Insanity.
"When you get to the end of your rope. Tie a knot and hang on." - Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Alistair Tempest, District One Male.
I pull the string taut, wrapping once into a loop and threading it through the hook. The next one goes through even easier, sliding through and finalising the little trick. I lean back on my knees and smile, admiring my handiwork. I didn't get any kills, to the fury of Megaera and Saskia, but this I feel happy with.
It doesn't matter what either of them want from me. I have my talents and this is one of them. The line of almost invisible thread will act as a tripwire, anyone coming down the two staircases that lead up will fall right over, giving away their location.
I've seen it happen before, what some alliances like to do with the career's supplies when they're unaware. We've got an entire room on two levels to sit and plan, unbeknownst to us, anyone could slip their way through and take what they want.
This will stop that from happening.
I might be oblivious to the finer tactics, but this, this is where I feel most comfortable. Not slicing up humans and leaving them to float in their own innards.
"Alistair, stop playing and come join us."
She'll always get what she wants. People with power always will, leaving their followers to scramble in the dirt. At least I have Calliope through all this darkness and horror, with her by my side, Megaera isn't quite such the formidable opponent she'd like us to think she is.
I leave my place on the floor and hurry on over to the Cornucopia, averting the splash of blood and crouching by Calliope. She spares a small smile in my direction which I eagerly return, then resumes talking to the others.
"I don't think splitting up is a good idea, Megaera." I notice a harshness in her tone that wasn't there this morning. Before we boarded the hovercraft, she was almost gentle. What happened up there, her temper flaring, it's left her unsettled. Her discomfort makes me feel uneasy.
"With four different staircases, leading to who knows where, we have to be able to canvas the biggest portion of the Arena that we can." Saskia nods, ever the faithful follower. Matteo shrivels backwards into his little bundles of goods. I feel for him, even if the carved up boy from Seven was his doing.
"If we split up we risk someone taking what we have here-" Megaera opens her mouth, but quick to the draw, Calliope raises a single finger and narrows her eyes. The tension between these two is frightening. "-not to mention that by splitting up we're weaker, weak enough to get killed."
Megaera scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Oh please, even by myself I'm ten times the fighter any of these sad lot could ever hope to be."
"Confidence, not arrogance," Matteo mumbles from where he's sat. For a brief second, it's almost as if his lips moved on their own will and he had no idea. Then he looks up and a smile lights up his face, the Matteo we all know and love. "That's what Mags taught you, right Meggy?"
"Don't call me Meggy," she scowls, pulling the sword closer to her chest. I don't interject with anything, my agreement with Calliope is pretty much a done deal, but what my mouth says doesn't matter at all to Megaera and Saskia.
"At the end of the day, dearest Calli', I'm the leader."
She moves to stand up, shuffling her legs and pushing up with the palms of her hands. Calliope looks over at me, cheeks tinted red. I shrug my shoulder sadly, not really knowing what to say. This is where I fall flat, and now we're in the Arena, this is all it's ever going to be.
"Have fun grinding this alliance into the ground." Calliope ignores the death stare sent her way. She glides through the pair of them, almost knocking Saskia to the ground. I'm quick to follow, leaving Matteo to chat with two of the most vile humans I've ever had the misfortune to be around.
It's not even worth trying to get to know them. I know when I'm not wanted, and I know who I don't want.
I take quick strides to reach her side. She sits down between two broken planks and I follow suit, bending down to balance on my knees. It's a weird feeling, being in this Arena. We have no clue what the rest of it holds, what the Gamemakers have shoved into the darker parts and what's left for us to explore. Megaera wants to hunt as quickly as she can, before anyone can get away from her grasp when they're still recuperating from the chaos of the bloodbath.
Truthfully, I wish we could just stay here for the duration of whatever's left of each our lives. Regardless of the other two girls, I feel safer here then left to the mysteries of what's lurking outside. When I know what and who we're with, it feels less of an Arena and more just an average room.
Well, if you can call a two-level room riddled with decay and destruction, blood stains, weapons and tributes that have trained to kill normal, then yes it fits with what I want as my shelter.
"You gotta learn to ignore her, Calli." I nudge her in the arm, offering a warm smile. Her cheeks haven't lost that angry flush, she continues to fidget with her fingers, bringing up her sword then placing it down again aimlessly.
