Chapter Twenty.

Day One, Part Two.

Blaine Carrigan, 16 years old;
District Six Male.

He tried not to admit it to himself, but truthfully, he was surprised to be alive.

He had ran, he had given up to skirt along the edge of the bloodbath and flee, but… still…

He was relieved, definitely. But more than anything, Blaine was shocked. The Careers had been there. But not only that, Holly's promise had kept him up the entire night before the Games, and he'd been so sure there was nothing he could do about her.

You, silly…

You…

He was too scared to die. Too scared to come across another tribute. More than anything, he was ashamed to admit any of that to himself. He was in over his head, out of his depth, in a situation without any allies, any sense of direction, and a girl out there with a target on him.

He peeked out from the house he'd sheltered himself in, looking once down the left hand side of the road, then again down the right. It was way too calm. Nothing was happening. Inside the house, he'd removed the dolls that gave him the creeps out into the garden, but they'd only returned the moment Blaine had turned his back.

Really, he just wanted to be with someone. It was funny how that always worked, how he'd always strived to better himself from everyone, detached himself from them so they understood what he was, what he could do. Now, more than anything, company was the most important thing to him, and he'd ruined any chance of that.

Maybe I am useless… maybe everyone else is right…

He blinked back tears. If they were right, if he was useless, then this was the best moment, his one true opportunity to actually prove to them what he could do, live up to his words rather than doing nothing to show for it. If he could win, actually come out alive against all odds, they couldn't doubt him any longer.

I just have to be smart about it, use my head for a change and keep my mouth shut. He stepped out of the house, paused, expecting something bad to happen, and then carried on down when everything looked as peaceful as it was bound to get. Stay out of trouble and you can do this. Come on Blaine!

He held onto the only backpack he had. Inside, because of where he'd collected the bag, right near his pedestal, there was nothing but one slice of bread and half a bottle of water. The Gamemakers had made things tough for him straight from the off.

But he still held onto hope that what he'd done to Holly's alliance would show itself eventually. Maybe the Capitol liked him for injecting a little drama into things. Maybe that was something he had over the other tributes, a factor that would give him a little boost when things got bad.

He hoped so.

Otherwise, he was just a lone, sad, hopeful tribute wandering around a town, not knowing where to go. No direction. Nothing but house, after house, after house.

Still, he wouldn't let that get him down. He tried with all his might to forget about how scared and helpless he felt, and focus on being productive. All the houses had taps that didn't work. He bet the Cornucopia house had running water, but the rest were bust.

If he found a supply of water, then he'd be set. That's my first step: find water. He nodded to himself and set off down the road, turning a left and continuing on.

He made it only a few, small, tiny, impossibly short steps when a hand snagged him from the back. He bit his tongue, holding back a scream, tumbling backwards onto someone.

From the side of the house, whoever it was had jumped him, and now he was lying on his back, gazing up at…at…

No.

Oh fuck no.

"Miss me," Holly smiled at him, tilting her head. "Oh come on now Blaine, at least look like you're happy to see me."

"That'll be a first." He'd bitten his tongue so hard blood was welling up in his mouth, but he still had some bite, still had enough in him to spit red in her face.

She didn't even react. When it slid down her cheek, she only smiled again and bent down to his level, lending him a hand.

"Come on buddy, let's get you up." He stared at her hand. Don't take it… don't take it… But he did. Holly helped Blaine settle onto his feet. Though he was sixteen and Holly only a year older, she seemed so much more intimidating, looking at him, doing nothing but grinning.

"Your allies…"

"Will stay in the garden where I left them. They think I've gone to scout things out a bit. I mean I did, but look what I've scouted, oh," she clapped her hands together, "this couldn't have gone any better."

He had half a mind to run. Why was this happening so soon? Just when he'd escaped certain death, fate had a funny way of throwing him straight back into it again. Holly stepped forwards, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Come on Blaine, you know that."

He only stared at her, silenced. Fear had constricted his throat. He didn't want to die… not only when he'd just gotten himself ready… prepared… no.

