District Four's Dylan Drake's POV
FUBAR.
That's all I could think of as I felt the excruciating pain of a piece of wood over a foot long dug into my back while it tore right through my center mass with the additional pain of a sharp piece of metal stabbed into my chest along with most of my thumb missing, having been bitten off by Jenriko.
Every breath I took was like breathing in fire, only fueling the inferno building inside of me. The wooden pole must of punctured a lung, because I felt like I was drowning as I heard myself gurgle when I exhaled. Warmth also seemed to spread itself through my body as I breathed, especially my mouth.
I turned around and tried to find whoever was chasing me, but because Jenriko had knocked my glasses off my face, I couldn't see worth a damn. Even worse, the whole area was black, black and red, just like Hell.
Hell, I never thought of the arena as Hell. I always thought of it as a challenge for the mind and body, because if you were penetration and tenacious enough to survive, you were seen as a worthy individual that deserved the respect that people gave to you. You were seen as a champion among the common people, you were an individual that was genetically superior then the competitors.
Creek won those games, so she was considered superior then the competition. After all, she was considered the closest you could get to a nonpareil career, and because I was her brother and because I was the best in my year, I'd be able to win because I was both penetration and tenacious. A good fighter all around and a strategist.
I'd be able to get sponsors to support me and be able to out think and out fight those who opposed me. Just like Creek did.
But things never go as planned. No matter what happens, nothing ever goes the way you want them to go.
This was supposed to be simple. I was going to go in, take out anyone that would oppose me, take out my allies, then get out. But a cataclysm happened before we even got into the arena.
Jen had been boinking her male mentor in a scam to get extra sponsors and sponsor gifts. Victory and Jeremiah stopped talking for some reason, and that had somehow made things worse. We got sent into the arena four hours early, so I doubt that anyone in the Capitol, save some mentors and avoxes, were awake, and they wouldn't even be turning on their T.V sets until at least nine in the morning.
We also got sent into the arena with the clothes we were wearing the night before, so for most of us, that was a huge disadvantage, but some people like Victory, Perla, and Zeal, kept all their clothes on. I on the other hand, didn't expect anything like that to happen, so all I had to show was a pair of pants that I wore the evening before.
Then there were no traditional weapons that I could see other then Victory's cleaver, everything else looked like something peasants would use to combat the government in a rebellion. Well, I guess they'd have Victory's cleaver as well.
Then Jeremiah got killed by Victory, and while I don't know how that happened, I knew that she was the one reasonable. She was uninjured, and way too calm about his death. Plus, there was just this look that she had, almost like she was glad that our ally was gone.
Nobody would listen to me. I was the bad guy now, not Victory.
Things just didn't work out the way I thought they would. Now I'm stumbling around this god damn arena blind as a bat that knows shit about echo location.
I could hear them, but if I tried to look for them I wouldn't of been able to see them if it could save my life, through my blurred vision that offered me almost nothing along with the glare of the red emergency lights that shot weak thin, long, red spikes from their source. Feeling weak from all the lost blood I spilt didn't help either.
Normally I'd feel confident about my ability to hit a target, even though I don't have my glasses. After all, for my private session, I blindfolded myself after memorizing where the targets were before showing off how accurate I was to the gamemakers, and hit every one of my targets. But right now, my blood loss made me disorientated in both sight and sound as well as felling all around impuissant and dizzy.
This was nothing like the academy where it was the safe environment I was used to, where if you mess up all you'd get is a fail and a speech from the instructor construing what you did wrong.
I always listened to them and used what they told me to make myself better, make me even better for when I finally volunteered for the games. After all, I wanted to perceived for something more then just Creek Drake's little brother.
It wasn't necessarily a good thing, nor was it a bad thing, but it was an annoyance when you told someone that your name was Dylan Drake and the vast majority of people said: Oh, your Creek's little bro huh.
Anyone that wasn't my family, friends, or in my class automatically called me that.
My father, Reed, was a boat maker. Maybe not the most successful boat makers, or the most productive, but he prided himself in making boats, and me personally, I thought that his boats were nothing short of perfection. He wasn't nearly on par with Selene's father businesses, not even close, but he was still somewhat successful. But what really got our family known was Creek's victory three years ago.
