Night IV: Not Worth It

Braxton Busbee, 16.

District Ten Male.

He was smart enough to know that the black cloud was gas and that he needed to hold his breath as not to inhale the toxic substances. He's lived long enough to remember the rebellion—or at least, to hear stories about it. Stories about the war, about the gas, about what the Capitol did to their own citizens.

Valentine here, well, she wasn't so smart. She was probably sheltered from the harsh truths of the war in One, hidden behind glittering mansion walls. She wouldn't know about the gas. How could she?

He looks down at her limp body, his lips twisting into a sick, twisted grin. She's still knocked out from the gas, and lays unconscious on the ground, face down in the sand. Holding his machete in his hand, he runs the blade along her back, lightly enough not to cut the skin, but to just leave a small red mark. He wants to dig it into her flesh so badly, to feel that power, but stops himself. He's merciful and kind, remember? He killed Coral because he knows that someone would have killed her anyway (They would have made it hurt more, too. He gave her a quick, painless death because he's nice.) and he killed Gareth because he didn't follow up with the extremely fair terms of the deal. He's not a monster. He won't kill Valentine, who right now in this state, is nothing more than a defenseless child. Plus, he has a better idea anyway. One that will show that he is merciful and will get his revenge at the same time.

Craning his head upward, he glances around the desolate scene. Her allies are nowhere to be found. He guesses they got split up when the cloud swept over them. No matter. If he can't find them now, he'll make them come to him.

Grabbing Valentine's limp body, he swings her over his shoulder. She's much lighter than he expected, and it doesn't take much to heave her off the ground. Once her body is slung over his, he begins to trudge back to the cornucopia.

He arrives at a cloud of black ash that whips harshly at his face in the cold night wind. Coughing, he shuts his eyes until the wind ceases. When he opens them, he spots a pile of black dust at the base of the cornucopia, almost as tall as himself. The ground around the pile is singed. Peering inside the golden dome, he doesn't see any supplies. He comes to the logical conclusion that the careers must have burnt it all so that no one would come steal it as they had in past years.

It's only a minor setback though because once they come for Valentine, he'll be ready to kill them and take what they have left.

He flops Valentine's body onto the ground, and she hits the earth with a hard thud. He'd imagine the fall would have bruised a few of her bones, but at this point, he guesses the girl is already in so much pain from all her wounds that a few more bruises won't make a difference. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a long cord of rope. He then wraps it around her body and ties her to one of the metal posts that stands outside of the cornucopia. After, he tugs the rope to make sure her hands and legs are secure and won't be able to come out. They are.

As a last final touch, he curves the two corners of her mouth upward, so it looks like she's smiling.

See, see mom? See dad? See Panem? He's a good guy. He always has been, and always will be.

Stepping back to admire his work, he thinks of how proud his parents would be right now. Their son, who they thought could never commit to or would amount to anything in his life, has captured a trained career and is fourteen cannons away from winning the Hunger Games.

When he wins, he'll finally amount to something.

And he'll do it all while staying committed to his morals.

Little does he know they're already long, long gone.

Manisha Rollins, 15.

District Eleven Female.

For the past day, she's been constantly trying to convince herself she's not a monster.

It was an accident, she tells herself silently, an accident. That's all it was.

She didn't kill Winnifred. She just fell. She caught her, then her hand slipped, and she fell. There was no malintent, and if it were anyone else, she would have dropped them the same. She never had anything against Winnifred. They were allies—friends, even.

But she's not even fooling herself. No matter how many times she tells herself that she didn't kill Winnifred, she knows that she did. She loathed that girl. The way she talked down to her, calling her Manida like she wasn't even important enough to have her name remembered—well, it made her sick. It reminded her of the girls she disliked so much back in Eleven, the ones who would purposely ignore her because she was different. She hated them too—with all the breath that was in her lungs—and often wished some bad, horrible accident would happen to them. She never said anything to them, but passively hoped karma would make its way around.

Yet, she didn't think that she was capable of something like that—killing another person. She's always seen herself as a nice, quiet, sweet girl: never as a monster. Not someone who would hate another human enough to wish they were dead. Yet, she hated Winnifred like that. That feeling inside, the feeling that she got when she dropped her, well, it was scary. She didn't think she had it in her. But apparently, she did.