"I know what I have to do Alistair." Her harsh voice acts as a blow. I keep my smile, but the very same insecurities I've felt all my life start to curdle my stomach. I'm always going to be that kid. The annoying one who gets in the way. I don't want to push Calliope away, if I don't have her then... well, I'm left alone.
"She might see sense, you never know. I agree that isn't good to split up." For different, cowardly reasons, Alistair. "Matteo could talk her out of it, you know how close they are."
"I know more than I let on." Her scowl lightens a little, one side of her mouth curling up gently. "I know Matteo's nothing to Megaera. Saskia too. We're all just her little pawns she can shove around. People think I'm always wrong about others, but I know girls like Megaera."
"So why don't we just..." I stop, biting my tongue. I didn't kill, I'm trying not to even think about killing or the death of me or Calliope. This place is getting to me though.
Calliope raises an eyebrow and I relax my shoulders, sinking lower to the ground. "We could just kill her."
She opens her mouth to say something, the words brimming on the edge of her lips, when Megaera appears in front of us. She smirks, peering down at the pair of us, spending a little too long on Calliope's sword.
"I've considered what you have to say. We're going to go hunting tomorrow, splitting up into two groups. I wanted to go now but rest will do us good, I suppose." Calliope's teeth grit together, her jaw clenching. I try to mirror her sense of temper but all I can manage is a weak scrunch of my nose. The fact she's already killed two is hard to turn into a sign of anger.
"Matteo, Saskia and Alistair will go together. Whilst me and you can spend some quality time as a pair, those are the hunting groups."
What...? In unison, both of us open our mouths to protest. Calliope's fingers open and close, her cheeks blossoming red. I don't want to leave her... I can't. "Meg-" She raises a finger, mirroring Calliope's gesture mere minutes ago.
"Don't forget who the leader is here. You voted for me, remember that."
She turns to leave, marching back over to the other two who are settling down in the mouth of the shell. It really is just Calliope and I, isn't it? Megaera knew it, and now she's splitting us up.
More than ever, I search my brain for an answer to the question that constantly haunts me... why did I volunteer?
Tirzah Ovata, District Seven Female.
If I keep moving, I stay alive. That's what matters.
Time is impossible to keep track of here, each minute or hour fades away inside the Arena and leaves me in a cold, devoid state of anything but fear. It's now I realise what good use an ally might have done, a friend or just a companion to rest easy with until the inevitability came of splitting up.
It would have come later on, though. Not now, not when we could have supported each other and found a common ground in trying to keep one another alive. You ruined that chance, Tirzah. Now you're alone and left to die.
The only company with me throughout this time is my own mind, whispering in my voice. They say tributes go mad in the Arena, I've seen it happen. Is it always the loners that break away from sanity first, or will it be my bad luck?
At least what I've found isn't the worst of all the possible situations. If the Cornucopia was anything to go by, I expected a thousand rooms decaying and crumbling apart. But this though, it's like I'm back in the Capitol's refined lifestyle or my own mansion on the hilltop. Except there aren't any forests nearby, only countless rooms laden with furniture, clothing and other luxuries.
The entrance at the top side of the staircase I fled through mentioned 'Guest Quarters'. Are we the guests? If it's the Capitol's invitation to let our guard down, I intend to do the very opposite. No matter how tempting a four-poster, frilly duvet and cotton pillow is right now, I'll resist.
My feet continue to patter quietly against the red carpeting. Each twist and turn of these hotel-like corridors leads onto nothing more but another stretch of matching carpet and wallpaper. I don't bother to search every room, conceding to the fact that the majority must hold nothing but similar contents to the ones from the beginning.
Right now my priorities are other tributes over the appearance of the Arena. It's funny, how it works out once you're here. The entire time I tried to avoid people for my own benefit and through that crafted my own perception of the fear I should feel coming into the Arena. It's left me feeling a little underwhelmed. A lukewarm reception.
I should be grateful for nothing more than twists and turns, red flooring and pasty white, floral wallpaper. It's better than the smoldering ruins of where I spent trying to procure a backpack whilst fleeing the carnage of us turning into young killers at the sound of a gong. There are other staircases of course, most likely connected somewhere along the line with the Cornucopia being the central point between upper and lower levels.
It just doesn't feel Hunger Games-y. And I don't know why that bothers me so much.
