Oblivion- The 4th Quarter Quell Chapter 11: Demons, a hunger games fanfic

District 9 Awakening: Demons

Demons by Imagine Dragons

They say it's what you make

I say it's up to fate

It's woven in my soul

I need to let you go…

Berkley "Berk" Jerald (30) D9 Victor of the 88th Games

"Dammit, Berk."

Groggily opening my eyes, the colors and shapes blur and slowly take shape. The grey walls, with tiny notches and cracks, are the first that appear in front of me. The ceiling is still the same with its wearing paint that reveals white plaster and aged with misery and darkness that swirl unknowingly to anyone other than me.

"Get up." I'd recognize the voice anywhere and always around this time of year. Victor Rye Rhodes, or simply Rye who is the 'lucky' winner of the 85th Games following three years later with me making us the closely winning pair from any District since the Mockingjay Rebellion. "Damn."

He gags and brings his hand to his nose, his face strained. The smell of rotten food and stale alcohol does not faze me the least. Not after what has happened…

"Jesus Christ, Berk. You'll get sick and die in this hole of yours." He picks up an old t-shirt stained with beer and tosses it aside. "You can't keep doing this to yourself…"

"I fucking do what I want!"

"You're a disgrace to all Vic-"

"Don't you dare say it."

He smacks his lips and meets my eyes. "Victors."

I lunge towards him, my arms flailing and teeth gritted, and bring him down to the floor. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" My fists are

He gets the upper hand and turns me over, panting. "Enough of the bullshit." He stands up and pats himself down, offering me his hand afterwards.

I accept hastily and try to regain my balance as the room seems to shift. "Jackass."

"Why is it the same thing every year," he exasperates as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "You think you're so goddamned special?!"

He slams his fist on the oak table. "All of us Victors are in bad shape. Look at us! We're just adults trapped in our Games! All of us! I don't care if you're those District 10 fuck buddies or fish boy from 4, we're all screwed up."

He inhales sharply and I swear I see tears glisten in the corners of his eyes. He grunts and looks up. "So stop acting like you're the only one who's been through hell, because trust me, we've all got hell to live with." The last few words crack and the corners of his mouth begin to twitch.

His shoulders slump and he falls onto the couch, his back hunched and strength shattered. "Do you know what it's like to no acknowledge the existence of your own daughter? Because you can't. You can't because the moment you claim her as your own, she'll be reaped and her mother will hate you forever!"

He's sobbing and heaving, while I stand confused. A daughter?! Sense when?!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. A daughter?"

He looks up, bloodshot eyes that make his eyes a lighter hazel and a slightly turned up smile. "Figures. You're passed out every time I try to tell the story." He chuckles softly and stops, his eyes hazing.

"Well get on with it! I've got to get to the Justice Building in two hours!"

He sighs and straightens himself in the couch I usually spend my days on, alcohol and all. "Well you remember my reaping day, right?"

I nod. We're only two years apart and well, before everything, I was pretty observant. I recall the day like it was yesterday, young Rye and a petite blonde clinging to him…

"Well, besides my family visiting, my best friend Lyric visited."

"The hot blonde?"

He closes his eyes and sighs. "Yes. Anyway, she made me promise her to come home."

"There had been no Victors before us, did she really expect you to just… win?"

He nods. "I guess. I don't know how, I had zero experience. Zilch. I was screwed." He adjusts himself to a more relaxed position and continues. "With her words, though, I managed to win. The grace of God."

I shake my head. "Obviously you won, but what happened?"

Rye clears his throat. "Well during my Victory Tour I came home and well… things happened…" His face begins to turn pink, his pale skin turning color for the first time since I've met him.

I smirk. "You got laid."

He coughs loudly and blurts, "She told me a month after the Tour that she was pregnant."

"So what. I mean, some girls here get pregnant every year to avoid reapings. You both were, what, seventeen? That's fine."

"Pssh, not if you're a newly crowned Victor." He pauses for a second then opens his mouth. "Well long story short, I couldn't claim paternity. I wasn't going to do that to Lyric or the baby…"

"Why not?"

He groans. "Jesus. Do I need to spell it out for you?"

"I guess so, there's magnetic letters over on the fridge for you. Go crazy."

I smirk as he grits his teeth, trying to calm his anger. It's fun messing with him, he gets worked up over nothing. "Victor's children are never safe from reapings. They'll be reaped one year or another and won't make it out alive."

"Who says. You know how Seraphina is towards kids and reaped teen parents. She gives them some slack…" He gives me the look. " Well kids of important parents at least."

"Last year, Merit Phoenix, adoptive son of Beck Holloway. Adopted, Berk! I can't imagine biological…"

"Who?"