Soon after, loads of people wanted to buy boats from our father, and his businesses bloomed superbly. I was happy for my father, and for Creek for helping my father become one of the best selling boat makers in the districts. But I still didn't like that I was basically only her little brother.
And even though I was an excellent fighter and a great strategist, my peers laughed at me when I said that I'd volunteer into the Hunger Games. They laughed like they thought it was the funniest thing in the world. They said that I wouldn't be able to win like my sister had because I was too much of a nerd and not enough like a career to win the game. They kept on comparing me to Creek, and I hated that. I wasn't Creek, I was me, and I was going to win because I was me. And no matter how well I did in the academy, or in the mock fights, or with weapons training, or anything for that matter, all they said was that I should give up and spend the rest of my days rotting in a library where I belong.
Strangely enough, the library was where I felt like I belonged rather then the academy, or any place that taught fighting.
And as much as I didn't like Creek for becoming a victor and putting my status to being her little brother, I did love her. We were close and she took care of me, just like how I took care of her. She'd help me with combat training and I'd help her with her studies. And even when she didn't have to, she defended me from kids bigger, stronger, and older then her when we were younger, because picking on an egghead like me was easy, and beating up a younger girl was simple. We may of not succeeded in beating up the bullies, but as a team, we really did feel invincible.
I didn't feel invincible right now, not now, now that I was alone and afraid. I wanted Creek with me, I wanted her to be next to me as we faced down Victory together, because I was feeling helpless without my glasses and with a pole skewered through my chest.
Creek. Creek looked so brave and confident when she was in the arena, it was like nothing could stop her. Even when Vladimir Valentine, the scariest mother fucker in that year's game, was trying to kill her.
But that was an act. She told me herself that she was scared, and nothing in her life was scarier then facing Vladimir Valentine. In the end, she was glad that she killed him for killing two of her allies before it was their time.
I wished that I was as brave as Creek, even if I could put on a mask and hide my fear, but I couldn't, I just couldn't. I was no Creek, and it shamed me to think that I couldn't be a career like my big sister was. I couldn't be the person that showed no fear even in the arena when her life might of ended at the hands of Victory's monster of a brother. I felt pathetic.
I felt my eyes begin to burn up before I felt liquid start to build up and pour down my face as I thought of how my peers were right about how I should of just stayed in the library with my nose in a book where it was safe and how I wasn't cut out for the arena. How I was nothing like Creek.
I started to now see how right they were. Creek was a fighter, I wasn't, because even when we were young, Creek would be my defender. And while I did fight back, I was never the fighter that she was. And despite her flaws, she was the nicest person that I ever knew.
I mean, she's not perfect, like how she can't stand reading a book without pictures and how she's a drama queen eighty percent of the time, but nobody's perfect, and she's a girl, drama queen comes with the gender, and by all means is she not stupid, she just can't get into a novel like I can.
And even though she can't stand books without pictures, she used her victor earnings to build a library inside out house. For me and my friend Ermin. I thought it was the greatest gift ever. But now that I thought about it as I was being chased by Victory, did she build it so that I wouldn't be confronted by the kids at school? Did she build it so that I could have a safe haven?
I felt a wave of pain as I thought of how much I really needed Creek in my life as well as feeling the sharp edge of a blade burry itself in my back.
I screamed out in pain as I felt the hot metal cut through my flesh, releasing warm liquid out of my back before it poured down my skin as my legs gave in a second before I felt my face slam onto the dirty floor. And because of my momentum, my face skidded across the floor, causing even more pain of occur on my body as I felt the pole scrap against my insides, building the burning inferno inside me.
I proceeded to get up the best I could. Even though I was weak and disorientated, I was still active enough to know that I should get up before something more was going to happen to me. Plus, my hands were moving on instinct. I saw my hands planting their palms on the floor, trying to force myself up as fast as they could push my body up, but I could feel them shaking and struggling to get my body off the ground.
I wanted them to get me up, get me up so that I could run away from what was coming to me. Victory was going to kill me, and I wanted to live. She wasn't injured, and I was.
