were short term. If they were to survive, those within Mount Weather would have to be able to leave their bunker. They would have to reclaim their birthright.
And so one hundred couples were chosen. One hundred children. It was proposed at first to integrate the Grounders into the gene pool, but even the youngest captured were never civil enough to be accepted, or to live in peace. And so the inheritance was created artificially. One hundred women were inseminated, and their children were given the gift of immunity.
Monthly, of course, they would be exposed to slowly increasing levels, in an effort to maintain the resistance. If, in the end, the children were able to leave the Mountain and survive on the ground, the remaining Mount Weather civilians would follow their example and breed the new generation towards the Ground.
---
Clarke groaned as the alarm blared in her ear.
She'd graduated Training last week, and today was the first day she would be apprenticed under Doctor Tsing.
Her mother had seemed upset when she'd chosen to work in the labs instead of the general infirmary, but Clarke was firm in her choice.
The photo beside her bed gave her pause as she finally pulled herself out of the cot.
Her father smiled at her through the wall of glass, his carefree expression caught in time.
Shaking her head, she forced herself to leave those thoughts behind. The man had died three months ago. Her mourning period had passed.
Dressing quickly, she tried to prepare herself for her first day. Doctor Tsing was... intense. The Mountain was small, and Clarke had grown up around the woman due to her monthly Rad exposures, but she'd never felt comfortable around her.
Grabbing her keycard, Clarke made her way out, moving quickly towards the laboratory.
Tsing was there, scribbling away in her notebook.
"You're early," she said, not looking up. "Give me a second."
Clarke stood awkwardly as the woman finished up her thought, before she stood and strode over to her.
"There were four people who applied for this position," was the first thing she said. "And one of them apparently misinterpreted the parameters of the job. Before I fully accept you as my intern, I need to know why you're here." A pause. "I need to be sure your father isn't a part of it."
Clarke flinched at the mention of the man, but replied immediately. "I have medical training," she explained quickly. "So there were only two options for me. At least in this job I have a chance of doing more than putting band aids on scratched knees."
The woman's lip twitched towards a smile, but her face was stoic. "This work is... unpleasant. For most."
"I might not share my father's convictions," Clarke said slowly. "But I agree with him on one thing. Hiding from a hard truth doesn't save you from it."
The answer seemed to appease the doctor, as she nodded and turned away. "The Cerberus' are rarely gentle in their collection," she said. "And it's more efficient to keep the Outsiders alive as long as we can. I have research to focus on, so I'm leaving you to care for their wounds. Don't waste too many resources. Lockhart will accompany you. He'll sedate the Outsider, remove them and secure them. You will tend to their wounds. It's a simple job. If you have a problem, ask me. If you change your mind... there are two others who are willing to replace you. I'm sure your mother would be happy to accept you in the infirmary."
The last sentence was almost a challenge, and Clarke forced herself not to rise to it.
"When do I begin?" she asked instead.
A knock at the door interrupted them and Lockhart strode in, smiling at her.
"Right now. A batch came in yesterday, and I've already sorted them. I need you to make sure their wounds aren't untreatable. Make a note on their charts. The ones with more severe injuries will be bled first. We've got to make use of them while we can," she explained.
Lockhart led her out of the labs, and the two walked quietly towards the Harvest chamber.
"Your mom asked about you," he said, breaking the silence. "Jake had a cough, so I was there all night." Clarke smiled despite herself at the thought of the guard's son. "She wanted me to ask how you were. Said you weren't talking to her."
"I'm not ignoring her," Clarke argued weakly. "I just... She's not going to accept my choice, and I need to prepare myself before I can deal with her disappointment."
He guard nodded, and they fell into a comfortable silence until they reached the Harvest chamber.
There hadn't been a breach in a few weeks, so there were no Grounders being bled. The cages, however, were full, and the people inside them were moving sluggishly to try and see the new arrivals.
"The new batch is in the back. Follow me," Lockhart said, pressing a hand on his gun and striding through the rows.