He exasperates, "You really need to start paying attention to important tributes, do you even remember the names of the teens from here last year."

Crap.

"…. Ti-Teff." I grin. "… and Venice." I raise my eyebrows awaiting his response.

"Vanity."

"Dammit. Close."

"I know it hurts to acknowledge the reality of what's around you…" I glare at him. "But it's necessary to continue living."

I scoff. "Whatever." I glance at my watch. "We've got an hour and a half…"

His eyes widen. "Crap." His body shoots from the couch, my couch. "Get dressed and I'll meet you out front." He runs out the door before I can comment further.

I march upstairs and to my room to begin the same process I do every year. Shower, shave, dress, pack, and smuggle several bottles of liquor on the train along with aspirin. I head out the door and immediately squint for the sharp stinging of sunlight permeates my eyes. It takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust when the shape of Rye takes shape. He changed into a simple blue polo with khakis shorts and tennis shoes. He waves and we begin our walk down the desolate streets of 9.

We pass through the grains of wheat that sway and whistle in the dusty wind storms that often plague the District. The honey golden fields bring life to the miserable lives we live here. From the moment you can walk, you pick the stalks of grain. After school, the children file in lines to gather the District's treasure. I had worked here, my parents' workers for one of the largest fields here. I plucked and gathered that crap, down to the bone with barely enough to provide for the three of us. Then when I won, my parents quit and now reside at home. I send them money every month so they live comfortably, the price to pay for their happiness was my own.

Ha, liked all that flowery crap? Good, so don't expect any more from me.

We find ourselves at a newly constructed building that is painted a brilliant gold with dark lettering at the top of the glass doors.

The Teff Regal Training Academy

"I can't believe he actually did it. Built the academy he said he always wanted…" I look up to see Rye gazing inside, watching flashing dark figures at different stations. "You ready for those tributes next year?"

"No, kids are just a bunch of reckless, sex crazed idiots."

He laughs and looks at me. "Some are."

"Yeah."

The glass doors open and Rye gestures to join him, simply agreeing for the fact that I still had an hour to spare. Surprisingly the entrance to the training areas is very roomy, looking more of a living room that an actual lobby. The receptionist squeals and nearly tackles me over.

"Aggghhh!"

"OMG! It's the Berk Jerald! OMG, OMG, OMG!"

The young girl is practically screaming in my ear. Just as I turn around to see Rye's reaction I catch him staring at a young woman with long, wavy blonde hair with light brown eyes. My jaw drops a bit realizing this is the Lyric Vale. I shove the receptionist out of the way and leave her to fall to the floor, gazing at the two as they speak in hushed voices.

"Hey." I approach the two and both meet my eyes. Both wear thin lips and stressed expressions, Rye looking more on edge than his lover. "I'm Berk if Rye didn't tell you already."

"Yes, I know." Her voice is soft, almost sweet like as her pupils grow large. She smiles and points to a young girl with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes who sprints around the Training Center, teeth gleaming as she races other girls. "That's Rylie, my daughter."

Rye's eyes brighten as he watches the young girl, her ponytail swaying side to side and smile fierce. His eyes soon darken and he grits his teeth. "Why is she here?!"

Lyric's eyes widen. "She begged me to let her come here. She's on a free trial membership."

I watch as Rye's fists clench at his sides and his face becomes stern, angrier than I've ever seen him. "Is she planning on volunteering?"

"Of course not!"

"Really?!" His voice is rising and dangerously, our hushed conversation catching the attention of the receptionist. "Lyric, I will not allow her to go into those Games!"

"She is not! She wouldn't do something so reckless!" The once calm and collected Lyric grows more and more angry.

I smirk. "Why don't you two get reacquainted, you know, like during Rye's Victory Tour?"

They both stare at me annoyed. Hell yeah. "Go fuck yourself, Berk," Rye snarls as he storms into the Training Center, grabbing the microphone.

"Ms. Rylie Vale please report to the lobby."

Rye returns to Lyric and I and takes calm breaths, trying to calm himself before meeting his bastard of a daughter. The young girl saunters in, her eyes widening at the sight of both of us.

"Oh my goodness, Mom?!" Why are you talking to the Victors?" Her voice is loud, yet sweet like her mother's, her physical features similar to Rye's. "It's very nice to meet you, Victor Rhodes and Victor Jerald." She curtsies and shakes both of our hands.

"Nice to meet you too, Rylie." I can see Rye give the faintest of smiles. "I'd like to ask you a question…"

"Anything."

He nods slowly, trying to conjure the words. "Why are you training here?"

Her hazel eyes gleam. "I just wanted to see what my friends were talking about." She shrugs and points to a small group of friends. "I'm not planning on volunteering Victor Rhodes if that's what you're worried about."