But then I felt something extremely painful scrape against the inside of my chest, cutting right through my ribs and causing unbelievable agony as the left side of my body became as hot as the sun. I felt the agony build it's pain and warmth up up my body as I felt thick liquid fill my mouth. I didn't need the taste of copper to tell me that the liquid in my mouth was blood.
Since Victory was so close to me, I decided to swing my makeshift knife at her and fight to the death. I couldn't see without my glasses and through the tears I was shedding, but I could hopefully at least injure her.
I swung my knife, only to feel something stomp on the left side of my back and cause severe pain to my body. I then felt the hot metal being removed from my back, making me feel even more fire in my back.
I then felt myself being flipped over to face the blurred figure of Victory.
I swung my knife and fist at her, only to see her body get on top of my chest and pin my arms to my sides.
I still couldn't see that well, but I knew that the person on top of me was Victory, and all I felt was fear.
Why did I ever think about volunteering for the games? Why did I ever think that it was a good idea to go into a game where everyone wants to kill you? Why did I think that this was worth getting beaten up over?
Looking up to the blurred figure in front of me, felt the tightness in my chest building up even more as I felt my eyes liquefying even more.
I didn't want to be here, I wanted to be back home. I wanted to be back with my mom and dad who told me that I didn't have to go into the games to be their Dylan Drake, that I didn't have to go into the games to earn their respect and told me that I was perfect the way I was. But most of all, they told me that I didn't need to have every ones respect, that not everyone needed to know my name.
I wanted to be back with my sister, who helped me through out life and didn't give a damn about how I was different from the other kids in the district. How I was different from the average career and how I needed defending from the other kids before I started to take my career training seriously. She didn't give a damn, she was with me the entire way and didn't seem to care what other people thought of me.
I wanted to be back with my friends. I wanted to be back with my career friend Caspian, who was probably going to volunteer next year, and die. I hoped that someone would beat him to volunteering, because I didn't want him to feel the wildfire I'm feeling now. My lung's probably raptured and filling up with blood, and I never thought that it would take so long to die. Felt like an eternity. Caspian was strong, and a fighter, and while I could see him winning, I could also see him dying.
Beside my sister and our academy instructors, he taught me most of what I knew about combat. He was rough and often beat me into submission, but he taught me how to fight, and he didn't care that Ermin and I were the local eggheads. He knew me before Creek got famous because I did the simple task of assisting him with the combat tactics teacher. He said something ludicrous, but I managed to turn it into something positive. And while we didn't become friends as first, we eventually warmed up to each other. I wasn't surprised that it took us so long to really become friends, because there was a time that he cared about his image and what people would call him if he started hanging with us. Plus, why would a tough career like him want to hang out with a nerd like me? He eventually realized that he didn't care what people thought about our relationship. I should of learned from him.
I wanted to be back with Ermin, my geek friend who was a lot like me, but he didn't have the slightest interest in volunteering into the games. To think that we meet in the academy library when we were both looking for the same giant of a book. We ended up reading that book together in the comfort of the library.
His parents abhorred that he wasn't interested in being a career and thought that he was an abomination, which I guess is why we clicked so well. We both didn't want to be careers, a hard thing to find in District Four. I thought humorously as we both went through hell together as we were tormented by our peers, being called pussies and cock suckers were the most common names we were called while their favorite thing to say to us was: Your mom my of created a man but you were born as a bitch.
It hurt, but at least I wasn't getting hurt alone. We laughed it off, even though we were hurting on the inside.
Our only real weapon against them was making them feel stupid with complex words, which was highly amusing at times when we'd make them insult themselves because they couldn't understand what we were really saying. Because two weak guys couldn't take on four, five, six, sometimes more, kids bigger and stronger then us. And when we did fight back, we usually lost. Our odds increased with Caspian by our side, but we still lost against them a good chunk of the time.
Ermin and I may of taken career training, but we were never strong, or good fighters. That is, until I started to take it seriously. That's when I started to be able to defend myself better. And I'm still surprised that I managed to get as good as I am today.
I wanted to go back to District Four and just live my life as I should of. I should of listened to my parents and lived, because I don't need everyone's respect, just the respect of those that mattered to me, and I already had it. Now, I'm about to lose everything.
