The bloodbath might have been mediocre, but head Gamemaker Argus Rex seemed hell-bent on redeeming himself in the days that followed. The arena was a veritable rat maze of terror.
The tunnels were not only gloomy and narrow, but they were made even more difficult to traverse due to the stalactites and stalagmites crowding them. The bioluminescent mushrooms provided little reprieve from the claustrophobic dark, and they were poisonous, as Lavender from 11 was unfortunate enough to demonstrate.
To every mentor's chagrin and the announcers' delight, Angus grew so frustrated with the darkness he started to use the luminescent pads on the hands of his suit to navigate the tunnels. 9's mentors were pale with anger and the certainty that their tribute's death was imminent, and they were right. Angus lasted an hour wandering hands first before the Careers hunted him down and dispatched him.
Every night, the dead were projected onto the moon in the atrium. When the action grew too stagnant, the Gamemakers would orchestrate a cave in or flood to get the tributes moving again, toward each other if it went to plan. The first time a cave in happened an unlucky tribute suffocated, but the Gamemakers were careful not to let that happen a second time. Suffocation was a boring death to watch.
Beryl discovered the mutts. The Careers had been wandering the tunnels in search of prey, and stumbled into a large glowing antechamber. Mushrooms coated the ground and the ceiling was a tapestry of fluorescent spindle legs. They hung like string from the ceiling in alternating clusters of blue-white and pink. The Careers eyed them with suspicion, but the only way forward was through the spindles, unless they wanted to turn back and find another path.
Beryl would not accept such cowardice and ventured forth to pluck the strings. The effect was instantaneous. The strings flared out to the sides and the sound of bird wings and mouse laughter filled the room. Dozens of bats dropped from the ceiling. Beryl's yelp of surprise changed to shrieks as the creatures engulfed her. It was difficult to see through the swarm of bodies, but Nezumi saw one of the bats sink its teeth into Beryl's throat.
When the bats were finished with Beryl they left her corpse like an emptied out husk on the cold cave floor. They had sucked her dry, like proper vampires. The floor opened and Beryl's body dropped into even blacker oblivion. Nezumi found it a bit overwrought and dramatic, but that didn't make him any less nervous.
The other Careers had hightailed it out of there at the first sign of danger, but a few bats gave chase. Percy from 4 was bitten, but managed to kill the bat and its fellows. The remaining Careers released a sigh of relief at their narrow escape.
The relief was short-lived. Percy began a rapid decline, starting with pain and itching around the skin of the bite. Even with the medication he had received from sponsors, his symptoms worsened to fever and hallucinations within hours of the encounter. Nezumi suspected what it was, and he also knew that the Gamemakers must have tailor-made a fast acting strain, since rabies usually took a few days, at least, to incubate.
Percy was doing his best to hide his symptoms from the rest of the pack, but hallucinations were difficult things to keep hidden. It wasn't long before Percy turned agitated and frothing and his partners had to put him down. After that, some sponsor decided it was a good idea to send the Careers a shipment of night vision goggles.
Through all this, Kal remained blessedly safe. They were small, sneaky, and suspicious by nature, so they had an advantage with the extra layer of darkness. Kal had no trouble hiding among the stalagmites during rest periods and when they thought they heard another tribute heading their way. Kal's natural suspicion towards everything also helped them avoid some of the perils to which other tributes fell victim, like the glowing bats and mushrooms. Kal subsisted on a steady stream of grumbled curses and the lizards crawling in the dark tunnels.
The night vision goggles, though, made Nezumi's stomach clench. Kal wasn't often shown on screen since their existence was remarkably bloodless, but Nezumi watched the Careers with rising anxiety as they picked out tribute after tribute in the darkness.
The Games were a week in, and Kal hadn't had a run in with the Careers yet. They had done well to survive, but they hadn't fought once and that worried him. The Careers were outfitted with knives, pick axes, and clubs; Kal hadn't even picked up a weapon. Part of Nezumi was proud that Kal had gotten this far without spilling blood. He wanted to keep them stainless, but he needed to know that Kal could do what it took to get out.
On screen, Flint from 2 had broken off from the Career pack to find food. He sauntered around the tunnels, bopping stalactites lightly with his pick axe, confident of his way in his night vision goggles. Nezumi sneered. Entitled brat.
The Careers already had such a high advantage physically, but of course this would be a Game where money would separate the winners from the losers. If they could at least level the visual playing field, the other tributes might have a chance, but who on the poorer districts' side had money for night vision goggles?
Flint stabbed a lizard skittering across the wall with the axe and smiled at it. "Hello, dinner."
"Hello."
The room jumped. The camera flashed to a different angle for a dramatic last-second reveal of another tribute, tucked into a hole near the arch of the tunnel. Flint had about a second to register the danger before his skull was caved in.