Rye gives a nervous smile. "The Games aren't what they seem. I hope your mother tells you this every year." He looks at Lyric who rolls her eyes.

"I tell her everyday…"

"I know, it gets, like, so annoying." Rylie sighs and takes out a small notepad. "Can I have your autographs?"

I frown. "No."

Rye gives me a look. "Sign it for her."

I groan. "Fine, you better cherish this, girl. I've never signed an autograph before so you'll be the first."

"Wow, really?! Thanks so much Victor Jerald!" She laughs and thrusts her small notepad and pen at me. I scribble my name down and hand the pad to Rye who happily signs. She shrieks and stuffs the pad in her pocket. "Thanks so much!"

She heads off with her friends and I turn to see Rye and Lyric looking away from each other, heads low and thick tension seeping from the two.

"Hey, I'm just going to sit on the couch over there." I point to the black leather couch several feet away. "I'll wait here."

"Okay." Rye whispers and brings himself closer to Lyric, his lips thin. "I don't want her coming here anymore."

"…"

Their conversation is faint, I can barely hear them and luckily no one else is close enough to listen in.

"Do you hear?" His voice sounds almost threatening, his voice cracks and he looks down. Damn Rye, you finally grew a pair. "You know what I've been through, you know how much I've gone through for her."

"I'm her mother. I've been with her for the past fourteen years." Her voice is starting to shake, her eyes glistening. "She always asks you know… about her father."

He raises his eyebrows. "What do you tell her?"

She meets his gaze. "He's dead."

He winces. "You're half right. He chuckles.

"I think you should tell her…"

He grits his teeth. "I can't, not yet."

"She's mature to handle it, I know you said after her last reaping but… I think she can accept it."

He shakes his head. "No."

She sighs. "Goodbye, Rye."

She swiftly walks past him and exits the room. Rye sighs and brings a hand to his forehead. I cough loudly to get his attention, it doesn't work. Grunting, I decide to leave. Just as I begin my walk to the automatic doors, I hear scuffling and turn my head to see Rye jogging towards me with glazed eyes. I give him a quick nod and he returns the gesture. The rest of the walk is silent, besides the few pained grunts from me-

Dammit, I forgot my cane.

"Dammit, Rye. I forgot my cane." I point to my left knee. "Ol' knee here can't take much more." My knee was fucked up during my Games, the final battle between myself and the District 3 male. I managed to kill him in the end, but he bashed my left knee and elbow before I won. My left elbow was repairable and works even better than my right, while the bone in my knee was left to practically dust and had to be replaced by a metal alloy of sorts. It grinds against my leg bones like a bitch, especially with the slight withdrawal of my pain medication due to the black market being shut down for rumors of the Capitol investigating the District. Rye promises to nab me some bottles, but I doubt he'll even get the courage to even step in there.

"The Justice Building should have your spare…"

"Spare?"

"Yeah." He pauses for a second to catch his breath. "I leave a spare for you every year."

I feel almost, what's the word, grateful. "Hmm, thanks."

"No problem."

We reach the steps of the Justice Building and Rye opens the thin wood doors. My eyes adjust to the dimly lit room and find Mayor Regal sitting at table with a newspaper and a mug of coffee. Rye starts to walk over to him and I curse under my breath.

"Hey, Mayor Regal." Rye sits across from the Mayor. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine, my boy." His voice sends jollier than usual, probably because he didn't have to do that lame ass speech he gives every fucking year. Not that I give a fuck of course. "Have you been to the Training Center?"

"Yes, just now actually." Rye points to me. "Berk and I headed over on the way here. You've really proved yourself, sir."

Mayor Regal chuckles. "Of course, I hope we breed some fierce competitors for the Games next year, don't you think?"

I nod. "Whatever, as long as they don't get bitchy on me."

Both men look at me and stare, not saying anything. "Berk, shouldn't you head to the lab? Your spare is there." Rye says implying I should fuck off.

"Yeah." I leave, not saying more as I head down the narrow hallway and find myself in a high tech room with three large lumps on beds. I spot my dark brown cane besides a comfortable looking chair and find three crisp manila folders on the seat. I grab the papers and plop myself down, my swollen knee beginning to soothe from the pressure. Opening each folder I glance at the names, not bothering to go through their past or some useless information

Barrik Solstice of the 17th Games

Fenella Wren of the 81st Games

Charlotte Whitestone of the 80th Games

I give a breathy laugh. "None I know…" I place my attention at the metal table to my far right, long, straight blonde hair falling off the table's edge. I peek under the cloth and see a fair skinned girl with several freckles dotting her cheeks, her slender arms and legs folded and positioned to make her look like the lost Snow White. Relatively healthy. She is the Vanilla girl and I place her folder on the sorry excuse for a flat surface and focus on the large lump in the middle table.