Under the gentle spattering of light coming from crystal chandeliers, rigid in their screws, I roll up my sleeves. It's warm enough, bordering more on becoming unbearably hot than it is dipping into uncomfortable cold temperatures. There's a source of heating coming from somewhere in this section. It shouldn't be too difficult to work out where and turn the heating system off, but what the results may be could tip the scales in the other direction and I don't quite feel like dying from a cold.
Plus, the things I should be focusing on more is gathering a wider overview of where it is I am, and distancing myself between the pack that will no doubt start hunting whilst I sleep. Alone.
It'll always be me by myself, it's not like that's anything new of course. It's always been me and myself. It's impossible to accustom oneself to social situations if you're deprived of them, it's what made it difficult to venture into the bottom section of the training facility to find someone to talk to, and what made it so much easier to just hide away.
I'm bearing the consequences of such a judgment now. Cold sweats prickle the back of my neck and with each turn, I end up looking over my shoulder just to make sure I'm not being followed. If I allow paranoia to set in, I'll be gone before the next few days, resigned to quivering in a corner where I can't be crept up on only to succumb to some kind of psychosis or the blade of a tribute.
Or a mutt. The grisly kind of death.
Find yourself somewhere to sleep now Tirzah. Leave the realm of wondering what's going to happen and just settle down. Harder to do when put into action, but I concede to my instincts and stop this pointless ambling about.
The first room on my right, I push gently on the door. It sways open silently on its hinges, revealing a fairly standard king-sized bed, matching carpet to the hallway and several cabinets made from the same wood favoured back in my Capitol quarters.
What if, in some sick, unfavourable twist, this furniture was made by my family? Surely not, right? They have their own furniture makers in the Capitol.
Even when I try to dismiss the thought, it settles in my stomach and leaves me uncomfortable when I slide under the duvet. My own family crafting the comfort to which their daughter sleeps, provided she isn't butchered in her sleep by a passing tribute.
I wish I could just go back to those rafters and listen in to the tributes, gathering intelligence seems pointless now when there's no way I can use it against anyone, but it was better than this. Easier.
For the next half hour or so, my body continues to toss and turn in the bed. With no reprieve until, out of what sounds like the picture frame nearest to my head, the Capitol anthem blares out and nearly deathens me.
I bite my bottom lip and peer up at the ceiling, where the Capitol seal brightens up the cream colours. I never spent time wondering who had fallen, or even passed a single body. I heard the fighting, I heard some crying and shouting, but never the sounds of someone dying or metal carving through flesh.
For that I'm grateful, even if right now I have to finally see the victims this Arena has claimed already.
District Five is first, smug but cheerful boy followed by his beaming District partner. I never had time to get to know their thoughts, what they planned with their alliances. It was all about the careers, the biggest opponents. Now I'm seeing their kill list... I wonder who's-
Graeden. His smiling face fills the gap after Celene disappears for the final time. Something deep inside me curls up at that, tightening my throat, the soft squeak leaving my lips before I can help it. He constantly bugged me about opening up, maybe joining his alliance.
Now he's dead. All he did was out of kindness, and it got him nowhere but an early death.
The last few faces barely ring a bell. District Eleven and the entirety of District Twelve. All faces and names that have faded away because of this show of entertainment.
If there was ever a chance for sleep, it's gone, I won't be able to think about anything but my own paranoia and... Graeden. He shouldn't have died. It's not fair... none of this is fair.
I can't help but think what would have happened if I had said yes, accepted his offer and helped him. I'd probably be up there with him, a name to add to a list and a box to send home to Seven. But what if I could have made a difference... it would be me, him and Graeden's ally if we'd have managed to save him also.
Now it's just me, always me. It's no one's fault but myself, and I have to live with it, until the day I die. A day arriving shortly, I'm sure of it.
Matteo Dallas, District Four Male.
We proceed up the stairs in an orderly procession; Saskia up front, myself in the middle and Alistair protecting the rear. Below us, Calliope and Megaera must be finishing off their planning, with Calliope doing all the hard work and Megaera infuriating her further.
It can't be helped, when Megaera has something on her mind, it's as good as done.
"Let's try not to get too carried away guys," I beam, clutching onto the spear. "Better to pace ourselves than stumble into something we're not prepared for."
