Beyond the Ark: Oliver Nash

Chapter I: Part II: Our Responsibility

In the dimly lit cell, Oliver's muscles tensed as he pushed through another set of squats. His routine, his lifeline, one hundred each of decline pushups, squats, sit-ups, and a one hundred second handstand, every day. He glanced around the cramped space, the solitude weighing heavy on his mind.

"Still can't believe my mom did that," he muttered, his voice barely audible against the silence. With each repetition, his determination grew stronger, a flicker of defiance in the face of adversity. If he was going to be here, he was going to do something other than nothing. As he lowered himself into yet another squat, his thoughts drifted to the outside world, a distant memory taunting him from beyond the bars. But for now, all he could do was focus on the rhythm of his breath and the steady rhythm of his movements, finding solace in the simplicity of his daily regimen.

When he was arrested for assaulting Bellamy Blake and 'accidentally' breaking the arresting guard's nose, in all honesty, he just didn't like the guy and figured, "Might as well, I am going to be floated," but he wasn't. After the incident, Oliver was shock lashed and put into cuffs. He remembers the eyes on him as he was escorted to the prison, placed in a holding cell to await trial in the morning.

"What's the point of a trial when I already know the punishment?" Oliver said to himself in a quiet whisper. "As long as Octavia's safe, it was worth it. Take good care of her, Bellamy," he spoke to himself, before drifting off to sleep.

"GET UP, NASH," a guard said loudly, jolting him awake. Two guards began to escort Ollie away to where he would be sentenced, to death he was certain; but that kiss was not his yet. Right before being pushed into the room filled with the council members, the guard to his left whispered in his ear, Oliver felt his tacky breath as he spoke "You're lucky your mom has such a nice tongue. Now, say you're 17." Disgust filled Oliver's head.

"Oliver Nash," Jaha, the Chancellor began, "You have been charged with assault of an off-duty guardsman and inadvertently injuring an on-duty guardsman. How do you plead?"

"Guilty, Chancellor," was all Oliver said, eyes in front, not looking at anyone in particular, face stoic.

"Well, Mr. Nash, the usual punishment for this crime, as all crimes, is death. However, since a high-ranking member of the guard took it upon himself to inform me that you're under the age of eighteen, your life has been spared."

Jaha stood from his seat and approached Oliver slowly before speaking his next words. "You assaulted two people, son. You're a danger to others. You will be in solitary. Dismissed." Without saying a word, Oliver didn't resist as he was taken away by the guards and brought to the prison area. He saw kids, kids Octavia's age, and here he was, twenty-two years old, being placed in solitary.

Six months had passed since being locked away. The lack of contact with others would have driven most people mad, but Oliver handled it well, using his time to reflect, and most of all, work out. From the third day in, Oliver had a routine. Although the reps started lower, he eventually got used to doing 100 of each: decline push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and handstands. He also spent time stretching each of his limbs, to the point he believed he could be one of those "gymnasts" they had on Earth before the bombs.

"LIGHTS OUT." Oliver crawled into bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I wonder if I'll ever see them again," he thought...

"Ollie, come here. I want you to meet someone," Rachel called her son over. Four-year-old Oliver walked shyly to his mother's voice, stopping a bit behind her. "Ollie, this is Mommy's friend, Aurora, and her son, Bellamy. He's the same age as you. Why don't you two go play?"

"Come on!" the young boy at Aurora's right said happily. "We can play tag."

"Okay!" Oliver shouted happily.

Their friendship had started innocently enough, both four years old when they first met, just two years before Octavia was born. However, it took a while for Bellamy to divulge the secret about his sister...

As Bellamy approached Ollie on the worn steel bench, the clinking of metal trays and the murmur of conversations filled the air. The aroma of cafeteria food wafted around them, mingling with the faint scent of disinfectant.

"Hey Ollie," Bellamy called out, sliding onto the bench beside him. Ollie turned, the corners of his mouth lifting in greeting as he took a sip of his lukewarm water.

"Hey bro, what's up?" he replied, his voice barely audible over the din of the dining hall. Bellamy's expression was tense, his eyes darting around nervously. "I need a favor," he whispered, leaning closer to Ollie, his breath tinged with urgency. Ollie leaned in, catching a whiff of anxiety mingled with the aroma of the nearby food trays.

"Alright," Ollie said, nudging Bellamy's ribs playfully, "What is it?" Bellamy hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "I need you to sneak some food and water and bring it to me and my mom's room." Ollie's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his eyes widening.

"What for?" he asked, his confusion evident in his voice. "I can't tell you!" Bellamy replied quickly, his tone fraught with apprehension. "Okay, don't worry about it. I'll do it. I'll come by an hour from now," Ollie reassured him, patting his friend on the back. "Thank you," Bellamy murmured, his relief palpable. They lapsed into a tense silence, the noise of the dining hall fading into the background.

An hour later, young Oliver made his way to Bellamy's room. He hadn't been there in a while, but his young mind paid it no attention. His mother, Rachel, was busy working in the farm station. (Knock knock) Bellamy cracked the door very slightly, seeing his friend.

"Hey Bell, I got it," Oliver said, taking a bag out of his shirt and handing it to Bellamy. "Thanks," Bellamy said, placing it behind him.

"Is everything okay?" Oliver asked. "Yeah," Bellamy choked out before speaking up once more. "Promise me you won't tell anyone, not your mom, not anyone," Bellamy said, with a seriousness about him few people his age could muster.

"Okay, I promise," Oliver said before Bellamy opened the door slightly more and ushered him inside. Aurora was off about her business, something about a guard's uniform. When Oliver walked in, he saw a small baby girl, no older than one, resting on the bed: her dark hair brushed her cherubic face, as she slept peacefully. Oliver couldn't believe his eyes.

"Who is it?" he asked, staring at the baby, as he had never seen one before. "My sister," Bellamy said, his voice filled with emotion. Oliver knew the rules. Bellamy's mom would be floated, maybe even the baby; he wasn't sure.

"You can't say a word," Bellamy began. "They'll-"

"I know, Bell," Oliver said, cutting him off.

"What's her name?"

"Octavia," Bellamy said, standing beside his friend, looking at his sister sleeping peacefully on the bed.

"Your sister is my sister," Oliver said, placing a hand on Bellamy's shoulder. "Your responsibility is my responsibility."

"Thank you," Bellamy said.