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     A/N: Hey guys! Just so you know, this will graphically explain what I believe happened to Murphy during his torture with the Grounders. But after a certain part (you'll know what it is) it will be purely a request if one of my favorite people! (Shout out to said person in A/N at end).
Also, there is swearing so if you don't like, don't read. Seriously, don't waste your time on hating me over a few swear words.

   Also, this takes place three days after the episode of Murphy's Law. Thank you guys! Enjoy!

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Murphy's POV

     I stalked through the woods, listening for Grounders, but the only sound was the gentle swishing of wind through the leafy canopy above.

      After having been banished for three days, sleeping in trees and a constantly searching for food, I still hadn't been found by the Grounders, or the other Delinquents; for better or worse, I still didn't know.

      As a swig snaps somewhere nearby, I crouch down next to a large rock and pick up my knife waiting for whatever snapped the twig.

     Peaking over the rock, strands of dirty brown hair hanging in my eyes, there was nothing I could see except forest, great trees looming far overhead, creating a veil of jade with spectacular pillars of sunlight shining though the occasional open area.

     Looking back over my shoulder  towards the clear, gurgling stream, a bright flash barely under the surface of the water caught my attention.

     Cautiously, I prowled over to the unidentified object. I know that I shouldn't let curiosity get the better of me, but God, it's so difficult not to let spirit of inquiry take control of you.

    The flashing continued every time the rays of sun would shift across it when I moved into a different spot. Treading carefully into the water, I slowly reached down and lifted up a surprisingly heavy sheet of metal.

     Studying the metallic surface, I instantly spotted words carved into it. Being dyslexic, it was extremely difficult to read because of the words overlapping and blurring together, but I eventually got the message.

It read in English: We are here, Murphy of the SkaiKru. And you are trapped.

     Oh shit.

     I couldn't have ever reacted fast enough to have been able to get the hell out of that place before a unit of Grounders dropped from the trees and formed a tight circle around me.

    There were probably six in all, but only one of them was a woman. She had braided dark blonde hair with black roots. Her narrow, stoic face was adorned with black war paint surrounding her calculating, unreadable almond-shapes hazel eyes. She was dressed heavily, yet slimly, in black leather clothes that covered her whole body.

Crouching low and pulling out my knife, I eyed the people around me. The spoke to each other in Grounder language, Trigedasleng, before the female Grounder turned to me with a sort of icy fury burning in her eyes.

"Ge ste bö!" She barked at the men, before they closed in on me. I knew I was done in that moment, but the same anger that would slowly uncoil in my stomach, burning it's way through my veins and infecting my thought with rage in what seemed like all the wrong times had decided to unleash its sickening power as it roared in my ears and made me see red.

I charged at the nearest ground knife raised above my head as I twisted my body in angles to avoid his own retaliation, then stabbed into his chest, feeling the skin and muscle split under the pressure of the blade as it pierced his heart. I quickly pulled back and charged at the man in the left, baring my teeth before slashing his throat without any hesitancy.

I felt some grab me roughly from behind and pulled my hand back to stab them in their thigh, as I broke free from their grasp. I reached up to bring my knife down into the man's eye but before I could I felt a sudden stabbing pain on the backside of my right knee that made me gasp at the burning pain.

A twin of this struck my left upraised arm as I was shoved down by one of the other Grounders. Then I saw the female Grounder standing over me, eyes still cold and calculating.

      "You fight well, but this fight is not over for you, Murphy of the Skaikru." She whispered, almost proudly.

The last thing I saw before blackness was the underside of her boot coming down on my face.

(Time skip!! *cue TARDIS noises*)

I blinked my eyes open painfully, squinting at the yellow and orange flicker of torchlight. My hands were brought up to the wall behind me and tied, tough rope agitating the pale skin underneath.

Observing my surroundings, I notice I'm in a cave-like place, with torches and various weapons leaned up against walls or set on small, crude wooden tables. My feet were also bound together at the ankles.

My jacket and long-sleeved green shirt had been taken off, but I thankfully still had pants. Shifting around, I tried to feel if the rope was able to be removed. It wasn't.