Saskia's taking too many tips from Megaera. She bats the comment away without even turning, discrediting my advice in favour of her own. It concerns me. Alistair and I know we're the weaker links, but we're also the level-headed ones, especially me, and we don't want the tougher girl to lead us into a situation we can't possibly hope to get out of.
At least I killed in self defence, she dragged along an already escaping boy and butchered him in some girlish, twisted, sadistic show with Megaera. It's hard to balance out knowing how to play this with people, and doing the right thing and calling them out on it.
I favour my life though and hold my tongue, knowing the right time isn't present.
The three of us reach the top of the staircase finally, my breathing a little sharper and a warm flush through my cheeks. Alistair's panting behind me, doing nothing to mask it in some false bravado. Unlike the two of us, if Saskia's uncomfortable, she doesn't display it. When she turns to us, the same sly smile from down below is twisting her face in that annoying way. She pulls the sword closer to her and nods at a sign post, rooted into the wall on the left.
"Patient Quarters, whatever that means."
Patients. Who are the patients?
"Could be some sort of hospital maybe?" Alistair pipes up from behind me. Saskia chews her lip and shrugs her shoulders, turning back round and shaking her head.
"Doesn't matter, we're here to kill not sight-see."
"A little tourism did no one any harm," I joke, advancing alongside her. It's better to add in a comment here and there, I don't want to lose what I already have in this group. They may see me as weak, but I'm inclined to believe I've managed to position myself as an ally they don't want to get rid of just because I scored the least. If I'm useful, friendly, amiable, then I'm still the Matteo Megaera doesn't seem to mind.
Unless that too was a front, it's hard to judge what's going on in her head.
We reach the opening of a corridor. The blanket of darkness that shrouded the majority of the staircase disintegrates in favour of the gentle rays of light coming from candles. They're positioned in sconces, shining up a corridor similar in style to the bloodbath room.
Either side, open doors sway on their creaky hinges, leading on into rooms that are either completely pitch-black or visible only to show destruction within. Cobwebs, mold and other disasters line the ceilings and concrete walling as we continue to proceed gently down. There are glass doors cordoning off different corridors, but it leads on to the same destruction.
"Can't be a hospital," I mutter. There's a chill that curdles my stomach. The atmosphere is frightening, each candle flicker ghost-like, a breeze that cuts through my jacket and sets me shivering.
Better to show no fear in front of Saskia, not if she-
She raises a hand, cutting my thoughts. I halt, knocking Alistair back a step or two. I'm about to mumble an apology when Saskia turns to face us, the sinister grin curling up her face, precious white teeth visible when she brings up the sword.
"I think we've got a live one."
She turns around and before I can say a single thing, she's off, bolting through another door and after whatever she thinks she saw. Maybe it's just a trick of the light, or the sound of something else, not a tribute... what if-
"Come on, Meg will kill us if something happens to her."
We jog forwards, my heart lodged in my throat, the same fear spread throughout. I pump my legs steadily against the ground, swinging my arms with my spear clutched in my fingertips. I'm not adept at it, but I'm good enough to kill a tribute. I've got first hand experience in that now.
Hopefully Alistair can live up to his name.
The musky, metal framed corridors give way to a wide, wooden reception room. Torn furniture lies littered around, cotton spewed haphazardly as the light hangs on the tiniest thread of wire. It casts a dark shadow against the wall, but not mine, not Alistair's, and definitely not... Saskia's...
It turns, slowly. Its back is completely uncovered, the crook of a spine rising in its milky, pale flesh. Alistair lets out a low, frightened squeak when its eyes root on the pair of us. My resolve starts to shake, my spearhand unclenching then tightening.
Its eyes are black, but the rest of it, although crooked and unwashed, looks human-enough.
Patient Quarters. "I think we found the patients."
Alistair takes a step back. I feel the gap widening behind me. I dare not steal a glance in the opposite direction, I root my eyes on its still form, one foot then the next as I try to follow Alistair silently. It remains hunched over, its bald head spotted with filth and pus-filled scabs.
Good job I haven't eaten, otherwise...
Another figure darts out. Wild hair but familiar. She cries out with her sword raised, Saskia, ever the fighter.
The thing snaps out of whatever hypnotic state it was previously under. That's when I see the familiar metallic glint. It's not empty-handed.
"Saskia!" I try to cry out in time, even if my voice betrays my sense of fear and comes out weak, dying out. She doesn't hear anything, and when she leaps, the thing snarls and slashes in an upwards arc.
