Hunger Games


Chapter Four


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I crouch at the edge of the roof. I learned the habit from my seventeenth Hunger Games, finally realizing my losses came from my inability to run at the slightest provocation of the threat. In every encounter in the Hunger Games, all is a fight-or-flight situation, and for me, in the old days, I always chose flight, knowing it would help me survive just a little bit longer.

Now, of course, my perch just reminds me of how many people I've killed.

Jerome collapses next to me. "Lemme guess what you're thinking about," he says in a serious tone. "Imagining all the people you've killed in the Hunger Games, amirite?"

I swallow and force my head to move up and down. Jerome knows me too well to be fooled.

I met Jerome in my first Hunger Games. He asked in general in the chat who wanted to be partners, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to have an ally or two.

As it turned out, that duo still remains true to this day.

Jerome smiles, though the spark that normally accompanies it in his dark eyes is missing. "I've been thinking about the same thing. All those people, with no solidity to themselves..."

He shakes his head. "I sound like a depressed person."

"Whoa," I say, holding up my hands. "Watch out, we got a... fat bacca over here...?"

Jerome laughs at my loss for words. "Bacon!"

"Yeah, bacon!"

"Haha!"

"'Hey, guys, watch out, we got a bacon over here!'"

[...]

The ink seems to curl and bloom around the page of its own accord, my hand simply following its lead. When I step back to admire my handiwork, I instantly know that what I have created strikes a nerve for everyone on the Team.

I have created Nekasha.

She was the one Jason loved more than anything, and whom he would have killed for. If she had said it... He probably would have killed us, too.

I scowl and crumple the paper.

[...]

Eve gazes out the window, a perplexed look on her translucent face. Kaitlyn joins her, her expression tense.

Seto sits wedged between me and Ty. The latter watches me apprehensively, his scarlet eyes trained on Seto, but I show no signs of negativity towards them.

Seto knows everything. He can be anything, and nothing. He is knowledge, he is power; he is cunning, he is manipulation.

And yet all he is now is the afraid, the prey.

I sigh a bit, and Seto flinches.

That in itself shows me how much I hurt him. Ty just glares.

Jerome pokes his head out of the infirmary, his expression somewhat relieved, somewhat upset.

"He's... Fine... For now."

I bite my lip at the "for now" part. Just what has Ross done to Jason?

Our question is answered when we see Jason for ourselves.

His breathing shallow and his skin clammy, it is surprising that none of us run out screaming—he looks like the Nether.

His pale eyes crack open, staring at us. He then says in barely a whisper, "Mitch."

I shuffle closer and kneel next to the bed, unsure of what he wants. But he weakly clutches my wrist, his pale hand shaking, and hisses hoarsely, "Kill him. Do what you're going to do, and I'll live."

That is the only explanation I get before we are ushered out of the room by a hassled doctor, whom we fiercely interrogate after we exit.

"I can't say exactly," he says in a guarded tone. "This is my first patient like this... So I cannot tell. But... I know this for certain. If he'd been a normal human, he'd've died already."

I close my eyes. Only killing Ross will save him now.

But how I will find Ross is a different question.

Sky gives me an empty, wry smile. "No pressure, Mitch, but this time, it's not only your ass that you're saving. You have two lives to watch after now—Jason's and yours. The Aether be with you."

[...]

Ross was always an artist.

Not the kind with a brush and paint, the streaks of color everyone would admire. No, Ross is a master of his craft in terms of life. He is a killer, a taker of lives, and exists for the sole purpose of inflicting death upon those he deems deserving of it.

A god of death. That is what he was made for.

And now I see just what the extent of it is.

Jerome scowls as he stares at the screens, wincing at the brutality of the rampage Ross has left behind.

"He's gonna wreck the city at this rate," whispers Eve, her immaterial fingers clenching the back of my chair.

I almost laugh. "What gave that away?"

I'm almost surprised at my tone of voice. It is a slightly higher pitch, and has a throaty touch. Eve, too, looks surprised, and lightly touches my shoulders.

"Mitch," she says gently, "I think you ought to get some rest."

I swallow. "Yeah... Yeah, I'll go do that."

And as I leave, I hear Jerome say faintly, "If he keeps going the way he is, he's gonna kill himself."

Eve replies to him, "Maybe that's what the mutt wants."

[...]

A lone, slim figure crouches at the edge of a roof. It is the solid gold roof of the Team Crafted Headquarters, and she knows exactly who her target is. She spots a young man, with bleary eyes and messy brown hair, staggering to his room, and grins.

Soon, everything will fall into place... And then we can begin.