I heard a creak as a door was swung open and a war paint covered Grounder stepped in, tattoos snaking up his neck. He didn't say anything. Just walked over to one of the walls, inspecting the weapons.

I paled as I realized that they were going to kill me. The man grabbed a simple dagger and began to walk over to me. Crouching down he dragged the blade gently across my neck, I still flinched however.

"I'm going to ask nicely first." He said in a low voice. "Tell me where the rest of the Sky People are."

I stayed silent verbally, but my thought were racing. Bellamy's there. I can't give him up. I won't give him up. One part of my brain raged, while the other part fought back just as violently. They tried to kill you! They wanted you to die! They all hate you, and you hate them. What difference would it make to you? None!

But somehow the other side won. Bellamy is there. Even if they accused me of murder, beat me, tried to hang me, and then banished me (which they did), I still wouldn't give them up.

The Grounder chuckled darkly. Leaning in closer, he said, "Let me rephrase this: You will tell me where your people are, or we will kill you."

I spat in his tattooed face.

"Fine." The Grounder said in a strained voice as he leaned back and wiped saliva off of his face. "We will do this the hard way."

He brandished the blade, holding it in front of my face for me to see. Then he quickly slashed my bare side. I yelped in pain as blood slide down my side in thick droplets.

    "If you're going to kill me then just do it already." I growled, eyes narrowed in hatred.

      "We will not kill you yet, Skaikru filth." He expounded, his voice laced with loathing.  "You are still useful to us as long as we understand that you have information of the enemy. So we will not kill you. But if you continue to withhold the intelligence we require then we will be forced to go to even more extreme methods of torture."

     Torture. They were going to torture me until I gave them what they wanted; the location to our- the camp.

     "Good luck with that, because I'm not telling you anything, Grounder filth." I mocked, delivering his insult back to him.

     A vicious snarl clawed its way onto his face as he slashed up my left side. I yelped in pain, but clenched my teeth before giving him any satisfaction in my torment.

         This is going to be an agonizing little while.

 
[Time skip (because I'm a lazy af author)!]

     After a full day of torture I could feel the various cuts and stabs- for they hand moved onto stabbing a few hours ago- becoming a bit less swollen than their previous state.

     My whole body wracked in pain, and if I weren't so exhausted and physically distressed then I would have been writhing from the suffering I had experienced.

     They had torn the finger nails on my right hand off using nothing but a sharpened wooden stick. And after each one had been removed, and after each cut or stab made the torturer would ask me one of two questions:

      1) Where is your camp located?

      2) When is your next attack?

     I wouldn't tell them the answer to the first question, but the second question answer I gave them, which was honest, they wouldn't believe!

     "I'll ask you again," the Grounder would say. "When is your next attack on our people?" 

     "I told you!" I'd shout. "We don't have attacks planned! We never even knew we were in a war!"

     "Lies!" A stab to somewhere in my body.

     It would go like that, and now here I was tied to a wall, trembling from the pain, and covered in both dried and fresh blood.

     I blinked off into sleep- or more like unconsciousness, awaiting for my next torture tomorrow.

(Time skip, and yes again. I promise it's worth it!)

      I woke up to a searing, burning pain right over where my heart would be placed. A rather harsh awakening complete with a scream of pain on my part.

As my eyes snapped open and the instrument of torture was removed I saw that it was a dagger that had been heated at such an extreme that it was brightly glowing a light orange, yellow, and white.

"Where is your camp located?" A different Grounder than the day before asked harshly.

"You may find that answer on the corner of 'None Of' and 'Your Business', then kindly shove it up your ass!" I snarled back with equal intensity.

He took the blade and pressed it against one of the cuts from last night. Pain erupted down my stomach as I shrieked in pain.

"When is your next attack?"

I painted heavily, to distraught to have heard the question. A fist hit my jaw and my head snapped back words, knocking against the rock wall behind.

"You will answer the questions eventually. So where is your camp?"

I fought the ringing that reverberated through my skull as unconsciousness threatened me with blackness seeping into my vision.

Then a felt a cold blade on the middle of my cheek. Then it was jerked upward, dragged jaggedly up my face. Thankfully, it missed my eye and went a bit above my eyebrow instead, a twin mark spaced three inches away.

"When is your next attack?"