The camera focused on the male tribute from 12—Fissure—as he inched out of the darkness toward the Career's prone form. Flint let out a death rattle and Fissure spooked and slammed his club down a second time.
Boom!
Every mouth in the mentor room dropped open. A tribute from 12 had just killed a Career without a fight.
Fissure used his suit lights to check the damage and immediately reared back and closed his hands. Covering his mouth to hold in the sick, he used his thumb and pointer to extract the night vision goggles from the remnants of Flint's head. The lens was cracked on one side, but from the looks of it they still worked.
Good for you, kid, Nezumi thought as Fissure absconded with his bounty.
The room hummed. The mentors from 2 shot Cinder dirty looks, but Cinder was too dumbfounded to notice.
Two more hours passed with no other upsets. Nezumi gnawed his lower lip as he watched the tributes crawl like rats through the darkness. Ever since the bloodbath he had been steadily wearing away at the skin, and it was raw and ragged now. He tasted blood. Nezumi stopped, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and grabbing a flute of something from the refreshments to wash down the taste of iron and salt.
"You okay?"
Nezumi turned slightly. Gran frowned back at him.
"Fine. Thirsty." He placed the empty flute on the table. "You?"
Gran didn't answer and Nezumi nodded automatically. They both turned back to the screen.
"They've made it this far," Gran said, voice quiet enough not to stir the room, or any fledging hope that dared to creep between them.
Nezumi kept his bleeding lips firmly shut.
The occupants of the room shifted and Nezumi started paying attention to the screen rather than just staring through it.
He went rigid. Kal was onscreen, drinking from a small stream they'd found between two rocks, but they were not alone. The screen to the left showed a silhouette down the adjacent tunnel. Creeping, like it was hunting something.
Nezumi pushed through to the front of the room. Kal kept drinking, unaware of the danger. The camera glinted off the shadow, in the vicinity of its head. The person had night vision goggles.
"Kal…" Nezumi said tightly.
Kal's head shot up. They sat very still, head cocked slightly to the side. The figure slowed. The person was slight and alone and Nezumi knew it could only be Fissure.
Hide, Kal. He might pass over you. You're not a threat to him. He glanced at Fissure's dark form. He must know that.
A look of dread swept over Kal's face, and Nezumi could have prayed right then. As quickly and as quietly as they could, Kal snuck into the nearest alcove of stalagmites and made themself as small as possible inside it.
Fissure's gaze followed them, and then Nezumi watched him creep toward Kal's hiding spot.
No. Nezumi's hands tightened at his sides. He expected the Careers to hunt, but this… I cheered him on. Bile rose in Nezumi's throat.
Kal hugged their knees to their chest and screwed their face up, straining their ears for sounds of approach. Fissure moved like smoke across the floor. He had the club in his left hand, and he gripped it tighter as he settled himself behind the stalagmites where Kal hid. Kal's brow creased as if they might've heard him. But they stayed still.
He can see you, Nezumi's heart cried. Get out, Kal.
The club was a heavy thing, made of thick, knotted wood. Its edge was smeared with dried blood. Fissure drew back his arm, silent as death.
Don't.
Nezumi saw the hesitation in Fissure's eyes as he stood, poised to strike. This wasn't like killing Flint; Kal was an underdog like him.
Please, don't.
He saw the flash of fear and disgust, and he saw the decision. Nezumi forced his breath out in one massive exhale. If he had no breath, he couldn't scream. Fissure struck. Kal crumpled sideways and hit the floor in unison with the cannon fire.
Fissure jumped back, as if he had been the one struck. He gripped the club out in front of him, but Kal lay still at his feet, the cannon boom echoing like heartbeats. Fissure stepped forward and did a quick search through Kal's pockets.
Nezumi's swallow mirrored Fissure's as the tribute realized Kal had nothing. Not a useful item, or a weapon, or even a token. Fissure backed away and ran swiftly from the scene.
Nezumi's body tingled. It took him a moment to realize he felt someone staring at him. He turned and met Cinder's gaze across the room. Her mouth was caught between apology and gravity. The Peacekeepers around the room eyed him, their hands causally hooked over their batons.
Nezumi smiled at Cinder. It was a shell of a smile, but enough of a forgery to stir uncertainty in the room. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he told her. His voice sounded level. Reasonable. "It's the Games."
Cinder pressed her lips together and glanced back at the screen. But the cameras had already moved on. Kal's death was just a scene in the Capitol's motion picture event.
"Kal played well," Cinder said, turning back to him. "You should be proud." She looked at Nezumi, Rou, and Gran in turn, and they accepted her words with solemn solidarity.
The Games went on afterwards, but not for Nezumi. He drifted towards the periphery of the room over the next few minutes, and after everyone had forgotten him and fixated on the screens once more, he slipped out into the hallway. He strode past the Peacekeepers stationed by the doors, headed for the bathroom. Rounded the corner, saw no one, picked up his pace.