"You've made things a lot harder for me. One of my allies isn't buying it and I'm struggling. I can't just let that slide, y'know? If this were the District, I'd do something to get back at you. Not kill you," she laughed, like it was the funniest thing, "no in Six, I'd never kill someone. But in the Hunger Games, revenge has to be that, doesn't it? Murder? Yeah… I am sorry Blaine. I gotta do what's right for me." She stepped forwards. "I'll make it quick-"

"Holly?"

Both of the tributes from Six turned to see Therese and Sherina, walking out from the side of the house. At that exact moment of hope, blossoming inside of Blaine's chest, knowing she couldn't do it in front of them, Holly's hand struck him in the face, a red flush overwhelming her cheeks.

"Help!" She stumbled back. "He just attacked me… he tried… he was going to kill me…" Her voice was frantic. Therese and Sherina then looked at him. The girl from Eleven stepped forwards, determined. Sherina looked between everyone, then sighed, shrugging her shoulders to herself.

They were coming after him.

She actually had control over them. They believed her. They bought into this sick façade.

Blaine turned around before any of them could get a hand on him, legging it down the road, frantically trying to escape their pursuit. He could hear Holly's voice, high-pitched, wailing that he was a murderer, that she was so scared, as he continued to run.

Once round a corner, he went into the nearest house before they could see him. They continued to run past, Blaine listening out for them, one eye peering out from behind the window.

Holly stepped back, her two allies ahead of her, the same smile from earlier on her sick, twisted face.

"I'll find you Blaine," she said, quietly, but loud enough for him to hear from the distance between them. "And when I do… oh… you'd wished I'd gotten it over with."

He slid back down onto the carpet, curling into a ball, and for the first time in forever, started to cry.

I don't want to die…

I don't…

Please…

Someone.

Anyone.

Rhaella Cresswell, 18 years old;
District Four Female.

Henry wouldn't do it. Whether he wanted to, or didn't want to, Rhaella knew it made no difference.

He sat with his legs kicked up on the table, playing with the knife in one hand, and enjoying a cup of water in the other. Rhaella glared his way the entire walk through the kitchen and out the door, Rayah's corpse over one shoulder.

If they wouldn't clear the house of their actions, she would do it.

It was the least she could do.

Not that she'd ever really cared much about Rayah, or Vance. But they deserved better than this. It was funny how she'd gone through the whole of the Capitol, in fact her whole life, knowing that her allies would have to die. Knowing, or hoping, that she wouldn't care. If she didn't care, then nothing could affect her.

Maybe it was the shock factor that made her think she did care. Rayah's body hit the grass, piled up next to Vance's, ready to be collected. She hoped it wouldn't last long – the fact she felt she was going to be sick, or lunge at Henry, or Saira, at any given moment.

She knew one thing: she hated them both. Henry had always been a little creep, but Saira… Saira seemed different. She seemed like someone Rhaella could get along with, not place her trust in, but get along with.

She only had to look at what happened to three people who had placed their trust in her. They were dead; Rhaella cleaning house.

She dreaded the next bit. Walking past Henry who looked at her all the way, she gritted her teeth, stopping herself from saying anything. He thought she was happy to be here. Thought she liked him. If she could keep that up, it would get her far enough, until it was time to take him out, like he'd taken out half of their alliance in just a few seconds.

She couldn't use what she'd wanted to use – manipulate her way into the eyes, brain and heart of someone. But she could do that in a different way. Saira had gotten into the little creep's system someway, Rhaella had to just try the same. Get Henry to devote his warped loyalty to her, and then everything would work out alright.

It was the best she could do.

Otherwise…

She looked down at Tristian's dead body and bit back a sob. Saira walked down the stairs the exact same time she flung him over her shoulder. Luckily he was light, that she was grateful for. But more than anything, she just wished he wasn't dead. Eventually he would have had to have died, but not this early, not without knowing it was his time to go. Not before maybe… apologising.

She'd been doing her own thing to survive. He must have known that, even if it had cost him some sense of dignity during the Capitol.

Once back out in the garden, she heard Saira finally speak up, the first words they'd said to each other since the end of the bloodbath.

"I'm going to help Rhaella, there's something I need to talk to her about." Great, just what I need. "Mind the house, make sure no one gets in."

"Aye aye," Henry said, laughing to himself. Like it was funny. Like he was special.