"There is no attack plan! I've already told you this!"

"Fine. If there is none then tell us about your leader."

"I'm not tell you anything about my leader."

He swept the knife up to draw a shorter cut between the two aforementioned ones.

"The people in the camp?"

I remained silent. At this, the Grounder pulled back and left the room, leaving the blade. I wasn't alone for long, however. Soon, he marched back into the room with a searing hot dagger, presumedly the one from before.

He moved up to me then stabbed me with it, I screamed and writhed in agony, nearly blacking out in pain. The rope had long before rubbed my wrists raw and I could feel my skin begin to bleed.

"Tell me everything."

I, after years of never crying before, cried. Sobbed. This was all too much, far too much. I wanted to tell them so bad so they would just kill me and have it all over with, but I couldn't. Bellamy was still at the camp when I left, and I couldn't let them kill him. Even after he kicked that crate out from underneath me. I couldn't condemn him to death, even after he did so to me.

"No."

He slashed down from my left shoulder to my right hip, tearing up skin and flesh with the blades serrated teeth. I lost my breath.

I couldn't breath from how much pain I was in. Because the knife was heated, it cauterized the veins and arteries on the way down so I didn't bleed, but the pain was unbearable. I finally blacked out from pain after he cut a small spot just below my eye before tsk-ing in criticizing way. And then there was nothing but a Stygian sky painted in my closed eyes.

(Time skip)

I don't know how long it was before I woke up, but searing pain covered my body. I noticed I was now just laying on the floor, flat on my back, untied from the wall. I moved, trying to get up, but instantly regretted it.

It felt like I had broken everything from my abdomen, up. I yelped, then fell back to how I was before. My breathing was ragged, my body in the same state. I heard a door open to the room.

"Lok, sa fifté Skaikru bö!" A voice shouted as another laughed with him at the remark the first made.

"Wha a pahatìc creshir!" The other voice added, both still laughing.

I could hear them walking towards me. One kneeled down next to me. A woman, but she was different from the other the night I was taken.

"Are you ready to comply, weak boy?" She spat venomously.

     "Go to hell."

      She growled at me, baring her teeth, and then stood up. Without any warning, they both started kicking me with their tough boots. I doubled in on myself, helping in pain. Then, after a few minutes that felt like eons, the Grounders ceased their kicking.

       "Tell us about your commander!" A different voice, this one male, demanded.

        "I said, 'go to hell!'"

     "You've gone two days here without food, probably another before. So we will give you some." The female spoke, as the man left the room.

      Soon he came back in with fruit I had heard about in the Earth Skills class. He held in his hand an apple. The woman grabbed my shoulders roughly before sitting me upright, leaning against the wall.

     The man dropped the apple in front of me, the stepped back. I didn't move, in far too much pain to even try. But I guess the sudden hunger in my stomach stipulated otherwise.

       Reaching forward slowly, I grabbed the apple in my right hand (the hand that hadn't lost its nails), and examined it. It didn't look poisoned. Rotten, yes, most definitely, but from what my inexperienced eye could tell, it was safe to eat; except for imaginable worms squirming around the core.

      I took a small, hesitant bite, then swallowed. My stomach fought for me to take another bite, and it won. I took another bite, savoring it, even though it was rotten and probably poisoned. I took more bites until all that was left was the core, where there was a worm, in fact.

The Grounders had left some time before, so I was left to sit alone, but the isolation was the best thing that has happened to me in a long time.

A few hours later, the Grounder that had been with me the first day came back.

"Throw up." He ordered me, at which I was utterly confused.

"Throw up!" He demanded again.

"I don't know what you mean, jackass! So could you explain it a little better?" I snapped back, unwisely.

He marched over with anger smeared on his face, took a stick, then grabbed my chin roughly, forced my mouth open, and shoved the stick down my throat. Now, if this hadn't have been what it was then I would've made an innuendo, but I understood what he was trying to do now. He wanted me to purge myself.

I gagged and choked until he removed the piece of wood, then turned to the right and puked. I puked until I was dry heaving, and I could feel the acid that had come up with the rotten apple.

I leaned back against the wall, in pain and exhausted.

"Tell us of your commander." He said.