Inside and out, I am FUBAR.
Fucked up beyond all recognition.
District Two's Victory Valentine's POV
Weak and pathetic. That's what Dylan was as he lay on the floor crying his eyes out as I pinned him to the ground.
What happened to that guy who was full of confidence? What happened to that person that thought that he was going to get everyone to turn against me? Where was that guy that thought that he was going to win this game?
He was nowhere near here, he had ran away and was replaced by this weeping pile of filth. The one that was crying his eyes out like a big baby. It was absolutely funny, he was not the tough and confident guy that was here before.
He tried to get the others to believe him when he said that I had something to do with Jeremiah's death, but they didn't believe him, even though he was telling the truth. Jen wouldn't believe him, and Tanner and Adrian didn't want to believe it either. Dylan pulling his weapon out and wanting to kill me only made them doubt him even more. It helped that Jen was too simple minded and trusting to think that someone like me would kill an ally, especially if that person was my district partner.
I just have to say that this situation ended perfectly. I was going to have my revenge. Though it wasn't Creek Drake that I was killing, it was her brother, and it was close enough, because I don't think I'd be able to touch the victor even if she was right in front of me. But Dylan I could most definitely play with.
Though maybe in the future, I could set up a situation that would allow me to kill and torture Creek after I fight my way out of this arena. Victors had a certain status that allowed them to get away with things normal people couldn't get away with, but that didn't mean that they could get away with everything. That was the mistake that Jen's mentor made, he thought he was above the Capitol, and was dead wrong. I wasn't going to make that mistake.
I smiled, thinking of how Vlad was going to smile with me as I thought of all the different things I was going to do with my victim, and his sister later on.
I hope your watching Vlad, because I'm about to destroy a Drake.
Twirling my cleaver playfully in my right hand, I grabbed Dylan's right eye lid and pulled on it, causing it to separate from his eye and causing him to only give out a little groan of pain. The sound greatly increased as I sliced through his eye lid, causing thin red liquid to spray out from the severed area above his eye.
Dylan tried to squirm away, but I had him pinned down too well and he was weakened by the previous attacked that he had suffered from the hands of Jen, Tanner, and Adrian.
I switched my weapon over to my left hand before I grabbed his left eye lid with my right hand before cutting it off as well, loving the sound of Dylan in agony, loving the sheer volume of screaming he was doing, and I hardly started.
I laughed at him. I laughed because he was screaming like a little bitch that was at my mercy, and I laughed because I knew that it would make him feel even more helpless and weak then he already felt. I felt my smile broaden across my face. It absolutely felt good.
As Dylan screamed, I swung my cleaver to the side of his head, and chopped his right ear off in one fluid strike. More crimson blood poured out of his head as the ear fell to the ground and Dylan continued to scream in agony as he swung his head side to side.
This was fun, I could feel myself getting a rush from this.
I continued to laugh and smile as I tossed my cleaver into my dominant hand once again before I pinched Dylan's nose with my left hand, causing his head to stay relatively still, giving me an easier target to hit.
I held Dylan's nose with two of my left fingers as I brought the cleaver closer and closer to his face, until the metal touched his nose and it started to cut into it.
"Please-" I heard Dylan quickly beg before I started to saw through his nose, hearing his beg quickly turn into more screams as a sound not unlike a knife cutting through rough leather occurred.
Side to side I cut, watching the colour red pour down the silver steel and tanned skin as I felt the resistance of bone slow my momentum down. I wanted to do it slow, but not too slow as I did want him to feel pain, but I didn't want to let it drag on forever.
I only cut halfway down before I stopped and pulled the blade out. Dylan was still screaming when I had removed the sharp, blood stained metal out of his nose, but he was beginning to calm down once he realized I wasn't cutting him anymore.
I didn't give him much time to register that I had stopped by roughly shoving my left index finger into the bleeding, toothless mouth that had appeared at the top of his nose and cruelly rip it out from his body, causing a wet tearing sound to occur as blood poured from the gaping wound in the center of his face as his head thrashed around wildly as he shouted in pain, but he wasn't doing it as loudly as before.