Rhaella stopped herself, again, from shouting out how she really felt. Instead, when Saira placed a hand on her shoulder, she turned on the spot, stood up from where she'd been kneeling to get Tristian next to Rayah and Vance, and smiled at her.

"The rest of this day will be quiet, not much to do. They'll be fine with the dramatic bloodbath, we won't need to really go out and hunt until tomorrow at the earliest."

Saira nodded. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Go ahead." She continued to smile at her, as difficult as it was, as much as she wanted to kill the deceiving bitch before her. Rhaella would never have done what she did – not yet, not until it was necessary. They'd both volunteered to kill people, sure. But the difference was, she tore apart an alliance that mutually understood they'd stick together for as long as they could.

It wasn't perfect, but it was something.

Now, more than anything, Rhaella hated her for stealing her own peace of mind. Without such a large alliance, she felt exposed. It was selfish, but it was true. And Tristian, as selfish as I might be, I did care about him… I did…

"I know what you're really thinking, Rhaella. I'm not an idiot." Saira sighed, sitting down against the grass. Rhaella looked down at the top of her head, then next to her, and decided to just give in and hear her out.

"What do you mean?"

They exchanged eye contact. Saira looked serious. The smile was gone, so Rhaella dropped her own. "He killed Rayah and Tristian. I killed Vance. You might not have been close with us, but you supported our alliance in your own way. I can see it, what you really think, what you really want to do…"

"I-"

"You hate us. Me, him. Maybe me even more because you know he can't help it, he wants this more than anything. The killing, maybe not even the victory. But me," Saira sighed, shaking her head, "what's my excuse? I killed Vance because Vance was going to kill Henry. Like he stole your security net, the one person who would have been there for you, I couldn't let him take out mine. Does that make me a bad person?"

"I don't-"

"It does," Saira continued to speak, looking at Rhaella, then at the window where they could see Henry trapped in his own world. Whatever he thought in that head of his, Rhaella was sure it was a dark place to be, a place she'd never want to understand.

"You hate me. You want Henry dead, and you want me dead. And I know your game. I know you're being the good, compliant ally, the friend we all want in the one person we didn't kill. I understand."

"It's that obvious?" Rhaella's tone took on a whole new change. From pretend enthusiasm, to this new hollowness she felt, her mind and body contaminated with a newfound hatred. It was a part of her now. And Saira could see it. She always knew Saira was different, that she was smart, clever, and playing them all in her own special way.

Maybe she wasn't a bad person. But that didn't excuse her for what she'd done, and it never would. Rhaella still hated her. That would never change.

"I want you to know I don't blame you. I understand and even accept the fact you hate me, that you want to kill me, and that you won't do it until you feel the time is right. The fact I know doesn't mean I'm going to kill you now, or hand you over to Henry, or even let him know." Saira smiled, maybe the most genuine smile she'd seen on the troubled girl's face. "We're not friends, but we're allies. I don't hate you, Rhaella. But you can hate me, hate me all you like. Just know, when you think it's time to kill me, I'll be just as ready too."

She stood up, leaving Rhaella sat down, staring at her as she turned to walk away, back to her little pet.

"When you think it's time, I'll understand. You do what you have to do."

I will.

Believe me, I will.

Nothing had changed.

He'd still die.

She'd still die.

And then she'd win. Nothing would effect that. Nothing would get in her way.

They'd die.

That was final.

Eliasi Vallis, 16 years old;
District Eight Female.

The three of them were sat round a kitchen table. Between them all, a heavy sense of anguish tested them, but neither Tymas, Lazaro nor Eliasi were prepared to give in to it.

If anything, the fact Tymas had been able to smile at both of them since sorting out a meagre dinner, meant a lot to Eliasi especially. Lazaro had always been tough, inside and out, really. Ramon's death had hit him hard, but he wasn't showing many signs of it.

Tymas didn't deal well with the deeper conversations about life and death, so hadn't even tried to cover the topic. And Eliasi, well, all she wanted to do was go upstairs and sleep in a bed and never wake up.

Not because she was willing to give up, but because she was the only one admitting to herself that she had failed someone she was meant to protect. What made it worse was, she had hid. Hid whilst a young boy, a little boy who reminded her so much of her younger brothers, had been decapitated in cold blood.