And maybe—she really hopes not—but maybe that feeling wasn't a simple product of Winnifred. Maybe it was inside her all along.

And maybe—just maybe—she finds herself not really feeling sorry for what she did. Standing up to Winnifred felt good, relieving. She felt like a confident person for once in her damn life and felt like at that moment, the moment she let Winnifred's hand slip, she was finally happy with the person that she was.

She was confident. Bold. Unapologetic. She was Manisha, and she was a badass.

Who says that's something to be sorry about?

Now Takei sits in front of her, going on and on about how much he misses Winnifred. Manisha always thought when she died things would be different. Takei always ignored her a little when Winnifred was around, not entirely, but did box her out of a few conversations and always ran up to walk with the girl from Six, leaving her to trail behind. Manisha understood though. He had a crush and wanted to spend as much time as he could with her. It was completely understandable. However, she always imagined that when Winnifred was gone, he'd focus all his attention on her. They'd actually have conversations like real friends did—about their favorite foods, their favorite books, what they ate for breakfast, or really, anything. She'd be given attention for once in her life.

Yet, she feels as painfully alone and ignored as before, isolated in her own little world. Takei doesn't talk about any of the things she imagined him to. All he talks about is Winnifred—oh, how Manisha loathes her—and nothing else. Everything is all like if Winnifred were here, do you think she'd be telling us jokes? Or, oh, weren't Winnifred's eyes so pretty? Wasn't the way she laughed so cute?

Well, Manisha can tell jokes too. Her eyes are pretty—yes, they might not be as bright as Winnifred's—but they're still wide and round, like a doe's. And her laugh is cute too, Takei just hasn't heard it enough.

Maybe he's ignoring her because he knows that Manisha killed Winnifred. It possible that he's just mad, and isn't talking to her because he hasn't forgiven her yet. If that's the case though, she wonders why Takei hasn't killed her yet. He must want revenge.

Manisha wonders if he's waiting until she falls asleep, then he'll strike. She'll be an easier target when she's not awake. It makes sense. A lot of sense, actually.

She needs to strike faster than. She needs to kill him before he kills her. When he falls asleep, she'll steal his knife and—

But then she stops herself. She's probably just being paranoid. Last night she asked him a bunch of questions and it seemed like he was clueless about how things went down. It's more likely he's just hung up over his first crush dying. That'd make sense.

Still, a girl can wonder.

"Freddie would have been telling us ghost stories right now," Takei murmurs wistfully, his eyes softening as he thinks about her. "She was always the best story-teller. Her stories were so suspenseful and creative."

They weren't, Manisha thinks but doesn't dare say anything. They all ended the same way—with everyone dying, just like every horror movie ever. Instead of correcting him, Manisha finds herself silently fuming, jealous of a girl she doesn't even like.

It goes on like this for a while, Takei longingly speaking about Winnifred, and Manisha longingly wishing that Takei would talk about something else—anything else. She tries to change the subject a few times but all her attempts end vainly, and she finds her mind drifting back to the possibility of Takei knowing that she did indeed let Winnifred's hand slip, and what will happen to her if he does. She probably won't live until morning, that's for sure.

So it's then that she decides, as Takei weeps for a girl who never felt the same way about him, that she's going to take the offensive and strike first. She doesn't quite know why it's then she decides. Maybe she's feeling confident. Maybe it's paranoia. Or maybe she's just feeling jealous and angry that this moment wasn't what she played it up to be in her mind, and Takei, just like everyone else in the whole universe, is ignoring her too. Or maybe it's a mix of the three, a bit of rage sprinkled in with a dash of paranoia, and a little confidence thrown in there too.

All she knows is that she's done with people treating her like she doesn't even exist. The girls at school did it, Winnifred did it, and now, Takei is doing it too. She's through.

Takei falls asleep eventually. She doesn't quite know when, but it happens, and the quiet sobs and painful groans aren't ringing through her ears anymore.

Standing to her feet, a nervous wave floods over her.

Is she really going to do this? Is she really going to unleash the monster that she secretly knows is somewhere inside her?

She doesn't really know the answer to that question, but her legs continue to walk forward without her brain telling them to, so apparently, the answer is yes. She is going to do this. She's going to kill him, and she's going to stand up for herself.

