I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.
Arena Day 3 - Evening and Night
I say ya kill your heroes and
Fly, fly, baby don't cry.
No need to worry 'cuz
Everybody will die.
Icarus Castillo, Head Gamemaker
The sun slips entirely below the horizon, throwing an orange glow across the western sky.
I close my eyes, hands shaking with fatigue. I haven't gotten more than five hours of sleep over the past two days, but I can't divert my attention away from the arena. It's my job to keep the show interesting. The ratings are my lifeblood.
"Status report on Wade Odinshoot," I say, resting my mouth on my fist. His survival will ultimately determine what we show for the next thirty minutes of camera time.
A petite woman with snake scales implanted in her face turns towards me, though her purple eyes remain glued to her computer monitor. "Heart rate at seventy three beats per minute and holding."
I nod, more for myself than my crew. "None of the tributes have entered the Proximity, correct?"
"Correct."
Staring at the 3-dimensional map, I chew on my gum, intentionally smacking my lips as loud as I can because I'm stressed out, I'm petty, and I want everyone else to be just as agitated as I am. The best part is, they can't report me because I'm the one in charge.
I need a vacation.
"Alright." Shifting my weight, I close my eyes and roll my shoulders back. "Locations?"
The woman squints at the screen as she switches windows. "Trance is in grid 8, Alpha is in grid 30, Necali and Erizelda are in grid 1, Rumor is in grid 0, Zeno and Wade are in grid 15, Nemo and Waverly are in grid 42, Dominic is in grid 13 and heading for grid 12, Alder and Charcoal are in grid 60, Linden is in grid 44 and heading for grid 45, while Flavia, Birch, and Selene are in grid 46."
I stare up at the show board, displaying the Hunger Games viewership of every household in all of Panem, though I only care for the results from the Capitol. The ratings really lit up when Alpha killed Stellar, and the resulting drama kept them watching for another two hours, but it's starting to wear off, and I need to create another spectacle before the viewership drops too far. Clicking my fingernails together, I know that it's time to up the ante, just to keep things interesting between now and the next fight.
Shifting my gaze to Ricardo, my main means of communicating with the arena technicians, I raise my eyebrow and incline my head. "Light it up, Rico."
He sends me a silver-fanged smile and activates the communicator wound around his ear. "You got it, boss man."
Zeno Atticus, District Three Male
"Come on, Wade," I say, my voice weak.
Dried blood surrounds the deep canyon in his chest, and though I managed to cauterize the wound with the gunpowder from the explosive, his skin isn't anywhere near a healthy color. He's lost a lot of blood. If I didn't know any better, at first glance I'd think he was dead.
Through the trees, right after the cannon sounded about three hours ago, I saw the Careers going at each other for no apparent reason. In particular, the District One male and female both fled from their alliance, separately, and I can't help but wonder what happened to cause such a rift between them. Shortly afterwards, both tributes from District Four left together, leaving Necali Reinerston, Erizelda Morrison, and Stellar Andrews as the only tributes still at the Cornucopia, and considering that a cannon shot caused all of the trouble, one of those three is presumably dead.
I reach for the backpack, my stomach growling with a hunger strong enough to overpower my fear.
Wade's chest rises with a gasp, the breath sudden enough to leave a few tiny splits in the burnt flesh. His eyes open, slowly at first, like he's waking up from a drug-induced coma. Blinking groggily, he climbs back to consciousness. He places his hand over the wound, lips twitching with unspoken words, and his hand contracts into a fist. Lungs filling and emptying with rapid and shallow breaths, Wade looks up at me with wide eyes, tears running down his face as his skin turns a slightly healthier shade of gray.
"Zeno," he croaks, voice shattering against the two syllables. Squeezing his eyes shut, he squirms under the pain and presses his hand against the burnt flesh. "It hurts, it hurts," he says, face contorted into a mask of intense pain. "Why…"
I shake my head. I don't know what to do. We have no pain medication, and we definitely don't have any way to fix his injury.
"Shh," I say, placing my hand over his mouth. "Wade, shh, they'll hear you. Linden will hear you!"
This shuts him up, though he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Even in the darkness, I can see the agony and fear etched into his face.