She couldn't deal with the thoughts inside her head, but she was at least accepting them. Whilst they talked about how hard it was, without really breaking down, Eliasi was close to it. Closer than she'd ever been before to admitting weakness. I failed… and it's only just started…

"We should search this house first, before we settle for the night," Lazaro said. If anyone was going to lead the alliance far into the Games, it was him. Tymas might have the right personality to get his allies together, but Lazaro was tough, and prepared more than anything to do what had to be done. Both Eliasi and Tymas tried to ignore that, Lazaro didn't.

"I'd even sleep in the same bed as Tymas, that's how tired I am," Eliasi attempted a laugh. It worked as best as it probably would right now. Give it a day or two, she hoped things would return to normal, or as normal as they could get in the Games. A place she'd seen the body of a young boy. I should kill whoever did that to him. She knew it was a Career. No doubt about it.

Everything inside of her had not only been torn up about what had happened, but had been angry, a red in her eyes that wouldn't go away. She wanted revenge even when she knew how stupid it was to go seeking that. She'd finally, after the worst thing that could have happened, given in to accepting an alliance that she should have done first of all.

If she blundered into an idea about getting vengeance on people who knew how to kill, she'd be going straight back to the start. Straight back to pretending she didn't care about her wellbeing just so she could do what she kidded herself was right.

If the Games could change her in one way, she hoped it would be this way. She wanted to stick by the people that could keep her sane and grounded, so she didn't do something stupid.

She wanted to be like them.

"We give this house a look over then you can sleep with Tymas all you like."

"No thanks," Tymas sat down next to Eliasi, smirking at her, despite his red eyes. "She's not my type."

"And that would be?"

"Not sure I have much of a type to be honest." Tymas laughed, taking a swig of water. They had a good bundle of supplies for an alliance that had lost a lot. Eliasi was surprised they even had it in them to think about gathering up supplies when Ramon's dead body was visible in the open hallway of the house.

At least they fought through how they felt, doing what was right, even when things were so wrong.

"Come on, let's get it done now." Lazaro offered them the weakest of smiles – he looked tired himself. But as he always did, he fought through it and stood up, going round the table and into the corridor. Eliasi and Tymas exchanged a look.

"Ladies first."

"Age before beauty," Eliasi countered, gesturing to the door.

"I'm not getting up first."

"And you call me stubborn." She stood up, pushing Tymas off the plastic chair first, and then laughing as she met up with Lazaro in the corridor. This house was a little different, on either side there were two other doors, one leading into a hidden cupboard that snuck through the house, giving them a way up without making it obvious, and a set of stairs that led down.

The basement.

"Let me guess, we're going down there."

"The safest part we should leave to last. Anything could be down there," Lazaro sounded a little bit worried. But of course, he wouldn't give in to that. Like all of them, he didn't want to just give up, even when it seemed easier to do so.

"Maybe that's why we should avoid it," Tymas said. But the three of them began walking down the rickety staircase anyway. It was pitch black, luckily one of them had found a flashlight in their backpacks, so they shone it down, illuminating a large, open, empty room.

Empty except for the shelves, either side of the wall.

"Fuck…" Eliasi breathed out, stunned, frozen at the bottom of the stairs.

"Fuck indeed." Tymas said.

"Yeah..." Lazaro offered last, shining the light closer to what they were seeing. On each shelf, a few inches apart from one another, baby dolls dressed like Eliasi sat, staring at them. Though their eyes didn't move when they were looking, with each step they took, Eliasi swore they followed them through the basement.

"Creepy baby dolls. Well then, now we know they're done here, how about we go b-"

Before Tymas could finish, his eyes widened, words dying on the tip of his tongue. One of the baby dolls was turning its head to stare at them. Its arm raised, just as all the others did the same thing.

"I don't like dolls." Eliasi muttered, horror-struck. "Maybe that's why I preferred breaking them than playing with them."

"You're a real catch," Tymas whispered.

"Shut up."

Lazaro was still staring at them, then flashing a light at the end of the room. A chest was stationed there, with the padlock snapped open, lying before it. He motioned towards it, but immediately, Tymas backed up, Eliasi shaking her head.

