A/N

I've decided to make another chapter because I love you guys.

Chapter 9: Deal with the Devil

Five years ago

He couldn't understand why he was so upset. After all, he barely knew the bacca, but it burned him to know that someone came into his house and took that bacca away without reason or notification. It burned him. His fists clenched as he stormed up the arena office. The guards watched him approach pass tinted sunglasses. Mitch snarled, marching up and without a word otherwise, punched the guard closed to him.

"Freeze!" gaped the second guard as the first reeled from the damage.

The second guard rushed at Mitch. The born Canadian grabbed the guard by the arm, spotting the name tag reading Dan, and threw the man over his shoulder. The guard howled, echoing off the building. He hit the crowd with a thud and groan, but began moving to stand up. Mitch stepped forward to battle with the guard more, but the first guard grabbed Mitch around the throat.

"You are under arrest!" ordered the first.

"Not until I get to talk to your boss," hissed Mitch, bending over, forcing the guard off the ground.

Mitch rushed back, slamming the first guard into the wall. The grip loosened but didn't break. The second guard –Dan – came running at Mitch. Shoving the first guard against the wall again, Mitch kicked his legs up and shoved the second guard back, returning him to the ground. Mitch pulled away from the wall and shoved against it again. The first guard groaned, releasing his grip and slumping. Mitch spun around, kicking the guard in the perfect place. The poor man whimpered, gripping his pants.

"Anything else?" snarled Mitch.

"Me."

Mitch turned around, mouth opening slowly. A large third guard stood up. He was twice Mitch's size and with little effort ripped off the police shirt he was wearing. Mitch gulped, pulling his checkered hoodie in closer. The third guard cracked his knuckles. The second guard was beginning to stand up again. Mitch nodded, sighing. He raised one hand, motioning for the large guard to come and get some.

"C'mon, you little pussy," Mitch mumbled. "Make my day."

The guard hissed, running at Mitch. With a sigh, Mitch stepped back, placing one foot on the building. As the guard approach, Mitch pushed back on the building, launching at the guard. He hit the thick man with a crash, feeling something his neck pop. The guard stumbled back, allowing Mitch to collapse to the ground. He was starting to hurt from the battle. The guard shook his head, brushing off some imaginary dirt from his shoulder. Mitch groaned, moving to stand. The guard kicked Mitch in the stomach, forcing him back down. Mitch coughed, spitting on the ground.

"I've got him."

The second guard grabbed Mitch by the arms, placing his foot on Mitch's back and lifting the boy's head to face the third guard. The final guard smirked, cracking his knuckles again. He gave Mitch a few swift punches to the stomach until blood came up. The second guard shoved him to the ground, walking away.

"Maybe next time kid," chuckled the third guard, walking off.

"Or this time."

Mitch groaned, sitting up enough to look behind him. The guards quickly saluted as the man approached the fallen Mitch. Mitch sighed, turning away. It was Peterson, the head of the Hunger Games. The man was dressed in a cleaned, pressed suit and black shoes. He looked down at Mitch with a judging expression.

"And you are?" the man spoke.

"Mitchell," he replied.

"What are you doing here, making my men look like fools?"

"Fools!" shouted the third guard, clearly offended. "We beat this kid's butt!"

"Not before he managed to take out one of you and nearly take out another," sighed the boss. "Why are you here, Mitchell?"

"You took my guest," smirked Mitch, sitting up. "A lovely hybrid by the name of Jerome."

"Hacksource," corrected Peterson. "And he is our property…not your guest."

"He is a living, breathing, and intelligent being that deserves his freedom," snarled Mitch.

"Don't tell me you're one of those hybrid rights activists?" Peterson shook his head.

"You don't have the right to do this to him! He doesn't deserve it!" shouted Mitch.

"Know your place boy!" hissed the third guard, kicking Mitch down again.

"Enough of that!" cursed Peterson, smacking the guard hard. "Let the boy speak his mind. It is his right to do so!"

"But it isn't Jerome's?" whispered Mitch.

"As far as I know, hybrids have yet to own rights," nodded Peterson, glancing at Mitch.

"That's…not fair," cried Mitch, shaking his head. Everything hurt.

"What would you care to do about it?"

Mitch looked up slowly, glaring at Peterson. Letting his thoughts work, he eventually smiled. Peterson raised an eyebrow, curious. Mitch sat up again slowly. Red was dripping down his chin.

"I'll make a deal with you," Mitch hummed.

"A deal?" perked Peterson.

"My life for his," whispered Mitch.

"That's no fair," sighed Peterson, shaking his head.

"Then suggest something else," snarled Mitch.

"You enter my Hunger Games," instructed Peterson, kneeling down to Mitch's level. "You win, you both go free. You lose, you both are mine."

Mitch didn't realize how hard he was panting. His heart was racing in his wounded chest. Everything hurt, and yet he still burned. He burned with rage, with frustration. Things weren't fair. In that moment, he remembered his father. His father stood before him, speaking words of wisdom and said 'it only takes a man to change the world."

"Deal," smirked Mitch, nodding.