I didn't respond. Only held out my right hand. He looked at me with a severe look before taking the stick to my nails. As he pried the first one off I screamed. It hurt so bad, but I couldn't tell them. I couldn't.

After each nail he would ask me a question about the camp, about the commander, and about the other people. I spoke not a word about it. After he had gone to cutting and burning me I spoke not a word about it.

Then he finally left me, and I fell asleep soon after, though I had thought that the pain would keep me awake.

(Time skip!)

On the third day I still hadn't broke. They had me purge myself several times, they burned me like they had no other time, they even cut deeper than before. I couldn't take it. But I didn't break at the end of the third day, even as they poked at prodded at the tops of my fingers where my nails had once been.

I cried and screamed from the pain, but I didn't break. I just hoped that they would kill me soon, because I couldn't take much more of this.

"Fine." The female Grounder from when they beat said. "We will go to more drastic measures."

She stormed out of the room, leaving me tied to the rock wall. I still sobbed in both pain and sorrow. I wanted to tell them so bad, but I couldn't. I wouldn't. But the pain was unbearable, excruciating. But I couldn't let Bellamy down, even if I was dead to him.

She came back in with the Grounder that had been with the group the night they captured me. She held a small wooden box with four unique symbols carved into it.

"You," she said, speaking to me. "Are stronger than you appear."

She stood right in front of me and closed her as as she opened the box, chanting in a language that wasn't Grounder. A violent wind swept into the room, knocking over weapons, tables, and torches. Then, four colorful wisps of smoke pulled themselves out of the box.

The first was a deep red, like thick blood spilling out from a fallen soldier. Then second was a pale, tan color. It shook as it rose from the box as if desperate for something, but too weak to get it.

The third was a malicious green and blue, swirling as it seemed to expand. And the last, and the most terrifying, was the black one. It would alternate between a pure, ghostly white and a deep, enrapturing black. It seemed to suck the life out of you, making it difficult to breath. Even though I was the smallest of the four, it seemed as though an aura around it loomed above everything else, encasing the room in a shroud of quiet dark energy.

They all wrapped around the wind that funneled through the room, before it shot straight toward me. My jaw unhinged, my nostrils flared, and my eyes rolled into the back of my skull as these four apparitions flew into me through my mouth, nose and eyes.

I could feel myself losing control of my body, and I fought to keep it, but I was no use. It was a battle I would easily lose.

     I began to fall back, yet it was almost like I wasn't, as if my conscience was, but not my physical body. I fell back into a downward spiral of various thoughts and colored scenes, and though the thoughts were vivid and wild, constantly leading from one to the next, the scenes seemed dull, as if all the emotion had stripped from the picture.

     Soon my back hit a solid surface with a thump. All the pain I had been suffering seemed to have disappeared as soon of the spirits took control of me. All of the things I had witnessed since falling we're now gone, and the space around me was an unfathomably black expanse, every corner stretched in an endless ebony veil.

     Into the depth that surrounded me a screen blinked to life showing the last thing I saw before arriving in this place. 

     The female Grounder from my capture stood backed up against the far wall, obviously trying desperately not to let fear creep into her eyes. The screen shifted to look at the ropes that bound my wrists. I watched as they withered away into nothing more than dust.

"Anya," four separate but equally bone-chilling voices, like metal scrapping against metal, spoke, all with different pitches and frequencies. "You have called upon our services. What is it you are requesting?"

"Horsemen," Anya said with great respect. "There are invaders now threatening us. They started a war with my people and I intend to end it. I ask of your assistance in the eradication of the Sky People."

      The four voices chuckled. "And who's body is this?"

      "It is a Sky Person that we have been tracking since he was seemingly banished from their camp." Anya responded.

      "We have access to all of the information this boy has, so why not just ask of us that?" The Horsemen spoke menacingly.

      "We will not survive this war without you help. Please, War, Famine, Pestilence, Death, we need you."

      The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. What are they doing here? I though they were just a myth! But they're actual entities...?

      "As you wish, Anya of the Trikru."

      Anya relaxed visibly, then bowed with a my shirt stretched out on her hand. I felt my body move forward, the Horsemen controlling me. They took the shirt as Anya moved aside. They moved out of the door to reveal a village. The people inhabiting it must have somehow known of my possession because they cowered in both fear and respect as they parted.