Bending down slowly, she pries the knife out of his hand as he sleeps. She wiggles it out slowly, and he simply groans and rolls onto his side, his eyes still closed.

She's so nervous that she can't breathe.

Standing over him with a shaking arm, grips the knife feverishly in her hands. She feels powerful. With one slice of the knife, she could end Takei's life.

Stepping forward, she inches toward him. Yet, as her foot makes contact with the ground, a crunching sound emits. She must have stepped on one of the embers or sticks from the fire they had last night. Clumsy, as always. Instantly, she squeaks and stumbles backward, eyes wide. She drops the knife on the ground in the process, and it clatters loudly against the hard concrete. Takei's eyes have opened too, and he stares up at her groggily.

"Huh?" he mumbles.

It takes him a second to put two and two together. He looks at the knife on the ground, then back at her face, then back toward the knife, and then his jaw drops and he scrambles to his feet, away from her.

She'll never forget the look he gave her when he glanced up for a second time. It was one of sheer horror.

"You!" he exclaims, putting his hand up between the two of them as a defense. "You killed her!"

"I didn't—" Manisha goes to defend herself, but sees no point in it and stops herself. She did.

"Get-get away from me, you—you—you murderer!" he screeches, continuing to back away from her, his eyes wide in terror.

"I—l –l—l—" Manisha stutters, tripping over her own words.

"Don't make excuses. I knew it was you! I saw your hand drop her. I—I thought it could have just been a trick of the eye, and I knew I saw something, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"But-"

"It all makes sense now!" he exclaims, cutting her off. "The way you lied to me on the train about having lived in a community too, and then killing Freddie—you've been duping me! I may be naïve, but I can see right through your little act."

She tries to speak again. "I-"

"You're a little snake, Manisha. You're nothing but a little, scared, good-for-nothing snake."

She's growing a bit frustrated now. If she could only explain herself—"I-"

"I don't even want to hear it! Your voice is just—it just—it infuriates me! I can't believe you killed her. What did you have against her? She was literally perfect! She was everything you weren't. Funny, intelligent, fun and a decent person. You're nothing but a wet rag. I put up with it for a while because I thought you were nice, but I guess I was wrong. You're the shittiest person I've ever met in my entire life, and I have lived in a community where the people I loved were lying to me straight to my face for 17 years!"

"But-"

"Stop!"

"You know what?" she roars, interrupting him. "You stop. You're not even giving me a chance to talk. But what else should I expect? No one has ever given me a chance to talk. Not ever. Not back home, not in school, and certainly not here. Maybe I am a shitty person Takei, and you know what? Maybe I did kill her. And maybe I even liked it. Maybe I relished in it for a moment too long. But it's not because of me that I do stuff like that. It's because people like you. P—"

"It's not—" Takei goes to say, but she cuts him off. She's done being quiet.

"Yes, yes it is. It's people like you who ignore me and think that I'm not important enough to have my voice heard. It's people like Winnifred who don't think my name is important enough to be learned. You and her made me feel less than human. You made me feel like a monster. So don't blame me if I started acting like one."

Then, it's silent. She gasps for breath. Never in her life has she talked that much without stopping before. She realizes her body is shaking, and her lips are trembling.

What just happened?

Takei opens his mouth to respond, but then instead of speaking, locks eyes with her. Then, he dives down toward the knife laying between them on the ground. She launches herself toward it too, but it's Takei who reaches it first.

She swears under her breath and leaps backward, grabbing the taser from her pocket.

"D-don't come near me," she threatens, her voice unsure and trembling.

"I wasn't planning on it," he hisses, then sticks the knife in his bag and slings it over his shoulder. "You're not worth killing anyway. And Manisha, just so you know, I never saw you as anything less than. Or at least, not before you became a murderer. You were always perfectly fine to me."

And then he whips himself around and walks away, leaving her to wonder what the hell just happened.

Hana Marko, 18.

District Two Female.

She wakes up in a haze, flustered and groggy as if she had just blacked out drunk and woken up with a terrible hangover. Blinking her dark eyes slowly, she sits up and looks around in confusion.

All she can see is black sand, stretching for what feels like miles, and miles, and miles. Nothing is around her. No one is around her. She's alone.

What happened?

