Chapter 7: Roman

Roman Veronesi was not a good human being.


The first time, Roman saw the war. Young eyes watched with unbridled interest as The Dark Days went from live footage to front row seats. Running for his life, hiding in buildings, the boy was fascinated. Let him at a gun. He would shoot'em dead, Rebel or Loyalist.

The war ended with zero kills. Roman joined the chorus of 'I'm so glad it's over!' and helped repair the district like a good little Two boy. But the damage was done. A monster was born.


The second time, Roman was sent to the Alpha House.

He didn't mean to hurt him. It was supposed to be just a cut. Adamo shouldn't have moved so much. Just sit still and take it. Little brothers were stupid.

His mother begged his father not to the whole walk there. 'The war messed him up! He's a good boy deep down, you know that! Remus! Remus please! Not my baby!'

Roman blocked out his mother. Where was his father taking him? 'Let them deal with you, you sick piece of shit', he said to him. Just what was at this Alpha House? Do they know his secret? Will there be others like him? Roman could barely contain his excitement. Finally, a place to let loose. A place to be himself.

The first thing he blurted out when he arrived was to shoot a gun. Maximus, crown and sash in tow, slapped the boy for speaking out of turn.


The third time, Roman's roommates ratted him out.

They ran to Viridi and tattled on him. Said his collection of dead rats were "smelling up the place". He lounged in the office chair, picking at his nails while the Victor-by-vote droned on about rules and manners. Once he was done, Roman smiled, bowed, and left.

His roommates would be transferred to a new room after their middle fingers mysteriously went missing.


The fourth time, Roman was the talk of the town.

The two Victors watched the tape of his latest spar. The girl was rushed to the infirmary mid-fight. It was the second time this week for him.

Viridi shook his head. "He's too violent Maximus."

The older man rolled his eyes. "I'm raising warriors Viridi, not quarryboys. Go build houses if you can't handle some blood."

Viridi held his tongue. "Sir, you don't understand-"

An eyebrow raised. "I don't?"

Viridi sighed. "He shouldn't go in the Games. He's too unstable."

What did he know about the Games? He hated them. "So what if he's not here to play hooky and chase skirt like the rest of them? Roman has potential. He will be nominated for the President's Display. The matter is over."

When Amandus elected the boy, now a masterpiece fit for viewing, as the male Tribute of the Seventh Hunger Games, the cocoa-skinned beau was all smiles. For his reward, Maximus allowed him the very first thing he asked when he arrived: to shoot a gun. At the Peacekeeper's range, he was given one shot. Bullseye.


The fifth time, Roman had fun in The Hunger Games.

He was a natural. This was his domain, his time to shine. Only two Rebels made it out of the bloodbath. The others fell before the second hour. He watched with glee as his district partner, the last to fall, drowned in her own blood.

He hesitated getting on the hovercraft, drinking in the scenery the whole ride back. Amongst the fallen, in the valley of death, he never felt so alive. He just wish it lasted longer.


The sixth time, Roman had a talk with Viridi.

"You doubted me." He cornered the young man after his Victory Interview. It was a smashing show, fits and giggles and cheers abound. "You doubted me and I won."

Viridi was not afraid. "I still do. And it's still Victor Vox Segreto to you."

Roman wondered how quick it would be to slit his throat. No. He would hate to ruin his suit.

"What you have against me, huh? They love me out there. They all do."

Viridi patted the boy on the shoulder, ignoring his twitch. "There will be prettier, deadlier Victors after you Roman. Once that happens, you're yesterday's news. Bask in the glory now boy. Your clock is ticking."

Roman imagined killing Victor Vox Segreto seventy-two different ways that night in his room. He took it out on his pillow instead.


The seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth time, Roman had a breakdown.

Everyone had a coping mechanism, he discovered. Maximus liked to run. Viridi liked to sculpt. Roman liked to kill Avoxes.

Like all his discoveries, it was birthed by chance. A disobedient broad spilled his liquor and had to be punished. What started as a swat on the head ended with a mess of a catharsis.

It was very easy. No one questioned the revolving door of assistants coming through his place, not even Viridi. Nor did they say anything about his constant digging. "Saw it on TV sir," he told a curious Peacekeeper, a young kid fresh out of Prep. "Repetitive actions to calm your nerves."

It wasn't a lie.


The eleventh time, Roman got caught.

Too many unwanted mutes went missing he guessed. Amandus made him pick a "Victor Talent", some ridiculous, post-Essence thing they thought up. 'Your choice,' he stated. 'Something fun.' He hoped it would guide the wild Victor. Panem knew he needed.

The underground fight clubs was his real talent (cars and clothes did not feed his hunger). But on the surface, he hosted self-defense courses. The kids loved it. Roman did too. There was immeasurable joy breaking the nose of some Capitol moneybag and getting away with it.


The twelfth time, Roman had a family.

For a while, it was just him. He had his parents arrested for trespassing and his brother wouldn't dare be anywhere alone with him, so that was that. Then he started buying whores.

The first condom break gave him his diamond in the rough. He would give his life for that little warrior.

The second condom break gave him Lucius.

He was an awful husband, didn't know a thing about fidelity, but he did right by his kids. They both became Victors, one by fate, the other by fluke. If that wasn't love then hell, he was fucked in that department too. No one would ever top his record, a point he was proud of. No one dared tried.


The thirteenth time, Roman was a mentor.

Roman lived for this. He loved the batch they gave him. The rejects, the disturbed, the last chances. The ones who didn't buy into the "Panem Pride" bullshit, who just wanted to kill. There were a lot of twitchy kids just looking for a reason in Two. It comforted him. Where were they when he was their age?

Few of his boys became Tributes. Roman understood why. They weren't like him. He was able to tether the line of bloodlust and common sense. They were not. Played with their food, became too wrapped up in the Arena. So they always died. He kept his mask set the whole time through. The Hunger Games was a sport. No player wins every game. But for Panem's sake, couldn't one boy come home?

Not even Hortensia knew how much this hurt him.


The last time, Roman was killed.

He was in the Capitol, laid up in some shithole club,. Lucius was dead. Roman found who did it. The boy was stupid, but he didn't deserve this. The kills sated his hunger (he was starving) but it didn't fill the loss. Who knew you could love such a fuck up of a son?

Corionalus caught wind of his act. He was already at the end of his rope with them thanks to both their histories. Killing the Minister of Peace's pride and joy sealed the deal. So he bided his time. They would find and kill him. It was beyond negotiable. No point in hiding.

A pretty whore, just a bit younger than Hortensia, was his maker. She handed him a fizzy little drink and trotted away. Didn't think much of it. Drank it clean and died on the spot.

In the last seconds of his life, Roman did not think about his family or the mess he left behind. The patriarch of The House of Veronesi thought about the ridiculous way he would die. He was a man of power and ferocity and they chose a fruity margarita. What a shitty way to go. They could have at least drawn blood.