Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the Hunger Games, but I do own the characters from the Outer Rims and most of the characters from The Nest.
Pain, cold, water…death. The words repeated themselves again and again as Finnick yelled to Katniss to help him. He'd heard that right before death a person's life flashes before their eyes, but nothing of his past was flashing through his mind. It was only the future he was worried about. If he were dead, how could he make sure the war was won? If he were dead, what would happen to Annie? They needed him, they all did. He had to be there to help them.
They could save him, he knew they could, they could shoot the Muttant creatures that were attacking him and they could pull him out. If he were Peeta they would, if he were Katniss they definitely would, and if they couldn't, they'd all die trying. Probably even Gale they'd risk their lives for, but he wasn't Gale or Peeta, he was just Finnick.
By the expression on Katniss' face, he knew he was about to die.
She couldn't save him, or she didn't think she could, or maybe she just didn't care enough. She was saying something but with all the grunting and yelling around him he couldn't understand her.
And then she dropped the Holo and he knew what she'd been saying. Nightlock. Instead of saving him, she was trying to save him from further pain by blowing him up.
The world seemed to slow down. No! His mind shouted, I don't want to die! Not now! There's too much left to do!
Was this how his life would end? Death because he'd saved his friends and they couldn't save him? They could have, he knew they could have. But they wanted to be rid of the Muttants, and to do that what better way was there then to blow them up? So what that he happened to be there in the blast zone. The majority of their squad was more important than him, he was nothing. Would they even miss him? Sure, for a few days maybe, a few hours…Annie would miss him, but no one else would really care. He just wasn't important enough.
He didn't even really have any friends, this Squad team he was in was about as friendly of friends he was ever going to get, and here they were, blowing him up.
All these thoughts passed through his head the same instant Katniss dropped the Holo. But in the next instant, Finnick had a surge of strength, he couldn't die. They needed him whether they realized it or not. In the back of his mind, he didn't really believe it, but if thinking it for a moment would save his life, then he was going to think it.
He threw himself suddenly sideways and jerked himself away from the Muttants and under the water, he launched himself past them and then he was swimming for his life. Ten feet, just ten feet. The distance had never felt so long before.
Finnick had only gotten four arm strokes away when he heard the explosion, could he out run it? How far away was he? He dove under the water ignoring the hands that grabbed at him, to try to pull him back.
The explosion sent a tidal wave through the water just as Finnick surfaced again and the wave smashed him face first into the side of the concrete wall.
He felt blood running down his face from his eyebrow as he fell back into the blackish knee deep water.
A slimy inhuman hand grabbed his throat and pulled him out of the water. The creature screamed in his face.
Finnick grinned. He was alive! He wasn't dead, if he were he wouldn't be able to feel the pain that was shooting through his arms and now throat.
Finnick pushed himself out of the water and came down on the Muttant, stabbing his spear into its chest and plunging it through.
Then ripping it out, he turned around, the grin instantly fading from his face.
The Hollow's explosion had killed quite a lot of the Muttant creatures, but the number it had killed was nothing compared to the amount that remained, there were even more than before. They were filling the underground room so completely that some had to be on top of others and some were clinging upside-down to the roof, and he was sure they were all looking at him, eyeless though they were, and grinning evilly.
Why they hadn't charged yet, he had no idea. Apparently they were waiting for his first move. They didn't just want to kill him, they were having fun. The thought made him sick.
The bottom half of the ladder was gone. There was a chance that he could jump up and grab the remainder of it, but these mutant creatures could climb on the roofs and they'd all be after him as fast as they could.
And that would lead them to Katniss and the others.
So what? Wouldn't it be easier to kill them if he had teammates next to him? No, he couldn't go after them. He was still going to die, running through these underground tunnels for years? He couldn't do it, and with these things constantly after him, he wouldn't have a chance.
He'd barely escaped death, and now he was looking it in the eye again.