He ran from the building. The streets were quiet; night had fallen and everyone was inside to watch the last leg of the Hunger Games play out. The only sounds were his feet slapping against stones and the whistling of his labored breaths. He burned. His lungs, his heart, his face—everything was on fire. The pressure suffocated.
Nezumi made it to the Training Center before breaking. He felt the cracks as he reached the doors, and veered to the side of the building to crouch in the shadows. His gasps turned to sobs. His tears were angry, they were indignant, they were the first tears he had shed for another person, and they were bitter on his tongue.
Kal deserved better. They deserved to be a kid in the sun, not another body in the dark. The knowledge that there was nothing more he could have done for them twisted his anger and misery until his body ached with it.
Who would care for the dogs in 7 now? Who would he toss insults back and forth with? A hundred masochistic remembrances ran through his mind, and he cried harder because he was somewhat envious. For Kal the nightmare was over. But he would have to live with this failure until life or the Capitol ended him.
At least it had been quick. At least Kal didn't see it coming. At least they didn't suffer. The world had grace enough for one small mercy.
Nezumi smothered the grief eventually, but it hovered just at the back of his throat, ready to surge forward the moment he let his guard down. He stood up and wiped his face clean. He felt like nothing as he found his way into the elevator.
The Avoxes froze as the doors dinged open and Nezumi stepped out. They had apparently been in the middle of cleaning. The whirr of vacuum cleaners punctuated the wide-eyed silence between them.
Nezumi stared blankly back. "Where's Shion?"
The vacuum noise cut off and the Avoxes exchanged looks.
Nezumi registered that they might not know Shion's name. He wasn't sure how often these Avoxes communicated with each other or in what capacity. It occurred to him that he shouldn't call Shion out like this. He shouldn't know the name of an Avox and he shouldn't baldly interact with one either.
Nezumi didn't care.
"The Avox with the white hair. Where is he?"
One of the Avoxes pointed toward the kitchen. It was the girl who'd helped him with the cake. A grunt of thanks passed Nezumi's lips as he headed for the kitchen. Shion was not in there. Nezumi stood next to the sterile countertops and felt a heaviness settle over him. He should go back to his room. He wanted darkness. He longed for oblivion.
Shion stepped out of the pantry and froze. His face flinched and his mouth opened as if he might say Nezumi's name, but of course no words came out.
"Shion."
Shion's look sharpened. He dumped the contents of his arms onto the counter and hastened to Nezumi. Shion didn't question his presence or state. Nothing could have brought Nezumi here except the worst. Shion took his hands in his.
Once, Nezumi would have drawn away, told him off, retreated to lick his wounds imperfectly where no one could see. Now… The steady pressure against his skin was a curiosity. Shion's hands were warm, Nezumi registered with half a mind.
Human beings are warm. The observation was so obvious, but it felt like an epiphany to Nezumi. Everything had been cold and desolate since he first stepped onto the Reaping stage more than a year ago, and the farther he reached back, he found that there hadn't been much warmth before that either. His chest ached for a time in the long distant past, for a day he could scarcely remember, when he hadn't known the beat of his heart was a gift, not a given.
Shion's face had taken on an aspect of unease as he studied Nezumi. He squeezed Nezumi's hands tighter, as if to ask, Are you okay? As if to say, Come back to me. As if to remind him, You're not alone.
Nezumi closed his eyes. The Capitol had been leeching the fire of life from him since he was born, but somehow, within the city itself, he grasped it again, in the warmth of an Avox's regard.
Nezumi twisted his hand to clasp Shion's and led him out of the kitchen. The other Avoxes had disappeared from the living room, which suited Nezumi. The less witnesses, the better, and for once he felt fortunate that Avoxes could not speak. He pulled Shion into the elevator behind him and pressed the button for the rooftop.
Nezumi let Shion's hand go once they where standing in the open air. The wind ripped across the rooftop, as if stirred by Nezumi's resolve. He crossed to the railing and faced Shion.
"I'm leaving the Capitol."
Shion's face showed neither shock nor fear. He just considered. Shion stepped forward and gave Nezumi a tight hug, then stepped back, a small, well-wishing smile on his face. Emotions danced behind his dark eyes, and all were tinged with sadness.
"Come with me."
Shion's eyes widened. His lips parted just the slightest bit and Nezumi swallowed. The words had left his mouth of their own accord, but Nezumi wouldn't take them back—and he didn't have to.
Shion drew in a short breath through his mouth, closed it, and nodded.
A little bit of the weight eased off Nezumi's shoulders. "Good," he said, nodding back to seal the treasonous pact between them. "When?"
Now, Shion mouthed.
Nezumi nodded again. Something like hope flickered in his chest as he looked into Shion's eyes. They burned brightly now, a flame reminiscent of the one they held the night they met. Nezumi wondered if his eyes reflected the same fervor. The small, conspiratorial smile that slipped onto Shion's face told him they might.