The machete lodges itself into Saskia, cutting through the sinew in her neck, all the way through to her chest. Nothing leaves Saskia's lips, not a single sound as she falls onto the blade and the thing tries to pull it out. Blood, so much blood, continues to pulse out, spraying upwards. The thing is doused head to toe in her insides and all it does is tug harder, completely ignoring its gory covering.
BOOM!
At the sound of the cannon, the machete lodges free. On the balls of its feet, it turns to face us, a sick grin warping its features. Cracked, yellow teeth contrast against the grisly blanket of red covering its emaciated form.
It charges, and Alistair and I waste no time in running away.
Atarah Neve, District Nine Female.
"You remind me of my friend Ivonne."
Kennedy chuckles at that, pulling out a canister of water and chugging down as much as she wants. The fire in her eyes is what reminds me of my best friend, the fact she never gave much thought to what anyone said and bit back when the world was against her.
Then there was that gentle side also, the one I brought out and cared for. Kennedy has that too, somewhere, tucked away and padlocked to protect herself.
"You're nothing like my friend Holden, he's a little more outspoken."
"Like you then," Elijah jokes, nudging Kennedy gently in the elbow. The younger girl looks up at him and nods, smiling and allowing herself to laugh a little. Hiding amongst the broken bits of rock and stone, above the water level, gives us the overview of the entire room and a place to just relax and be together.
Running through the bloodbath, finding Elijah and Kennedy both trying to secure ourselves supplies, happened to be the scariest moment of my entire life. I've never felt emotions like that, not at such a high level that they made my entire conscious sway in and out. It was halfway down the stairs at the harsh pulling of Elijah that I realised I'd completely failed my alliance.
The fact I'm a burden still weighs heavy on my chest, but I tuck that away and joke alongside them. It's better to retell tales of the past that bring you joy, not suck the sorrow out of a place that is designed to do so already.
"I hope the water doesn't rise too much." Elijah looks over the wooden board we're resting on. The four edges balance on a larger stone platform, however the foundations are crumbling and if we drop, we'll be up to our waist in thick, green water. We had to tread through it to reach here, it was a quick venture though. I'd rather not consider what could be lurking underneath if we stay too long.
We're in some kind of abandoned, spooky basement. We've managed to establish that much. Apart from the tunnels leading off to the far left and right of this room, the rest of the Arena is pretty much unknown.
A breeze rushes through from somewhere, lapping against the water and sending a ripple that dances all the way towards us. It would be beautiful if not for the darkness. The candle lights do little to fight back the impending pitch-blackness of this room.
Elijah's promised it will all work out, it'll be alright and if the worst does happen we'll be strong together and find another solution. Another shelter. I admire his courage and optimism, even though I know the real truth, it's hard not to be swayed by his gentle words. Kennedy's glumness matches the realism of such a situation and for once I'm torn on who to accept.
Elijah, or Kennedy. Both are my friends, through thick and thin, and it's in times of endangerment that you find out who you can really rely on. So I guess the Hunger Games are the best place to work out trust from dishonesty. Elijah and Kennedy have done all they can for me. And you've done absolutely nothing.
"We should sort something out for breakfast." Elijah begins to pull open his own backpack, sitting in a puddle that splashed up on our journey. Kennedy nods and I simply comply, letting them do what they believe is better.
It would pain me too much to disagree with them, especially when they have to be right. The anger is inside Kennedy but she's good at keeping it to herself and closing down tight if it gets a bit too much. Choosing to sit down in a corner and shut down on herself. After the bloodbath that's exactly what she did, and even when Elijah tried to comfort her she never lashed out. Kennedy's filter is helpful, so I have to be helpful too by utilising what I can do best.
My kindness, like with Elijah, we share this virtue together.
He splits open a bread roll, dividing into thirds and scooping up the crumbs and placing them back in the plastic packaging. Then, Kennedy cuts up into slithers a few slices of stale cheese that were bundled up with a small knife she's keeping to herself.
"Ladies first." He kindly passes Kennedy and I our breakfast first, then prepares his own and leans against the stone wall, taking timid bites out of it. Better to save more, we're taught that a lot where we're from. Especially in times of trouble and distress.
Soon enough, the silence is broken by a small chime that echoes off the arched ceiling. It bounces back and we all look up at the source. A miniature parachute floats downwards, stark white, carrying a tiny metallic canister.