"I'm not walking through this room to get to that. Not for anything."

"I'm with her."

"But-" Lazaro looked at one of the dolls, inching ever so closer to the edge of the shelf. "Yeah. Yeah you're right. Back up the stairs, now."

Eliasi and Tymas didn't need telling twice. They were up the stairs in a flash, Lazaro right behind them. When he'd cleared the way, Eliasi slammed the door shut, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

"Good idea Lazaro. Let's search the house."

"Well sorry," he grumbled, "I didn't know there were going to be killer dolls waiting for us."

"Bet mummy and daddy are pissed with us." Tymas joked. Outside in the garden they'd removed the two dolls that had been in the kitchen, waiting for them when they'd stepped in.

Eliasi shuddered.

"I'm going to sleep."

All three of them could agree on that. They swiftly moved upstairs, into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind them and barring it with a chair just in case.

"If I'm killed by a doll…" Tymas laughed, "what a way to go, huh?"

"They have to get in line."

"Bring it," he kicked her with his bare foot, lying on the bed, buried into the pillows.

"One of these days…"

It was now getting dark.

They'd survived one day. One day in the Games, however many to go.

Bring on the rest.

Casimar Kaveli, 18 years old;
District Nine Male.

The first day was finally coming to an end. Each house had lights that automatically came on, brightening up the town from behind windows and doors.

Casimar and Clarette were still walking, sticking to the sidewalks, looking at each house, but continuing on without stopping. Casimar thought better than to stop and ask why Clarette was acting so anxious.

Maybe if they kept walking, they wouldn't have to deal with how they really felt. Maybe Clarette just didn't want the chance to break down. It made sense. Casimar hadn't seen his younger ally show much of anything except the attitude that might put off anyone else, but kept him stuck to her side. She was just a teenage girl after all. He didn't know her life, what she'd been through, and it wasn't his place to judge her just because she seemed to judge everyone else.

Plus her spirit was what endeared him to stay with her. So he did just that, bringing up the rear of their advance into the night-time toy town, a few steps behind her, scoping out for something. Anything.

He was thankful they'd made it out of the bloodbath unscathed. Clarette had a machete. Casimar had a spear. They both had a backpack each with food and water to last a few days. Compared to some other alliances, surely they were doing well for themselves. He didn't want to lose himself to early Games confidence, but it was hard not to.

He was one of the older competitors here, with a capable ally, and enough to get him through. Why shouldn't he be confident? Clarette certainly seemed to be maintaining that strict cocky air to herself since they'd started walking.

He'd keep his guard up though. For anything and everything. He wasn't about to lose – no, no he'd promised his friends and family he'd come back. It was a promise he was planning on keeping.

"Sh," Clarette finally whispered something to him, raising a hand to stop his advance. He looked nervously at her, then into the air around him, a mix of dark and light. "Look."

They were in the middle of one of the roads, stuck in the open between a junction that went back round the Square of houses they were in, and then veered towards other branches of the Arena. Casimar followed her finger, pointing to a shadow protected by a house on the corner. He had to squint to see it, but when whatever it was took a step forwards, his heart froze. If he didn't care about how he was appearing to Clarette, himself, and the whole of Panem, he might have ran there and then, backwards, away… wherever it wasn't.

Looking at them, perfectly still, perfectly eerie, was a clown. In one hand, he held a bright, blood red balloon, the other behind his back. He tilted his head once, staring at them, calm as water, not moving an inch.

"What do we do?-"

"Hey," Clarette shouted, waving her machete in the air, "go piss off someone else!"

"I don't think you should provoke him."

"I know what I'm doing," Clarette snapped, facing the front again, glaring at it from afar.

Its other hand moved from behind its back. Clutched tight into its palm, as tight as it was holding the balloon string, it brought out a butcher's knife that caught the light of the house opposite.

Clarette turned to look at Casimar, her face considerably paler.

"Okay, maybe we should turn back."

When both of them looked up, however, it was gone. Nothing there but empty space against the house it had been standing by.

"I don't like this Arena," Casimar admitted.

Clarette nodded her head. "Me neither. Come on, let's settle in this house."

