The fire crackled softly as night enveloped the camp, its warmth doing little to soothe the tension hanging thick in the air. The events of the day weighed heavily on everyone's mind. Ares sat quietly near the flames, sharpening the same spear he'd used to kill the Grounder. Around him, the camp buzzed with activity—muted conversations, nervous glances, and the sound of makeshift weapons being fashioned.
But while the others were focused on the immediate threat of Grounders, Ares' mind drifted to the Ark.
Memories of the Ark
Ares had lived a relatively peaceful life there, at least compared to how things were now. Before everything went to hell, he had been just another teenager, trying to stay out of trouble. But things had taken a dark turn when his parents were caught stealing. It was a minor theft—food rations, mostly—but the Ark's laws were unforgiving.
His parents had been floated without hesitation.
The memory of that day was burned into his mind. The guards had come in force, dragging his mother and father away like criminals. Ares had lashed out, his rage uncontrollable, attacking the guards with everything he had. He didn't care about the consequences. All he could see was red.
They'd overpowered him easily, of course. He was young and untrained. But the guards hadn't been merciful. His assault had been enough to get him sentenced to the Sky Box, alongside the other delinquents, awaiting their punishment.
Ares had spent those final months in solitary, his anger festering, his grief turning into something darker. When they had sent him down with the 100, he had no expectations of survival. But that was before the system had appeared—before he'd realized that this world offered him something far greater than just a second chance at life. It offered him power.
Back at Camp
While Ares, Clarke, and the others had been out exploring the wilderness, tensions had been mounting back at camp. The camp itself was still in a state of disorder. Most of the delinquents were restless, unaccustomed to the harsh realities of life on Earth. The absence of supplies and leadership had led to growing frustration and in-fighting.
Bellamy had taken control during Ares' absence, his charisma and forceful personality quickly earning him the loyalty of a large portion of the delinquents. "We're on our own now," Bellamy had told them. "No more rules. We make our own way. We decide who lives and who dies."
His rhetoric had stirred something primal in the camp—freedom mixed with chaos. But it wasn't long before that freedom began to spiral.
As Ares observed from a distance, he noticed the cracks beginning to show. Bellamy's leadership was strong but reckless. He encouraged the others to embrace their new-found autonomy without considering the consequences.
Wells, son of Chancellor Jaha, had tried to maintain order. He argued for rebuilding society, for structure and cooperation. But his calls for peace fell on deaf ears. To many, Wells represented the Ark—the old order, the oppressive regime that had condemned them to die.
Murphy had been the loudest voice against Wells, spouting venom at every turn. "Look at him," Murphy had sneered earlier in the day, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Chancellor of Earth, huh? Do you think that title means something down here?"
Wells, to his credit, had held his ground, though it was clear the words stung.
Tensions Rising
The conflict between Wells and Murphy had been simmering all day, and it finally boiled over just before Ares and the others returned. Murphy, emboldened by the chaos Bellamy had stirred up, had confronted Wells in front of everyone.
"I'm sick of you acting like we should follow the rules," Murphy had snarled, shoving Wells. "We're done with the Ark. Done with your father's rules."
Wells stood his ground, his voice calm but firm. "We need order, Murphy. Without it, we won't survive."
Murphy's fist lashed out, catching Wells across the face. Wells staggered back, wiping the blood from his lip, but he didn't retaliate. The crowd had gathered around, some jeering, others watching in tense silence.
"That's the difference between us," Murphy had spat. "You think we need your father's laws. I know we don't."
Before things could escalate further, Bellamy had stepped in, pulling Murphy back. "Enough. We don't need this right now."
But the damage had been done. Wells' authority, tenuous as it was, had taken a serious hit. The camp was divided—those who followed Bellamy's call for freedom and those who believed, like Wells, that without some kind of order, they would fall apart.
The Group Returns
When Ares, Clarke, Finn, Octavia, Jasper, and Monty finally made it back to camp, they could sense the tension in the air. Bellamy spotted them first, his eyes narrowing slightly as they approached.
"Did you find anything?" Bellamy asked, looking at Clarke.
"Grounders," Clarke said simply. "We're not alone out here."
The camp fell silent at her words, the weight of the revelation hitting everyone at once. Bellamy's expression hardened. "And you killed one?" he asked, his gaze flicking to Ares.
Ares nodded. "It's just the beginning. We need to prepare."
Bellamy glanced at the group of delinquents who had gathered to listen. "Prepare how? We don't even have enough weapons."
Ares' jaw tightened. "Then we make weapons."
Wells, standing off to the side, spoke up. "We need to establish some form of order. We can't just let things spiral out of control."
Bellamy's gaze shifted to Wells, and a smirk played on his lips. "Order? You mean like your dad's order? That worked out real well on the Ark, didn't it?"
Wells didn't rise to the bait, but Ares could see the hurt flash across his face. Clarke stepped in, trying to defuse the situation. "We don't have time for this. The Grounders are real. We need to be united if we're going to survive."
Ares' Next Move
As the arguments continued, Ares quietly slipped away from the crowd, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. He could see it now—Bellamy's loose grip on leadership, the division in the camp, the danger from the Grounders.
It was all falling into place. He knew he was stronger than the others, faster, more capable. The system had given him a glimpse of what he could become. And soon, they would see it too. Bellamy was a temporary figurehead. Ares would be the one to truly lead them, to bring order out of the chaos.
He glanced down at his status screen, the familiar panel appearing in his mind.
Status Update
Name: Ares
Level: 2
XP: 500/1,000
Stats:
Strength: 22
Agility: 22
Constitution: 21
Intelligence: 20
Charm: 25
Skills:
Healing Factor (Level 2): Rapidly regenerates minor injuries.
Body of Steel (Level 1): Increased physical resilience. Can withstand small arms fire and basic projectiles.
Bullet Time (Passive): Heightened reflexes during combat, allowing time to feel slower in dangerous situations.
He was halfway to his next level, and with each kill, with each challenge, he would only grow stronger. The others didn't realize it yet, but they needed him. The Grounders weren't the only threat out here—chaos would destroy them if they weren't careful.
Ares knew his time was coming. All he had to do was wait for the right moment.
As the camp settled down for the night, Ares remained near the fire, his thoughts far from sleep. This was only the beginning.