I lift his sheet and find a rather athletic male with messy blonde hair and with red, jagged scars surrounding his eyes. Looking at his past Games, I discover he died of blood loss due to mutilation. His skin is tanned, his hands calloused. He worked in the fields. I look down at my own and notice the tiny nicks and callous fingertips the Capitol so desperately wanted to erase. To make me perfect.

Finally the one on the far left is the Charlotte girl. Lifting her sheet, I find a petite girl with long, wavy brown hair and near perfect skin. Her eyelids begin to flutter and a small beeping noise begins to sound. I am greeted to the rich, chocolate color of her eyes and immediately I feel a small hand smack my cheek.

I fall back, yelping in pain. "What the fucking hell?!"

The girl springs from the metal table and lands on her feet hard. Her pupils begin to dilate and she begins to bite her lip, a thin line of blood making its way towards her chin. A minute or so passes and she calms, not much of a reaction as I anticipate the other two.

"What's going on?" Her voice is loud, her accent thick of some ancestry I'm not aware of. She stares at me and her nose begins to scrunch up. "What the bloody hell is going on here?!"

"Shut up. Your voice is really annoying and I don't want to have to repeat myself three times." I make my words stinging, vile. She does not flinch, nor cry but merely stands tall and glares at me. Pretty string bitch.

"Wait until the other two awaken." My left leg begins to lose feeling so I grab my cane and slowly walk around the room, feeling her eyes on me the whole time. I focus on relieving the pain while making my way around an invisible circle, waiting for the time to pass.

The Charlotte girl walks over to the Vanilla girl and pokes at her arm, then her cheeks. She goes over to the boy and stares, her mouth opening slightly and closing abruptly. The sound of beeping begins to whiz again and a faint moan erupts in the eerie room.

"Mmmmmhhmmmm…"

The blonde girl sits upright in the bed and opens her eyes, fluttering open to reveal a radiant blue that matches the sky. Her head begins to jerk back and forth between me and Charlotte and her mouth drops and a bloodcurdling scream sounds from her throat.

"AAAaaaaHHHhhhhhh…"

She's panicking, her limbs are shaking violently and her eyes are wetting with fat tears. The muscles in her face are contorted, heaving and sobbing. She grabs for her heart and winces, her breathing erratic. I grab for a syringe and thrust it into her pale skin, tiny droplets of blood blossoming from the needle's entrance.

The male begins to stir, his monitor coming to life and he falls over. His body lands with a thud and a groan sounds from him. He rubs the right side of his body and sits with his legs crossed on the floor, his hazel eyes widening as he looks around at the two girls and me.

"Dude, did I like score myself two hot chicks." He throws his head back and laughs, his eyes losing focus every second or so. "Man, I had the worst dream. I was like in the Games and th-"

"Shut the hell up." I pinch the bridge of my nose and wish for this to be over, like within the next five minutes. "So long story short, you three are competing in the 4th Quarter Quell blah blah blah brought from the dead blah blah blah Charlotte and Vanilla your families are here to say goodbye." I point towards the door. "Barrik your family is long dead. Girls, you have ten minutes."

The girls stand petrified at the door, the blonde's eyes shift from Barrik to me while Charlotte gives a wary expression. "You're wasting time. Go."

Vanilla flinches at my bark while Charlotte expresses no reaction. The girls leave the room swiftly and the room becomes still, the sound of Barrik's heavy breathing becoming apparent.

"So are you like a wizard?"

"… what?"

"Like a magical wizard that has taken me forward in time to stop my death?" His utterly ludicrous words have me thinking that this guy is mentally challenged or he's extremely drunk my instinct going with the latter.

"Take this kid." I hand him a dark blue pill and he gladly takes it, losing grip on it several times before he swallows it and his eyes begin to close. He falls to the floor again with a thud and sleeps soundly as the two girls enter again. Vanilla with bloodshot eyes and a quivering lip while Charlotte remains unfazed and confident.

I'm going to like this Charlotte girl.

An old fart dressed in a sissy looking lab coat announces the train has arrived and the four of us, with me carrying Barrik, are whisked away onto a train with so many hazy memories. I show the girls to their room and throw the boy onto his bed and sit in my loveseat. With a myriad of liquor bottles in my grasp, I take a glass and fill it with vodka. The alcohol burns my throat, soothing the pain, the memories that plague me. I down the pills I gave Barrik and slowly yet surely I feel myself floating, far, far away to a place I call home.

Oblivion.

A/N: Here are your tributes: Fenella Wren, Barrik Solstice, and Charlotte "Chord" Whitestone with Victors Rye Rhodes and Berkley "Berk" Jerald.