Something snaps nearby. I look up to see a glowing white orb float through the trees, its movement and appearance ridiculously placid considering the circumstances. I almost snort at the sight of it, but manage to keep myself quiet.
It just hovers above the ground, seemingly harmless, until it brushes against a tree branch and explodes upon impact, utterly annihilating everything within a three-foot radius. I let out an involuntary shriek. A whole flock of bubbles make themselves apparent, threading between tree trunks and ghosting across the ground. The first was merely a raindrop before the downpour.
"Wade!" I cry, dragging my ally up to his feet. We each grab our own hover boards, and even though Wade lets out a low, braying moan, he complies and follows as quickly as he can.
"They're everywhere," he cries. Left, right, behind, up, down, they're coming from every direction, leaving only one path of escape: forward.
Oh, little Zeno, a cold, smooth voice coos, seemingly from nowhere. I keep running; it's obviously a Gamemaker ploy. I don't have time to waste falling for their traps.
But the voice persists.
The genius inventor from District Three. In school, you excelled at math, mastering algebra, geometry, and even calculus early on. Quite an impressive list of achievements for one so young.
"Do you hear that?" I ask, nearly out of breath. Wade simply shakes his head with confusion.
Here are a few math problems I'm sure you'll understand. Let's start simple. What's a friendship divided by fear?
I wrap my hand around Wade's wrist and desperately try to ignore the voice. Why can't Wade hear it?
What's emptiness multiplied by loss?
What's anger plus weakness?
What's determination minus hope?
"Desperation," I whisper. It's the only logical answer.
The voice immediately ceases, and I clamp my mouth shut, not meaning to have spoken aloud. I probably just gave the Gamemakers more ammunition to use against me.
Dozens of bubbles detonate behind us, the light throwing our flickering shadows forward hundreds of feet. The sound is deafening, though the explosions are definitely running in some sort of pattern. Two, four, three, two. Two, four, three, two. Two, four, three, two. Like a song.
I guess we're all just dancing to the rhythm of death.
Trance Berrill, District One Male
Starlight tumbles down from the dark sky, and I feel a little better knowing that my parents and Mirror see the same stars that I do, despite the distance between us. The moon sits in a particularly far corner of the night, the great white disk coating everything in silver.
I wonder where Nemo and Waverly and Necali and Erizelda are. I hope they're all okay. As for Alpha, well, I don't really care whether or not she ends up dead. She never really liked me, and I never really liked her. And she killed Stellar, so that makes her a traitor. I haven't seen her since this afternoon, and I intend to keep it that way.
I throw a glance behind me and catch sight of the platforms, as well as the Cornucopia. I want to see just how far the arena will let me fly, and as of yet, it looks like the answer is pretty far.
After a minute, though, the hoverboard begins to slow, until it comes to a complete halt. Some sort of barrier pushes it backwards, preventing me from going any further. So, the arena doesn't go on forever, then.
Rumbles run through the night sky, deep like thunder. As I turn back around, a series of white flashes explode across the upper platforms, almost in a musical pattern. It looks kind of pretty, actually, like a symphony of light. Have the Gamemakers started going after the tributes on an individual basis? I really hope not. That's kind of unfair.
I edge the hoverboard a little closer to the platforms, just to get a better glimpse of the explosions, but a quiet beeping draws my attention. Looking up, I watch a silver container float lazily down from the dark sky, a bright red light on the bottom blinking in time with the beeping. I reach up and catch it. The parachute immediately disconnects, falling down into the night, and I pop open the lid to see what's inside. Lo and behold, it's a cupcake. This surprises me.
Why a cupcake?
I look at the note, straining my eyes under the weak moonlight.
Keep yourself out of trouble, you twit. You've done great thus far, so please, don't mess up.
Stay away from the explosions. They are not a toy. Compliance = more cupcakes.
-Gloss & Cashmere
I crumple the note and stick it in my pocket. Looking up at the sky, where I assume the cameras are, I say, "I'm not a total idiot, Gloss. Give me a break." I glance at cupcake up and quickly add, "But I do like cupcakes. This plan appeals to me."
