Octavia Blake / M. Avgeropoulos Oneshots

The Cerberus Project (part 2) - Octavia Blake

Sorry about the hiatus, guys. I've been a little too occupied with my other books. I'll try to update this one more often :)

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Continuation of the imagine requested by @KiraWallenstein

Word Count: 1078

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You felt your body being dragged. Every stick, rock and tree root, you could feel scraping up your back. Leaves stuck in your overly tangled locks from being dragged, the occasional twig tangling with the mats in your hair.

Your eyes snapped open. The trees moved slowly above you as you're dragged to smoother terrain. Before you're able to make out your surroundings, you're hit on the head again.

"Octavia!" you exclaimed, catching the toe of her boot before it kicked the structure you'd been building all day.

She immediately placed it on the ground away from your structure, an apologetic expression crossing her sharp features. "Sorry," she crouched beside you, curiously it. "What even is that?"

"It's called Stone Balancing."

"It's weird."

"It's therapeutic," you chuckled.

"You know," she shifted she weight, still crouched, "I thought you've been secretly plotting on how to get me back."

"Oh believe me, if I ever find something worth using or doing that'll get you back, I will be coming for you," you joked. But had been serious at the same time.

"It wasn't that bad."

"You stole all my clothes!"

Octavia laughed, "It was hilarious."

"I was naked, Octavia!" you whisper shouted, and Octavia only laughed harder.

In a cave somewhere in the woods, you reckoned, with very little light, you and four other Grounders were on your knees, hands bound. Men in blue hazmat suits walked around, clipboards and rifles in hand.

  One in particular stood out. Smaller than the others, no clipboard or any weapon of any kind in hand. They only walked up to a Grounder and said "harvest".

"Harvest," the voice was a woman's. She came to you, "Now you . . ." She inched closer, "You don't look like an outsider."

You thrashed in your binds. "Perhaps she's one of the kids from the sky my father talked about," a man curiously said. He too had no weapon nor clipboard.

"Perhaps," the woman had said. "Let's mark her for the Cerberus Project." You thrashed harder in your binds and growled, scared more than anything. But you dared not to show it.

Pain was all you remembered until you stopped remembering things. You couldn't control your mind or motor movements no matter how hard you tried —the red drug was all you thought about.

You had remorse for the life you had taken after you fought for the red drug for the first time, but after you jabbed the needle into your skin and injected it, you felt no remorse for none of the things you did after.

You became a monster, a shell of yourself and your humanity. You killed anyone and anything that crossed paths with you, no matter how many arrows that sunk into you or how many blades cut you; you slaughtered, like a true Reaper. You would've made Mount Weather proud.

Shortly after the fall of the Mountain Men, Lincoln and Bellamy had found you aimlessly wandering near the dropship.

  You wounded Bellamy and nearly killed Lincoln, yet despite that, were able to capture and chain you in the bottom level of the dropship.

  "Octavia," Bellamy called. Clarke and Raven had gone ahead, as did Monty, Harper and Miller, to help Lincoln restrain you. The chains that clammed around your wrists and ankles rattled as they came in. "Octavia," she finally met her brother's gaze. "Octavia, she's not the same. She's—"

  "I don't need you to protect me." Octavia marched into the dropship, and her heart stopped.

  Black eyes with a murderous glint and sticky in blood and sweat, was you —trying to kill her.  "Octavia. Octavia!" Clarke was yelling. "I need you to help them."

  One of your ankle binds broke, and in seconds, Octavia is hitting you across the head, knocking you out cold.

  "She's stronger than before," Lincoln informed, he too out of breath.

  "How is that even possible?" Raven asked, while Octavia said .  .  .

  "What the hell did they do to her?" She looked at Lincoln. "Do you remember what they did to you?"

"Yes," he moved around your limp body as he held his side. "They would've done the same to her what they did to me."

"How the hell did you guys even find her?" Miller asked, as he re-restrained your ankle. "It's been damn near two months since she disappeared."

"She was just wandering," Bellamy answered. "She didn't even see us, and we were out in front of the dropship."

"Reapers don't wander unless they're hunting someone or something," Lincoln said.

"So what the hell was she tracking?" Octavia asked, from beside you.

"Lincoln," Clarke called, as she checked your pulse. "I need you tell us exactly how they turned you into a Reaper. Maybe there's some information that'll help us figure that out." And he did, but there was no useful information. They could turn her back the same way they did Lincoln, but Clarke was hesitant. "If she's different from the other Reapers, stronger than any of them were, we don't know if she'll even come back."

  "We have to try," Octavia urged, looking at your unconscious body.

  "Octavia .  .  ." Bellamy called, softly.

  "What, Bell? I mean, being dead is better than staying a Reaper. Someone could kill her anyways." She looked at you again, and lowered her voice. "It's better this way." She had convinced herself, and the others were too.

  And so they prepped you and prepared themselves; they could all lose you if this went south. Bellamy, Monty and Raven collected Abby from Arkadia in the Rover and were back within the hour. You were still unconscious, the chain re-wrapped tighter around your ankle that had been momentarily free of any restraint. Miller, Harper, Lincoln and Octavia surrounded you, Octavia knelt the closest to you —she never left your side.

  "Are you ready?" Abby knelt across from Octavia and looked at her.

  She was too focused on you to respond. Every memory she had of you played on repeat like an old video recording. Octavia reached a hesitant hand out toward you and wiped greasy, sticky strands of hair out your face; she wanted to remember your beautiful face, even if it was covered in faded white paint, dirt, sweat and blood.

  "Let's do this. Let's bring her back."

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