      We then reached the forest, treading over leaves and sticks carelessly. I could here them bickering out loud to one another as I tried to memorize my surroundings and every step they took.

     "No, I'm not wrong! I'm always right!" A deep, gravelly voice argued.

     "That's what you always think, War! Cant you just accept the fact that you're wrong for once?!" A voice with an annoying buzz shouted sternly.

     "Your one to talk about stubborn habits, Pestilence! Always such an annoyance. I swear, your nuisance will spread to everyone you come into contact with!" A scratchy, dry voice spoke. "Now, can we please find something to eat? I'm starving!"

      "You're always starving, Famine. That's kind of what you do." War said in exasperation. "Besides, with all your complaining you'll make the rest of us hungry, too!"

      "I can't help it!" Famine whined.

      "I don't care, War doesn't care, and no one else cares!" Pestilence told Famine, irritably. "And I doubt Death cares!"

      "You don't know that!" Famine countered. "He almost never says anything, so you don't have the right to speak for him!"

       "Famine's got a point there." War agreed.

      "Be quiet, all of you." A soft voice spoke, but it was so much like a whisper and radiated so much coldness that everyone immediately grew silent.

      "You are all acting like children. Stop this nonsense. We have a mission to complete." The voice who I could only assume was Death finished.

      We traveled a long distance before War spoke up. "We must act convincing, use this boys voice rather than our own. Do everything he would."

"And why would that be necessary? Why not just attack them straightforward and be done with them?" Pestilence questioned.

"Always such a bore, aren't you Pestilence?" War said. "Why don't we play with these vermin before we obliterate them?"

"I suppose that could be fun." Pestilence agreed.

Famine laughed in his raspy voice. "I can't wait to burn their food!"

"And just imagine! Hemorrhagic Fever spreading around the camp! People choking on their own blood!" Pestilence cried dreamily.

"And everyone will begin to turn on each other. I'll make sure of it." War said with a viciously proud voice.

"And I," Death spoke up. "Will be there to claim the lives of every newborn soul, every causality of war, and every victim of hunger and disease all alike."

The rest of the Horsemen laughed. "Yeah," Pestilence laughed. "Enjoy gathering your fruit! We're gonna be having fun, unlike you!"

All the voices then fell silent. "S-s-sorry, Death. I didn't mean it like that." Pestilence stuttered.

Death laughed, an eerie sound in the silent forest. "We all know how you meant it, Pestilence. We shall see how this will cost you in the future."

For a long time after there was only the crunching of leaves beneath our feet. Then we met the camp.

"The fun begins, brothers. Let us continue." War smiled, and then they ran forward, straight toward the obvious barbed wire line in between the trees.

I knew that this is what they planned for; to get tripped up in the barbed wire as if we were running from the Grounders. We tumbled down and immediately became entangled in spiked wire as we thrashed about.

     I could here shouts coming from inside the camp as Delinquents charged forward, guns aimed at my forehead. I ran around desperately searching a way out of this prison of ebony swathe, but found none.

      My heart skipped a beat as Bellamy came forward, but it immediately turned into that anger that crawled though my veins, searing my thoughts and putting a veil of red over the screen I've been watching from. And it didn't help to ease this when Clarke Griffin, 'Princess,' followed right after him.

      They pulled us from the barbed wire and bound our wrists together, pulling us towards the Dropship and tossing us in. Bellamy stepped toward us threateningly, but something told me that he wouldn't have been able to beat me to death no matter what everything in him screamed. 

      Clarke intervened, stepping in between Bellamy and me (well, the Horsemen, too), putting a gentle hand in his chest, which, to my pleasure, he shrugged off.

      "He deserves to die!" He shouted to Clarke, only taking his eyes of me once to look at Clarke to make his point.

      "I know!" Clarke shouted back. "I know he does, but if we kill him then we are no better than the Grounders. Besides, he might have useful information. He knows where the Grounders village is!"

     Clarke turned to us. "How did you escape?" She asked.

      "They forgot to lock the door." The Horsemen said quietly, bitterly; there voices matched mine perfectly, and it didn't sound like four different people were speaking. Just me. "I ran for it."