Her head pounds fiercely, and when she tries to remember what just happened—how she got here, where everyone went, she can't. The last thing she can think of is the three of them setting out—Clay, Valentine, and her—in search of Pilate.

Then, when she stands, everything floods back into her brain, reality washing over her like a tidal wave.

She remembers the fog approaching, dark and violent, a cloud of black.

Then they were running, running, running—

Valentine fell behind.

She tried to scream her name, but the girl was already gone, gone, gone—

And Hana lost her in the black.

Then Clay began to slow too, and she tried to grab his hand to pull him forward, but she wasn't quick enough. He slipped from right from her fingers, like sand falling from her fingers, slipping, slipping, slipping—

She squinches her eyes into small slits, hoping that it'll stop her brain replaying the event in her head. She doesn't want to remember the rest when she fell back too, and the black enveloped her, and the air left her lungs and all she could feel was that darkness filling her insides up, terror running through her brain, suffocating her until everything was—

She finds herself gasping for air, her lungs suddenly empty. She feels faint.

Where is she?

What happened to her allies?

Why isn't she dead?

She needs to sit. She needs to sit now.

Flopping herself down on the ground, she lays in the soft sand for a moment, taking deep breaths in. Calm, calm, she repeats in her head, though it doesn't stop her limbs from trembling and her fingers from twitching. Her head still feels as light as air, and her lungs still feel deprived of the same element.

Nothing feels right.

What's going on?

Deep down, she does know what's going on, but she wishes she didn't. Whatever feeling of false control she thought had over the games is gone, and now, she's alone. And for the first time during the games, she feels afraid too. She might be the most trained and prepared tribute here, but she wasn't prepared for that fog. She might have been the fastest runner in the academy and might have run ten miles every morning to be ready to outrun anyone during the games, but she wasn't fast enough to outrun that.

This fact, the fact that she might not have been prepared for everything, scares her most.

She needs to find her allies. She needs to find Valentine and Clay. If she's not dead, they're probably not either. They can help her.

But will they, really?

She stands to her feet, shaking away the dizzy feeling and the little voice in her head telling her that everything won't be alright.

"It will," she whispers to herself. "It will."

For one of the first times her in life, she finds that she doesn't believe her own words.

Pilate Antoni, 18.

District Two Male.

He can't believe that little brat got away.

"Pilate, you need to calm down," Freyja tells him as they walk around the tree, scouring for footprints in the sand that will lead them in her direction. "She's not worth it. She's really not."

Maybe in the game's sense, yes, she wasn't worth it. She was weak and frail and nimble. Some mutt will probably swallow her whole before he has a chance to even find her. However, finding her would be worth it for Pilate's dignity. Killing her—sinking his sword through her flesh—well, it would make him feel more like a man.

Draco wouldn't have let a silly, little 12-year-old girl who's only skill is having a big vocabulary beat him. So he won't, either.

"It's been a day. She's probably long gone."

"The arena isn't that big," he replies. "We'll find her."

"You have an obsession with this girl."

He doesn't deny that he does.

Freyja continues on blabbering. "You know, one time my dad told me that if people didn't like me and made fun of me, I just needed to let it go. Because in life, Pilate, there will be a lot of people who just don't like you. I mean—especially you. You kind of suck."

He smiles at her sarcastically. "You're making me feel so much better, Freyja. Thanks."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm being serious, Pilate! Just forget about it. You'll feel so much better."

He turns around sharply to face her. "No, I won't."

"Yes, you will."

"And since when did you become a therapist, Ms. Spoiled-Mayor's-Daughter?" he retorts, narrowing his cold eyes at her.

"I've always provided lots of advice for my friends," Freyja chortles cheerfully.

"Friends? I didn't think you had any of those," he counters. "Because while I do suck, and I know I suck, you do kind of suck too."

"I do not! And for your information, I had the best parties at my house. There were always tons of people there. I had tons of friends."

"Alright," he quips back. "Name one then."

"Well, uh—there was uh—"

He raises a brow at her. "See? Exactly my point."

"Well, I'm thinking of a few. I just don't want to say their names because I'm trying to let it go, just like I told you to do."

"Oh, you mean like you let go of Sky?"

Instantly, Freyja's face goes red as a cherry, and he smirks mischievously at her.

"I told you not to ever say his name again!" she shrieks.