He was bleeding out quickly, so unfortunately, I was going to have to do something that would devastate him and his sister for life. I just wish that I didn't have to skip to the grand finale so quickly. I wanted to have some fun with him, but I guess I had to make do with what I could get.
I moved my body down his chest, ignoring the warmth that I was feeling on my thighs and making sure not to let his arms get free, before I spotted the puncture wound on his bare, bloody chest. A circular hole that was slowly pumping blood out, staining his skin and running down his chest, now streaked downwards because of my body.
I tossed his nose away before I used the same index finger I had ripped his nose out with, and jammed it into the bloody hole in his chest. Dylan shouted in agony once again, and continued to do so as I twisted my finger left and right inside his chest.
Using this as a distraction, I quickly hopped in a half circle, still careful to not let his arms get free, and was now facing the opposite direction and was looking at his crotch area, where it was stained a darker colour.
I laughed at how pathetic Dylan was right now. He had pissed his pants. Too funny.
I then lifted my cleaver above my head and started to chop at his balls and penis before Dylan started to scream out in a comical high pitched voice as even darker liquid started to stain his pants.
I swung the cleaver several times at his privates before I sure that they had separated from his body.
Using my free left hand, I reached down between the rips of his pants that I had created, and reached for his severed cock.
Feeling something warm and squishy, I yanked the item free, to see that it was indeed his cock, bloody and still attached to one dangling testicle, I knew that I was going to create a sight with this.
I, once again, jumped in a half circle, careful not to let him get free, before I face him once again.
Blood and tears were staining his face and he looked like he was in complete agony. Good. If he wasn't, I wasn't doing my job good enough.
I took one look at my victim, looking at the boy who had just hours ago, had been my ally in the Capitol, and dropped my cleaver.
Dylan didn't seem to notice the clang my cleaver made as it hit the ground before I jabbed my right thumb into his left eye and started to make it sink in deeply feeling the slightly slimy surface of his fragile facial feature.
I didn't think Dylan could scream any louder, but he surprised me as I continued to build pressure on his eye ball. I pressed on it harder and harder, grinding my thumb left and right, feeling the water in his eye build as it started to give in, until I decided to straighten my arm and push with all my might until I felt his eye explode and wash my right thumb with warm yellow-brown substances. Dylan then shouted louder than I ever thought someone could shout before I removed my thumb from the warm pool of goop, hooked my three middle into the place his nose used to be, and held his head still.
I don't think Dylan knew what was going on, but I sure did. And if his sister was watching, she knew what I was doing as soon as I raised my left hand and shoved his penis inside his eye socket.
Now you're really fucking yourself. I wanted to tell him that, but because I didn't have a tongue, I couldn't say that, so all I did was smile broadly and laugh as I shoved his cock into his eye socket, down his skull, and into his brain. His lone testicle swinging gently side to side all the while.
Within a matter of seconds, Dylan's wails of agony started to lessen and get quieter and quieter. Then nearly about thirty seconds of gradual silence, Dylan stopped screaming. Dylan stopped moving. Stopped existing.
Looking down at Dylan, with his own dick forced into his brain, the blood covered face, the blood covered chest, and how it was all my doing, I couldn't help but laugh.
It all started with me volunteering. Then it moved on to removing Trim, then Jeremiah, now I had removed Dylan, the one person that I had really wanted to kill in this game.
I laughed at this game. I laughed at the Capitol. I laughed at people like Trim, Jeremiah, Dylan, Tanner, Adrian, and Jenriko. They were all so easy to trick. Dylan may of seen through me, but it was also my plan to create a rift between us careers. I wasn't the bad guy to them, Dylan was, and my allies didn't suspect a thing because they didn't know any better. This game, like people, could be manipulated for my cause.
I looked up and felt the need to release something inside me. Something that needed to be voiced.
I spread my arms out in triumph as I roared as loudly as I could. This was my game, and I was going to use everyone, and everything in it to my advantage.
I felt unstoppable! And damn did it feel good!
A/N: And that's not even the worst thing I've got planned.
If ANYONE is reading this, I've got a few questions to ask you.
1) Favorite tribute?
2) Favorite alliance?
3) Biggest threat?
4) Smallest threat?
5) Who do you think will be the victor?