Why he was letting her take the lead in everything, he still had no idea, but Casimar wasn't about to refuse her or fight back. If anything, his eyes continually scanned the area where the clown had been, but nothing was there. If it was a trick of the Gamemakers, hopefully it was over.

But, if not…

He gulped, refusing to get into that yet. It was the first day. They'd survived the bloodbath. The rest could come later, the horror, whatever was in store, he had a night's sleep ahead of him first.

Once inside the house, Clarette kicked over one of the dolls in the hallway, laughing to herself as its head popped off. They both went into the living room, staring once out the curtains, before Clarette pulled them shut and closed the door.

"Are you an idiot?"

W-What…?

"Are you an idiot?" Clarette repeated, glaring at Casimar.

"I didn't do anything."

"No you didn't. But they are." She gestured towards the window. "How haven't you seen them? Or even heard them?"

"I don't understand," Casimar sat down in one of the armchairs, strong, sturdy plastic, but with a comfortable overall that would help him sleep.

Clarette, however, didn't seem like she wanted any sleep.

"Your cute little District partner and her ally are following us. They have been for a few hours now."

"No they haven't," Casimar said, looking towards the window. I would have seen them… like Clarette had.

"Tomorrow, we confront them. I don't want them getting in our way any longer. It's why we kept walking. I was hoping they'd give up and go wherever else they wanted to stick their noses in."

"We're not fighting Noelani and Chase."

"Yes we are."

"No," Casimar stood up, towering over Clarette, "we are not."

They both held each other's gaze, neither backing down. Clarette didn't seem to care he was much taller, much broader, much stronger than she was. In fact, if anything, Casimar was the one who felt intimidated. She dropped her machete onto the ground and shook her head, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Fine, but if they give me one reason to," she kicked her discarded weapon, lying there on the carpet, "I'm using that. This is the Hunger Games. Whether she's your District partner or not, if they try to hurt us, they die."

"They… die." Casimar nodded his agreement, sitting back down as Clarette turned away.

They die? He knew he was prepared to do a lot of things in this Arena, but kill Noelani? Maybe they were just following them because they wanted to propose a larger alliance. Or maybe Clarette was being an idiot and they weren't following at all.

Clarette could do what she liked, Casimar was not going to fight Noelani. Not until it was absolutely necessary. Not until it was him or her. She would never hurt him, so he would never hurt her.

With that final thought, the Capitol anthem announced the first day had come to an end. Clarette stood up and pulled back the curtains, Casimar staying in his chair, looking at her as she watched the night sky.

When it finally ended, Clarette turned to face him, stunned. He looked at her face, slowly going from the same pallid shade, to a smile, growing and growing into her cheeks.

"Three…" she muttered in disbelief.

"Three?"

Clarette walked up to him and then, completely out of character, jumped in the air and laughed out loud. "Three! Three Careers are dead. Casimar, can you believe that? Three on the first day."

He stared at her.

Like he'd doubted her plenty today, he doubted her again. But she couldn't be wrong. The Capitol certainly wouldn't be wrong about that. "Three Careers…"

It didn't happen.

It never happened.

He started laughing with her. A small part of him felt guilty that they were cheering over the death of teenagers, but these were teenagers who trained to kill people who had no choice in their fate, people who nearly always won.

With three gone, they stood a chance. A better chance.

"One of us could win…" Clarette hugged him. Tomorrow she'd act like that hadn't happened. Act cool again. Act like she always acted.

But right now, the two of them were happy. The Arena, the clown, Noelani and Chase, it all disappeared from Casimar's mind as they both drifted off towards sleep.

Tomorrow they'd station a guard, rotate between one another, but tonight they simply slept.

Three Careers…

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe he really could do this.

Maybe he could win.

And that's the first day!

So, to give a little insight, the Arena is sort of a mixture between the toys children play with and the nightmares they have. So for example, the clown in this one, the mysterious room from the last chapter, the baby dolls with Tymas/Eliasi/Lazaro. It's a blend between innocent dollhouses and the darker stuff that children fear. More to be revealed soon!

Also, I think according to my plan, this marks the end of the no death chapters. I don't like to have too many of them, so two seemed a fair amount. Next chapter, we start saying goodbye to some more tributes! ;)