"Whose name again?" he asks her, that giant grin still plastered on his face. "I'm forgetting because as you said, you had so many friends. I think it was Sky, right? Or was it Skylar? Yes, it was definitely Skylar. Spelled S-K-Y-L-A-R. Or is it Skylar with an E? S-K-Y—"

"Would you STOP it?" Freyja roars, her pale face flushing even redder. "I know exactly what you're doing, you little piece of—"

"Freyja, I think you need to take your own advice, and as you said, let it go," he coos, grabbing her by the chin with two fingers and shaking her head back and forth slowly. "And leave me alone, okay? Someone needs to find that little rat from 10, and you have absolutely no skills, so it's not going to be you."

She growls, pushing herself away from him.

"Fuck you," she snarls, and he grins devilishly at her.

"Your two favorite words, it seems."

"Only when I'm around you."

"Then leave."

But as always, she stays right there, under his thumb.

His point exactly.

He goes back to searching for Marguerite's tracks, and he's not going to stop until he finds something.

Solomon Nguyen, 17.

District Five Male.

If Tyrell thinks that he's going to let his guard down, he's wrong.

When the boy from Six volunteered to take the third watch, Luna was ecstatic. For her, she was happy to get more sleep, and of course, she trusted the boy right off the bat. She trusts everyone right from the beginning, as Solomon knows she always sees the best in everyone. Which is good in some scenarios, but certainly not in the Hunger Games, when too much trust can be used as a weapon against you. He's convinced that Tyrell is certainly going to use that weapon against them.

So here they are, Solomon staring at the deaf boy from Six across the fire, eyes narrowed and body on high alert. Meanwhile, Luna sleeps on the ground, nestled in the blanket, gas mask still on. Solomon knows the gas storm is over, yes, but he's afraid of the lasting effects that whatever was in that cloud could have on them. He guesses most likely nothing, but it's not worth it to take the risk. He's getting Luna out of here alive, and nothing is going to stop him. He's not going to make some silly little mistake that would cost him a lot. Luna didn't like it, but it is what it is.

Tyrell blinks at him. Solomon blinks back.

What is it? He mouths to the boy. Want me to go to sleep so you can kill both of us?

Tyrell doesn't respond, staring at him blankly. He probably couldn't read his lips across the fire, as the light was pale and dim. Still, Solomon knows the boy sees more than he lets on. His eyes are curious and attentive, and he guesses that during training Tyrell kept his shades on so other tributes wouldn't notice that he's more of a threat then they perceived. But here, he's not allowed to have his glasses, and Solomon sees right through his little act.

A part of him wonders if he is actually deaf. Solomon knows the boy from Six can read lips—he read his during training and seems to pick up on pieces of conversations and knows a general gist of what's going on. Solomon could just be being paranoid, but maybe Tyrell was faking being deaf so he could be underestimated. It was a good idea actually—pretending that he couldn't hear things when he could. It was entirely probable. Especially for a sly boy like him.

At least he's leaving tomorrow. That's what he and Luna agreed upon: 24 hours after he woke up, he would leave. He knows Luna likes the boy and Solomon can see that she starting to get attached, but he won't let him stay. It's too much of a risk, and the boy is too much of a wildcard. Tyrell could screw them over, and Solomon's not letting that happen.

He can't wait until he leaves.

A/N: Sorry that took so long! I had a bit of writers block and instead of writing I did a lot of drawing the past two weekends, so uh, yeah. Next chapter should be out a bit quicker though. And yeah, not that much happened here, but next time it's going to pick up. A lot.

Though, I did plan these games out last weekend, and they're going to be about two weeks long. So I guess the action is going to be a bit spread out. The chapters will soon be cut down to just one a day, so no night/day, and hopefully that will make it go a little faster. But still. We're in this for the long haul.

Alliances:

Careers (separated): Clay, Val, Hana

Anti-Careers: Pilate, Freyja

Sibs: Sol, Luna

Back together: Terra, Eliora

D12: Mortimer, North

Loners: Tyrell, Braxton, Marguerite, Takei, Manisha

I hope everyone's happy with the arcs their characters are getting, and happy Superbowl Sunday! I'm a pats fan, so I'm happy, but then again, it seems like they're always in it haha.

paper :)