But the thing was, if he hadn't escaped from that explosion, all the remaining Muttants would already be after his team. He had been right, they did need him; they needed him to distract the Muttants so they could get away. They still needed him, even though they had no idea.
He couldn't lead these things to them, he had to lead them away. He would die down here, no doubt about it. And no one would ever know how he'd died; they all already thought he was dead. They would never know he'd risked his life twice for them.
The thoughts hurt him like knives stabbing into him; he wasn't important to them. They hadn't even tried to save him. Yet here he was about to save them for another time. Why had he called out for help? The guiltiness of it had finally reached him, he hadn't wanted to die, and he'd wanted them to save them. But that had been selfish of him. If they had tried to save hime, they might all be dead. Better just him then all of them.
The Muttants were getting impatient for him to move, and some started crawling forward. Oh, why couldn't they have been Muttant dogs? Instead they had humanoid hands and could climb even on the walls and roofs; he wouldn't be safe anywhere from them.
"You want me!?" He shouted at them spinning his spear in his left hand, "Come and get me!" His voice echoed through the cave and he was proud that it sounded confident.
Then turning, he started to run.
Behind him he heard a howling scream that was taken up by all the creatures—their battle cry. And then he could hear them all charge. Water was splashing everywhere and he could hear their scratchy skin scrapping on the roof and on the walls.
It was not easy to run through knee-deep water, and his gear slowed him down. As he ran he tried to get a better inspection of himself. His sleeves were torn to shreds with scratches and bits. At first he'd thought they'd been trying to eat him, but now he realized they'd just been trying to torture him, they had a minor venom in their teeth and his wounds stung like they were acid. If he hadn't been wearing the bullet proof padding he'd be dead already, but most of them had gone for his chest but they couldn't get to it and instead were biting and scratching the thick pad which was hardly even scratched.
They had hardly touched his legs, though he did have a long scratch up his right calf. He was pretty sure that that had come from one of the times he was thrown into some sharp metal. As he ran past a copper pipe that was sticking out of the wall to his right he got a glimpse of his face.
He had mud smeared across the part of his face that he wasn't exactly sure where it had come from, he had some minor scratches from the concrete wall, and his left eyebrow was bleeding quite a bit, the blood was almost to his eye.
He quickly wiped the blood off his face and shook it off his hand into the water.
Something thrashed in the water and he turned his head slightly to look behind him. The Muttants were attacking the water where the blood had splashed into it. They were attracted to blood.
There was a hand gun strapped to his leg which he hadn't remembered before, he remembered it now and he pulled it out as he was running. Just as he pulled it into his hand he passed another pipe, and in this reflection he saw himself running, the tunnel behind him filled with a white mass of crawling, scratching, screaming creatures.
And they had almost caught up.
Finnick looked up and saw directly above him were ten or twelve creatures running on the roof trying to keep up with him, their heads hanging down, grinning at him with their massive mouths and pointed teeth.
He shot one, his aim was slightly off because he was running and instead of taking the creature in the face, the bullet went into its neck. He couldn't look away fast enough so that he wouldn't see the damage it did, but to his surprise, the creature didn't bleed. The bullet just disappeared into its neck as if it hadn't even been there. The only thing that let Finnick know he'd actually shot it, was that it then fell off the roof and was trampled by its fellow creatures.
They didn't have blood—only Finnick had blood and that was why they were chasing him, and not each other.
He wiped some more blood off his eyebrow and smeared it on the concrete wall of the tunnel as he was running past.
Finnick through a look over his shoulder in time to see four or five creatures start bashing their faces into the wall where the blood was smeared.
How could he win this fight? There was no way, it was absolutely impossible. There were thousands of them that he could see, and probably even more that he couldn't.
Suddenly he came to a branch off out of the water. He climbed up onto the concrete level and took a quick look to the left and right. He was standing on a track like a few they'd seen earlier, but this one was all torn up and looked like it hadn't been used in years.
To his left, the tunnel was suddenly filled with a panting sound so loud it matched the noise of the Muttants behind him. The decision was made for him and he went right.