For a moment we sit there, stock still, watching it land with a gentle splash in the water. Sponsors, already? And for an alliance like us, that chooses story-telling and breakfast over moving and looking for the fights the Capitol so desire.
Our reluctance should be scorned, not praised.
Kennedy is the one that takes to her feet. Her dainty frame lands in the water, fighting back splinters that float too close. The murky water ripples with each footfall that resounds from underneath its surface.
"I wonder what it is," I say, looking at Elijah who's too busy rummaging through a backpack. He brings out a water container that hasn't yet been drunk from, some pills and sets to work. I turn back to face the front, Kennedy almost lost to the darkness when I see her reach down and scoop it up in her hands.
The canister pops open, the sound barely reaching us from over here. The feeling of pride at being allowed a gift so early fights away the pain of burdening my alliance. Until I see Kennedy shove something in her jacket pocket, replacing the canister with painkillers she's already sorted through.
What's she doing?
A question fights its way to the tip of my tongue, the urge to call Kennedy and work out what it is she's up to. But I don't. I'm not entirely sure why I don't say anything, but the little voice tickling the back of my head tells me otherwise. Kennedy is someone to trust, whatever it is she is doing is for the benefit of this alliance.
Maybe her mentor tucked a note alongside the gift, relating to some sort of plan that Kennedy's the ringleader of. Yes, yes that has to be it.
If I start doubting my friends, I'll lose the very thing I try to cling onto. I won't let the Arena take away the one thing I provide towards this alliance. Kennedy is to be trusted, I can't lose that. Not now, not ever.
Lochlan Clarington, District Two Male.
I let out a disgruntled groan, the infected water soaking me to the bone from ankle to waist. Tyndall's remaining quiet to himself, lost in thought as we trek through these waters. The tunnels are arched, round and high-ceiling, echoing every low footstep back to us and three times the volume. Occasionally, there's a distant moan or a thud, the scurrying and scratching of rats or mice.
It's like being in some kind of sewer, only there are no pipes, only what seems a circular connection of rooms, the underground of the Cornucopia.
"We should find high ground before we get some kind of disease," I slap at the water, angrily. It's freezing, disgusting and who knows what's even underneath the surface, swimming through our legs. It could be paranoia ruining my sense of security, or actually something within the water.
Hopefully the former.
"Keep following the tunnel, we'll find something eventually." Tatum gestures with the point of her favourite hatchet. There's the undertone of fear in her voice, but as Tatum does, she tries to hide this under a mask of indifference and anger. High up on her pedestal, she's content to add in a single comment that really doesn't benefit us in any way.
Although it's clear to even me, whose never been the most intelligent, it's really just her straining to be stronger than she really is. It's admirable the way she's attempting to defend herself from outside harm, if only she'd let down her barrier so we could actually help her.
An alliance is based on mutual cooperation after all. Tyndall's input here and there is caked in that sweet, awkward manner to which he speaks. Looking at them from my back spot, guarding the rear from who knows what, it's easy to see why we struggle. We aren't anything alike.
My feet brush over cobbles on the ground, something tight wrapping round my leg that I dismiss as a plant which easily unties itself and wades away. It's cold, but I can feel a sweat building on my forehead from the anxiety the Arena is already bringing to me.
I haven't killed yet, which gives me something to be happy about. I haven't lost that shred of humanity just yet, something the careers are so eager to break so they can be the monsters they've wanted to be since they held that first knife. Tyndall will never kill, the kid is too pure with his intelligence and gawkiness.
Tatum has killed. The after-effects haven't seemed to hit her too hard. But it's Tatum I look at, tangled hair clinging to her jacket with water and gunk rising with each splash of her heavy footsteps. Even if she was hurting, the scowl gives nothing away.
"Let's play a game," I laugh. My allies turn to face me, Tatum skeptical whereas Tyndall seems to brighten at my suggestion. I shrug my shoulders casually. Honestly, anything to waste the time and draw my thoughts away from the bloodbath, death and this shit-hole. I want to bring it back to a sense of humanity.
"I say a word and you say the first word that comes to your head." My voice bounces back to me from the walls. Loud, booming, yet I cover it with kindness because it's the only thing my alliance seem to respond to. Tyndall nods, whereas all Tatum does is quietly turn back and face the front, dragging her hatchet through the waters without a care.