I hope he heard me. If not, well, I guess I can prove that I got his message by not going near the explosions, even though I wasn't planning to, anyways. I just wanted a better look.
As I bite into my delicious gift, I spy two dark figures at the edge of one of the upper platforms, obviously attempting to outrun the onslaught of light and sounds and things blowing up. From this distance I can't really tell who they are, though I can definitely tell that one of them is in pretty bad shape, if their stooped posture and limping is anything to go by.
The injured one is really tall, and the other one is pretty short. Out of all the alliances, only two really had a dynamic like that: Glen and Pagnotta, and Wade, Taun, and Zeno. Since Glen, Pagnotta, and Taun are all dead, that means that the two mystery tributes are probably Wade and Zeno. Wade doesn't look too good. Maybe he got hit by and explosion? Or maybe he stole a sock and the owner went crazy and beat him up.
Lazuli once did that to me, when I took her sock. It was mostly on accident, since that particular pair of socks looked a lot like a pair I owned, but she still hit me. She likes to hit things.
Whether or not he stole a sock, I hope Wade gets better. I don't want Zeno to end up alone. That would be sad.
Nemo Dedecus, District Four Male
"You remember that one kid who would always say hello to everyone, every day?" Waverly asks, smiling as she stares down at the apple in her hands.
I nod. "She was pretty nice."
Waverly and I both attended the same academy, though we were in separate age groups and really didn't get to know each other much before the reaping. It's probably better this way. We are at peace with each other now solely because the arena constantly holds the threat of death over our heads. That kind of fear, even though neither of us will admit to it, tends to encourage cooperation that would have never existed otherwise.
Running a hand across the decomposing leaves on the ground, she furrows her brow in thought. "What was her name? Frenzy? No. Firenze? Eh… no. It was something weird, something rare." She looks up at me. "Kind of like your name. What's up with that, exactly?"
I force my mouth into a smile. "What?"
"Well, think about it. 'Nemo' sounds more like a nickname than anything. It's cute, really. Not quite fit for a full-grown man."
I look down at the ground, clenching my teeth in a desperate attempt to smother the words that bubble to the tip of my tongue. There are so many ways I could respond to Waverly's observation. She's right. My name wasn't intended for an adult man. It was intended for a newborn, something that my mother abhorred and wanted to dispose of, though she lacked the conviction to kill a baby, especially one she had produced. Nemo wasn't meant to be cute. It means 'nobody', the one thing my mother ever wanted me to be.
But I tell Waverly exactly none of this. Instead, I smirk and shake my head. "Yeah. I don't know, my mom's weird like that."
"Your dad didn't get a say in your name?"
I shrug. "He didn't care much about the name of a kid that he didn't… help create."
She gives a knowing nod. "Ah."
Sighing, I add, "He got over it after a while. Honestly, he loves me more than my mom does."
Waverly sneers and sits down on a dry pile of leaves. "At least someone loves you. My parents only ever talk about Sapphire. 'Sapphire did this,' 'Sapphire did that,' 'Sapphire is like a goddess among mortals, why didn't you inherit any of her awesomeness,' etcetera, etcetera. It gets real old." She rests her forehead against her knees. "Is it really so much to ask for them to notice me? Their own daughter?"
"I would hate that," I say.
Waverly sighs deeply. "Well, okay, I'm selling my dad a little short. He's nice. He actually likes me. But my mom? All she's ever done is compare me to Sapphire. All of my achievements are constantly contrasted against those of this near-perfect person, and it's just so frustrating."
"I always thought that her victory was good for your family, but I guess not for you, huh?"
"Absolutely not. All it's ever done is bring us trouble."
I raise an eyebrow. "Even the money?"
She laughs. "Do you know how many distant relatives we apparently have? Because I do. Every single one of them has tried to contact us in some form or another over the past eight years, asking for alms. It's awful. Apparently I have a few third cousins who live in the Capitol, though. How weird is that?"
I shrug. "Maybe they're lying. Maybe they just want to be able to tell all of their friends that they're related to a victor, because, you know. The Capitol is obsessed with all that fame bullshit."
Waverly considers this for a moment and gives me a nod. "That's entirely possible. I never thought of that before."