He couldn't run fast enough, why did he bother? His misery would end if he just gave up. But he knew it wouldn't. These things didn't want to kill him, they wanted to torture him slowly, he was sure of it.
But how could he outrun them?
A hand grabbed his leg and he tripped, jerking swiftly over onto his back to face his attacker. He couldn't out run them; it had been a hopeless attempt all along.
He shot it. He didn't have time however to get back up and abruptly he was surrounded by all their grinning faces. If they could speak Finnick knew they'd be shouting triumph. Instead they screamed their battle cry, if that's what it was.
They didn't attack him right away, but kept up their battle cry and beat themselves on their chests screaming.
Finnick suddenly realized that these weren't the Muttants the capital had sent after them, these were Cave Borgs; he'd heard stories about them a long time ago. No one knew where they come from; maybe they were Muttants of the government that had gone rouge years and years ago. But these weren't mindless creatures. They couldn't speak, but they could think, even if just barely. He'd heard that if they thought you were a worthy component, they would fight you one on one, starting with their best warriors.
A few of the Cave Borgs had charged him, and all those lay dead with bullets in their heads.
He was still lying on his back his heart pounding waiting to be attacked. Four of them came forward but instead of attacking him they dragged the dead ones away from him. Then they all started backing up.
They were creating a ring around him.
Borgs crawled across the roof to get on the other side, they were trying to make they're numbers even on each side of him so that he couldn't escape.
He was in a death trap. And now they would fight him one by one until he lost his strength and one of them killed him.
And they started with their best.
Finnick slowly stood up, a gun in one hand and his spear in the other. He mustn't let fear show in his face or they might not think he was worthy competition anymore.
A still hush fell over the group of them. The tunnel was so quiet that he was sure they could all hear his heartbeat.
The borgs that stood in the direction he'd come from silently started to step away from the middle of the tunnel creating a pathway.
And walking up the path they created was a single Borg.
Only this one was different. He was at least a head taller than all the others and he had metal shrapnel sticking out of where his eyebrows would be as decoration. He had armor on, which wasn't actually very good armor, just pieces of metal that appeared to have been stabbed into him. He had metal spikes sticking out of his arms all the way down to his wrists and had bent pieces of metal around his ankles and feet that were sort of like boots that had jagged metal sticking off of it every which way.
As soon as this Borg had stepped into the circle the pathway closed behind him and all the borgs started yelling again, only this time the seemed to have a rhythm.
This was not something that Finnick had expected, and now he had no chance of escape because he was surrounded. If he backed up, they might think he was scared and all tear him to pieces at once. These creatures were evil; they liked to see people suffer.
The creature in front of him raised a hand and seemed to point at Finnick's gun.
Before Finnick could pull the trigger to end the battle quickly, he was tackled by three other borgs. He fought desperately trying to get them off and in the struggle shot one, but then his gun and spear were ripped out of his hands, they forcefully took his bag of supplies and the two knives that were strapped to his belt.
When they tried to take his wedding ring off of his left hand, he punched the borg in the face knocking out some of its teeth. They then left him alone and went back to the outer edge of the circle.
Once Finnick had staggered to his feet, his opponent charged him.
Finnick dodged sideways and slipped past him to the other side of the arena. So he had to fight without weapons? Fine, he'd manage somehow.
He raised his fists and readied his stance; it had been a long time since he'd been in a fist fight. And this time the creature he was fighting had metal spikes sticking out all over him.
The borg rushed Finnick again and tried to head-butt him, Finnick barely avoided getting his eyes slashed open by the borg's eyebrow spikes by punching it in the face. His blow staggered the borg, but it only made the creature grin even bigger.
Finnick was getting a headache by all the screaming and the toxin in his cuts was making him feel dizzy. He dodged the borg's next attack but it's third lunge caught Finnick off balance and he was slammed into the tunnel wall.
He was too tired, in too much pain, he wouldn't even be able to defeat this first opponent…at least he'd been able to distract them from Katniss and Gale and the rest. At least the war could still be won without him.