Past the initial cages, a circular tower held hundreds of Grounders, each at varying stages of bleeding. From what Clarke had read of her manual, Grounders lasted about three months before the bloodletting finally caused them to expire. After that happened, they'd be sent down a chute for the Cerberus' to deal with.
Lockhart led her out of the main Harvest chamber and into a smaller room that held about twenty cages. Ten of them were inhabited.
"Which one do you want first?"
Clarke took a deep breath and strode forward, trying to examine each of the prisoners with a medical, impassive eye.
Six of them were fine. Their wounds were superficial at most. One had a broken arm, but it wouldn't interfere with their blood production. Two had wounds on their necks which Clarke would need to look at, and the last was closer to death than she was to life.
Immediately, she nodded to the cage. "This one," she said.
Lockhart looked dubiously at the prisoner. "She doesn't look like she'd survive a single donation," he said.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had medical training," Clarke snapped, immediately regretting it. "I... Sorry. Just... It looks bad, but I think I can sa--fix her." Save. She wouldn't be saved. Clarke cursed herself for the slip. The Grounder would be preserved.
"Fine," the guard finally said, reaching into her jacket and retrieving a syringe. "But don't waste too many resources. Tsing will kill me. Then kill you."
Clarke swallowed, but nodded, keeping her eyes on the Grounder.
She was young. Brunette. Her right arm had a tattoo, but otherwise she was untarnished. Ignoring, of course, the semi-gaping wound in her abdomen.
Lockhart gave the already-unconscious girl a sedative before unlocking the cage and lifting her out.
"There's an operating room for the worse off ones," he said, his lip twisting. "Usually we just bleed them and dump them when they're this bad."
"Wasting a renewable resource is a waste," Clarke pointed out, unsure as to why she was so annoyed.
Lockhart smiled slightly. Sadly. He deposited the girl on the table, strapped her in, and left. "Call me in when you're done," he said.
Clarke nodded absently, already moving to examine the wound.
---
Octavia smirked as Bellamy, for the third time that day, polished his nameplate.
"God Bell, you're worse than a kid with a new toy."
Her twin chuckled. "You're just jealous that I was assigned to President Wallis, and you got thrown on his son's monster building crew."
"Alright, first of all, that 'monster building crew' is the only reason we can survive," Octavia said defensively.
"I'm kidding," Bell laughed, ruffling her hair. "Come on, I'm proud of you. Not a lot of recruits get placed there. It's even more selective than Wallis' guard detail."
The girl snorted at his obvious attempt to appease her, but didn't force the issue. "Have you talked to Clarke, yet?"
His smirk fell at the mention of his ex, and Bellamy shook his head. "Not for a few days. I saw her at dinner, and she said she was going to be prepping for her new assignment."
"I can't believe she applied to the Harvest chamber," Octavia said, her nose curling in distaste. "I mean, making the Cerberus' is bad enough, but having to deal with the Grounders one-on-one?"
"They're unconscious most of the time," Bell said, rolling his eyes. "It's what she wants."
"Blake!" a voice called from the end of the hall. Both guards in question straightened immediately, their hands lacing behind their backs and their spines stiff.
Emerson strode forward, glancing between them. Turning to Bell, he said, "Your shift with the president starts in ten minutes, Blake."
"Yes, Sir," he said, nodding sharply. Without a glance at his sister, he strode down the hall towards the president's office.
Emerson turned to Octavia. "Cage's team is headed down to the Cerberus cells. He wanted me to tell you that your initiation will take place there."
"Yes, Sir," she said.
Once Emerson was satisfied, he turned and made his way towards the mess hall.
Sighing slightly, Octavia's lip twisted. The monster-makers were hardly where she wanted to be. She'd dreamed of going to the surface, but as a member of the Hundred, that was never even considered.
Instead, she was thrown in the cellar to play with beasts.
Swallowing a groan, she made her way down to the cells, mentally kicking whoever assigned her to the Cerberus program.