Leaning back, I stare up at the starry sky, my view partially obscured by the trees. "Yeah. My older brother was already ten when I came along, and he was the kind of kid who grew up fast. But my dad never played the sibling comparison game with us. And my mom didn't speak to me very much, let alone talk to me about something as deep as familial relationships and expectations." I snicker. "Dysfunction junction, that's where we're at."
"That's where we're always at," Waverly mutters, staring down at the dirt. "And we'll only be able to move on when we come home victorious."
Erizelda Morrison, District Eight Female
Necali repeatedly taps his sword against a nearby tree, apparently trying to drive me insane. We've been searching for Alpha for hours and have nothing to show for our efforts. I'm hungry and tired, it's super late, and we've seen neither hind nor tail of Alpha, but Necali is absolutely dead-set of avenging Stellar. I don't know what his mentor's note said, but it really put some fuel in his fire. For the past five minutes he's stared blankly at the wall of trees, as if he's divining some obscure meaning from the forest itself, even though I doubt he can extrapolate much of anything. After all, he's never hunted in his entire life, and he definitely didn't spend much time at the tracking table back during training.
"I didn't think you cared about her this much," I say, sitting down on a felled tree, twirling a strand of hair around my index finger.
He lets out a short, scornful laugh. "Didn't I? Zelda, she was my district partner. Whether or not I liked her, it's my duty to preserve District Two's honor." Sending me a pleading stare, he asks, "Don't you understand that?"
"No," I reply honestly.
Sighing, he raises his arms in exasperation. "Well, try to see it from my perspective. Honor is vital in the world of a Career."
I stand up and brush my pants off. "And yet, it's a stupid notion. It makes no sense for you to potentially risk your victory simply to go after the sociopath that killed the person who volunteered alongside you. She knew the risks of volunteering. I would think that securing victory for District Two would bring your district more honor than avenging your idiotic district partner."
"Hey," he says, looking back towards me with a cold gleam in his eye. "Don't talk about her like that. She was a good person."
I snigger. "Oh, right. The girl who volunteered to kill people was such a good little girl, it's a shame that she's dead. We'll all miss her so much, boo-freaking-hoo."
Before I can blink, a blade is at my throat. "I'm serious, Erizelda. Stop badmouthing my district partner."
I grin, pushing the sword away with my index finger. "Don't make threats you can't follow through on, Necali."
He sneers, rolling his eyes, and turns away. "Whatever. Just leave Stellar out of it, okay?"
I curtsey as low as I possibly can. "Of course, my liege."
Necali whips around and rushes at me. I cringe, afraid that he'll hit me, or worse. He abruptly halts less than three inches away, his eyes boring into mine, and he sets his jaw with anger, leaning so close that he's breathing my air. He maintains this stare for a moment, his eyes like ice and expression indeterminable, before he lowers his gaze, leans down, and kisses me. It's quick, barely more than a peck on the lips, but it's still a surprise.
He's enjoying this fake romance more than he should.
Stepping back, he says, "Cut the attitude, okay? I know this sucks, I know that you don't want to be here, but fanning the flames will only make things worse."
I look down at the ground and kick a stick across the rotting leaves. "Fine."
With a quick nod, he grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. "Anyways, I think it's time to move. Alpha is somewhere nearby." Raising his gaze to the sky, he adds, "I can feel it."
I want to say, You won't feel anything when you're dead, but I keep my mouth shut. It would only encourage him. Instead I ask, "Really? How can you be so sure?"
Something about his resulting stare, partially obscured by the nighttime darkness and partially illuminated by the bright moon, disturbs me to my core. With careful articulation and a level tone, he says, "Because I can already feel her blood running between my fingers."
Face drawn, he pushes through the trees, leaving me behind. I hurry after him, wondering just how far he'll go to fulfill his idiotic sense of Career pride.
Don't you worry we
Love you more than you know.
The lyrics are from the song "Kill Your Heroes", by AWOLNATION.
Hey look, no deaths.
I had some trouble with this chapter, mainly the lack of deaths, which is why the update is so late. That, and midterms. So many midterms.
Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think!