The borg drew one of his shrapnel projections across Finnick's jaw line and laughing the most horrible laugh Finnick had ever heard.
Finnick couldn't bring himself to punch the creature, his arms hung back refusing to help him, they were in too much pain. So he started kicking the borg as hard as he could, which apparently wasn't hard enough.
All the borgs were laughing now, a cold evil screeching sound. It was cut off by a shrill scream. And then suddenly Finnick could hear the panting again.
He'd never in his life been so glad to see a Muttant dog before.
And there wasn't just one, there were hundreds and they all started attacking the borgs. The borg dropped Finnick to fight the dogs. Finnick landed on the ground and for a few moments he couldn't move at all, everything was in too much pain.
But then he saw his weapons across the tunnel in a pile and he had some hope.
He lunged off the floor and ran for them, borgs and mutant dogs attacked each other and a few tried to attack him but were then attacked by something else.
Finnick strapped on his weapons, slung his back pack on and started to run again. The creatures that didn't move out of his way, he shot or knocked aside with his spear and then he was passed them all and he was running down the dark tunnel lighted with only an overhanging lamp here and there.
Some of the borgs started to chase him, and so did some of the mutant dogs. As they chased him they occasionally attacked each other, but mostly they kept after him.
Finnick rounded a corner right before they caught up to him. Ahead of him were three truck-like train cars that were on the track. The track looked fairly new, and there were several men wearing black and red military suits loading boxes onto the flat beds of the truck.
They didn't look like peacekeepers, but Finnick didn't know what else they could be, so he was now sure he was going to have to fight three enemies all at once.
He turned to shoot the creatures that had caught up to him but his gun clicked on an empty chamber. He tossed it, and started whacking them aside with his spear. He couldn't think about the pain anymore, he was fighting for his life yet again, and he really, really did not want to die.
Suddenly, he heard machinegun fire, and he dropped to the ground afraid of being hit. The borgs and the Muttant dogs were falling dead all around him some were dying as they grabbed for him or jumped at him. He wanted to scramble backwards, the creatures were too close. But then the men who were shooting at them would know he was still alive.
The machine gun fire continued as more and more of the creatures appeared. But he then heard the sound of running footsteps coming toward him, Think I'm dead he thought please think I'm dead.
They didn't, however, and suddenly hands were grabbing his shoulders and pulling him up. Finnick's eyes flared open.
"Let go of me!" he shouted and tried to wrench away.
They were pulling him quickly toward the trucks and they either didn't hear him or really didn't care what he said.
He was able to jerk one hand free and slammed his spear handle into the back of one of their heads but they were wearing armored helmets and it didn't seem to affect them.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire he thought although he was still struggling just as much.
Suddenly he was shoved to the ground, he heard a voice say, "Get him out of here!"
Finnick jumped to his feet and right into two men who grabbed him suddenly and tried to pull his hands together.
They snapped a cuff on his right wrist but they weren't able to pull his left down to it, and he started swinging his spear into them as quickly as he forcefully as he could, which at this point wasn't very hard.
"Stop struggling!" One of them yelled into his face, "We're trying to help you!"
"Yeah, right!" Finnick shouted back, "You're trying to kill me just like everyone else."
His wounds were really throbbing now and the pain was getting deeper, his dizziness had gotten worse and the two men suddenly looked like four. He realized he was losing consciousness. Someone tried to take the spear out of his hand but he held onto it for dear life thinking that if he didn't let go of it, he could still live, he'd still had a change.
Faintly he could hear yelling over the machine gun fire but he couldn't quite hear what was being said. He felt himself stop struggling and that someone threw him onto the back of one of the truck things. They handcuffed the other cuff to a post that was on the truck bed and then someone flipped a switch on the side of the truck which started the engine.
He barely heard himself mumbling, "We have to win, we have to win the war, Katniss has to win, this has to end..." As the truck-like train car raced down the track towards he didn't know where.