"Family."
Tyndall smiles. "Love," he says, gently. I nod my head, the sweetness of the kid totally welcoming right now. The pair of us turn in unison to face Tatum whose face only darkens, the scowl tightening her lips when she looks down at the weapon between her fingers.
"Pass."
I frown, Tyndall's eager shoulders sagging down. "That's not how it works."
"What about you Lochlan? Family." She arches an eyebrow, slightly amused with the tone of her anger always present. If I want her to play the game, then I have to be willing also.
"Hardship," I reply honestly. The truth of course, because my family was always in fact something of a burden to carry on my shoulders. Who doesn't love their family, right? But who doesn't have their differences? The hardest thing was the difference being my sister's aptitude to a sword and mine to a bitter word because I never agreed with the system in Two. You'll never find out why you're here, you know Lochlan. You just are.
I mirror Tatum's expression and raise my own eyebrow. "Your turn."
A low chuckle shakes the water, the slightest of smirks destroying her annoyed expression. "As I said. Pass."
Before I can say another word in retaliation, a pinprick of light beats away the darkness. I look up at the ceiling to see it rise in a higher arch, looming over us sinisterly as we enter another room, leaving the tunnel. Tyndall gawps around, the ceiling covered with metal chandeliers that have replaced crystals with candles that add an ominous atmosphere to things.
If the Arena wasn't already creepy, look at this.
"Great," I say, the brief flicker of happiness leaving as quickly as it came. Our game is over, back to the main Game at hand.
The level of water narrows, being cut off by two sides of stone that act as a sidewalk leading to two small arches which must be more rooms to explore. Tyndall reaches the side first, pushing himself up onto the concrete and reaching out a hand for Tatum.
She shakes her head, drawing herself out first. I look once more at the water continuing in a gentle flow, back into another tunnel and into more darkness. Light is better than not being able to see, I guess exploration is the road forwards.
When Tyndall offers me a gentle hand, I accept and grip once onto his palm and the other onto the wet stone. He hoists me up and I offer a nod, a smile on my face.
"Right I suppose, unless we want to swim some more to reach the other side." Tyndall shivers at the possibility. I guess not then.
"Ladies first," I signal my sword in the direction of the archway. Tatum nods sharply and sucks in a tight breath, her feet tapping the stone with each footstep. When she passes through, Tyndall follows and I once more protect the back. It's safe to say I'm the most talented here with a weapon, and although Tatum may not like to be seen as weak, it's the way it unfortunately is. I'll defend them if it comes down to it, but over what?
Whose survival is more important to me? Theirs, or mine?
Tyndall's back meets my chest and I let out a short breath, knocking the wind out of me. When I step to his side, I look once at his face and then back at the front. His eyes widen, and in turn, when the light reaches my eyes and I blink, I join his expression and feel the icy spike down my spine.
Cages, thin and rusted, line the left and right side of the wall. A coffin of some sort rests against one wall, the inner front covered with thin needles.
A rack, cranks either side with restraints screwed in. Ropes, swords, knives. And tucked away, in the corner, a puddle of decay surrounding a skeleton.
"A torture chamber?" Tatum whispers, baffled, horrified. I have to agree with the reaction. Blood smothers every single machine of horror, covering it with filth and rot. I see more body parts, littered around and shiver.
We step back, once, then twice, all in turn. A door hits my shoulders, where there was once an opening.
"Guys..." my voice trails off, lost as a whisper.
The only way through is forwards, through this room, drenched with the dead.
Saskia deValier, District Two Female.
Bubbles. On form, Saskia was one of the careers I saw the most potential in. Then I got to writing her and realised that through my mistakes, I was struggling and knew that she had to die near the beginning. I'm sorry for the early death.
So the Arena is, as the title suggests, an asylum. I have however incorporated different aspects into this. The Arena isn't a standard asylum. As Tirzah's witnessing, there seems to be a nicer side to the Arena. Whereas, down below the stairs it's dark, miserable, and Lochlan's alliance has found a rather unpleasant room. The other areas will be explored more as time goes by ;D
Favourite out of these POVs and why?
If you could ally with any of these tributes, who would you choose and why?
Careers have already split. Matteo and Alistair have met one of the patients. Torture Chamber. Kennedy's behaviour. I'm really excited for the chapters to come!