      "You know where the village is, right?" Clarke asked.

"Mostly. I wasn't really paying attention. You know, because I was running for my life."

Clarke didn't respond, just turned to Bellamy and said, "See? He could still be useful."

That reminded me of what that Grounder said during my first day of torture. I was useful.

"Fine." Bellamy said lowly. "But I want him monitored at all times. He isn't to be left alone."

"Alright." Clarke said. "But until I find someone-" Carter, who was in the Dropship with us, suddenly keeled over, coughing, and fell onto the floor.

Clarke immediately rushed to his side as he began to seize, coughing up blood, choking on his own ichor. Clarke tried desperately too help him, but it was too late. Carter was dead.

"What's wrong with him?" Bellamy asked.

"I-I don't know." She turned his body, looking for any physical symptoms as to what might have caused his death.

Then we heard coughing outside, and someone shouted. "Taylor!"

Bellamy and Clarke jogged out of the Dropship, and whatever they saw wasn't good, because they soon brought in a female Delinquent who, like Carter, was coughing up blood.

They turned her on her side and she vomited red. I began to cough, and though I, myself, couldn't feel anything due to my imprisoned state, I could see trough the screen that I had blood on my had from where I covered my mouth.

I began to cough more violently, turning on my side and throwing up my blood. Bellamy left Clarke with Taylor and came to my side. I hadn't expected him to do so, for he had wanted me dead just moments before.

"Murphy..." he muttered as he kept me steadily on my side though the seizure-like state I was in until I was only dry heaving painfully.

He sat me up to face him, one hand surprisingly enough gently cupping my cheek as he leaned me against the wall. Then got up and left to go meet Clarke. As always.

The Horsemen pulled my lips up into a nasty smile as they watched the newfound chaos unfold. This is exactly what they wanted.

      Clarke approached me with that look of rapid thought in her mind. She put her hand to my forehead but the Horsemen smacked her away.

       "I need to see if you have a fever!" She shouted irritably then put the backside of her hand against my forehead without being pushed away.

    "Shit...." she muttered, then looked at my ankles. They were swollen. "Swollen cheeks and ankles..." she spoke to herself before touching my neck, not taking a pulse, but almost as if looking for something.

     "This isn't good." She said as she pulled away. "Do you have a headache?"

      "More like a migraine, but yeah. I do." The Horsemen spoke.

       "What about muscle pain?"

      "I was tortured for three days. Of course I'm going to be in pain!"

       "Hemorrhagic Fever..." she murdered as she ran off to Bellamy who was now leaving the Dropship.

       Hemorrhagic Fever?! Seriously?!

      There wasn't much I could do except sit there, leaning against the cold metal wall, having no control of my body.

      People were slowly, but steadily being brought into the Dropship. There were 5 in all as of now, me included. All the Delinquents that were brought in would give me nasty looks full of hate and contempt.

I had started a death count, watching as people I knew died. I could feel Pestilence's pride in what he had done. Soon the night fell on us, and the others around me fell asleep. The door to the Dropship was closed.

     My body shifted, lifting itself up and moving towards the hatch. It opened the door, yet something seemed to silence all of the noise that usually came with it. We stepped out of the Dropship and onto the solid ground.

     We moved to the back of the camp until we reached a tent. It looked no different from the others, but the Horsemen seemed intent. The zipped it open, again with the eerie silence, and took a step in.

      Two boys were sprawled out, sleeping soundly in their sleeping bags, faint snores reiterating each one before. They walked to the nearest boy, knelt down, and bickered amongst one another.

"What should we do now?" Pestilence buzzed.

"I'm already doing my part, and Death has, too. It's your turn, Famine." War said.

"Finally..." Famine growled, hungrily- ironically enough. "Huger shall plague this people, and starvation will drive them mad..." A pale, tan wisp floated calmly out of my mouth and into the boys.

     Then the Horsemen stood up and walked back to the Dropship, slouching down into our previous spot. As the screen blinked off, I was left alone in complete, yet empty darkness, nothing but my thoughts of what was too come to keep me company.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Follow: APOLLOOOOKID for this brilliant idea.

Word count: 5,340.