Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games
Training Day One
Donna 'Ludra' Cordillera, 49
Snow Island Female
When Melanie bursts into my bedroom with an Avox on her heels, I yearn for something besides my soft pillow to lob at her head.
"Buenos dias Ludra, time to get up and seize the day!" She chirps as her face lights up when her eyes fixate on me. "Look at that, you've gotten a head start!"
"...You could say that." I mutter, scowling at the dawn that begins to break through the window. More like a three hour head start. Like any normal person sentenced to death, I spent most of the night after the opening ceremony tossing and turning thinking about the days ahead. Where my mind resisted the need for sleep my body just settled, leaving me to stare blankly at the ceiling until now. God knows this is how kids before me must've felt when they slept on this very bed.
Turning around, Melanie retrieves a garment bag from the Avox standing obediently behind her. Opening it, she lays out clothing onto the foot of the bed. "Well, as you know today is day one of your training. So, here are your outfits you'll be wearing throughout the duration."
"Woo hoo..." I cheer sarcastically, regarding the clothing for myself. It was a black tracksuit with matching underwear, colour coded with teal stripes – Isla Nieve's colour for the Games – alongside a pair of black runners. I glance upward, still surprised to find Melanie standing there with that stupid grin on her face.
"Do you mind?" I ask with narrowed eyebrows.
"Huh?" the escort stirs, giggling as I let out a soft growl of annoyance. "Oh gee, lo siento! We'll be in the kitchen for breakfast when you're done."
...
Changed for the day ahead, I saunter down the open staircase and into the main hallway where the kitchen and living room share the same, expansive space. Rafaela, Joyceta and Ricardo are sat in the dining area, with Rafaela the first to acknowledge me as she pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit, which I do. I'm surprised when an Avox plops a savory bowl of salad in front of me, consisting of a medley of fruits, nuts and even a poached egg. I turn toward Rafaela, who smirks knowingly.
"I remembered." She says with a soft shrug.
"Gracias." I reply. This salad will probably be the only highlight of my day.
Adjusting the volume of her datapad, Joyceta picks up a conversation between Marceline Devereaux and her panelists of Hunger Games junkies.
"The opinion polls seem pretty niche this year." A male on screen says to Marceline.
"Makes perfect sense to me, what's not to like about this year's roster of tributes...well, except Ricardo Marcenas of Snow Island, who's polling dead last city-wide," Marceline replies. "Obviously nationwide certain members of our society seem to be emboldened by his display."
"That isn't helping Snow Island overall I'd imagine. District 4 surpassed them in the overall popularity poll as of this morning!"
"Rafaela and her team are some intrepid cats, I'm sure she'll remedy that drop somehow."
All eyes are suddenly trained on Ricardo, who nonchalantly continues to eat his breakfast. I swear I see the smallest of smirks creep onto his lips when his mouth closes. Sending Rafaela one last weary glance, we return our focus back onto our breakfast.
"Francisco has opted out of joining us this morning." Melanie sighs while strutting into the room. "Mentoring is a very stressful job Mr. Marcenas, if you want to perform well I suggest you say sorry to him."
The events of last night immediately come to mind. Francisco looked as if he were going to explode when the chariots returned to the tunnels, engaging into a shouting match for all to see with Ricardo when we dismounted. He and Ricardo would've killed one another if a squad of Peacekeepers and Rafaela hadn't torn them apart.
"What do I possibly have to say sorry about?" he replies casually, as if he had no recollection of anything. "Anyone with eyes could see that nothing was wrong?"
"Maybe how you see it." I snort in reply. "If you wanna die in a grandiose display, adalante, but don't drag me down with you."
"Don't worry about him." Rafaela says, eyeing him behind her round glasses as Ricardo leaves toward the living room. "Aside from this room, you are to keep your distance from him at all times."
"With what the press is saying, does it make a difference?" I ask her, shrugging. "What are the odds of making it out of this thing?"
It's all starting to close in now...what am I going to do, how do I go about this? Worrying about myself wouldn't be so hard if I didn't have to worry about the Capitol, who was certainly keeping an eye on Ricardo's attempts at resistance. Snow Island tributes always have a decent chance, but with the way things are going this year I might as well jump off my pedestal beforehand.
Rafaela simply shakes her head. "Before we get onto the pedestal, let's focus on one thing at a time. Do you even know what you want to train towards?"
I adjust my seating a little bit. They have civil defense training in Isla Nieve, with the island being prone to freakish storms and foreign aliens. I've learned a thing or two over the years but I doubt it was enough for this. First-aid is one thing, but unless there's a gun in the arena... "No. I don't know where to begin."
"Well, if you ask me, any experience can be used inside the arena. Including skill sets like yours."
"You mean..." I haven't – well never – thought about my side job as applicable in the Games.
"Why not, cutting out an organ on camera would be a plus, but I'm thinking more about the...matiz that comes with it." Rafaela smirks. "When you're down there, make note of the menagerie while covering your own ass. Just treat it like you would that thing you do."
I let out a laugh as I smile. Of course, it makes perfect sense. Playing games of that sort is like a hobby to me. And doing what I do on Snow Island shouldn't be too much of a task. It should be easy, even more so.
Laelia Alvarado, 19
District 10 Female
"Your first day of training is about to begin." Harriet announces softly, glancing up from her communicuff. "Are we ready to go?"
"I guess..." I say tentatively, watching as Emmanuel murmurs in the affirmative, nodding once. I can't get a read on him exactly, having not said a word to him since we got on the train and left Ten. I guess I have myself to blame for that. With my less than stellar reaping, even I wouldn't want to associate with me.
Slowly, we shuffle into the large elevator where the Eleven and Twelve tributes are inside with their respective mentors and escorts. While the they exchange greetings, my eyes briefly catch those of the mysterious Twelve female as she smiles at me. I barely return the gesture myself, offering a slight nod before settling in. Annabelle said don't bother speaking with her at all. "She's a whole heap o' trouble." She'd said to me when we watched her recap. Given the barullo she's been raising, it couldn't be more than obvious.
I've seen pre-Games coverage enough to know that if any tribute outside of a Career District smiles or is at ease with the current situation are not right.
The elevator filled to the brim with tributes, we descend all the way down to the gymnasium where were met by a handsome young man with slicked black hair and a chiseled face. Judging by his tracksuit with Panem's emblem on the left chest, he was a trainer.
"Tributes, if you could follow me please." He says in his clipped Capitol accent.
As I join Emmanuel, Annabelle clutches me by the shoulder as her ruby red lips move toward my ear. "Remember... stick with what'cha know or think you can know."
"And allies?" I ask her.
"I'd trust that gut of yours over mine."
I say nothing, nodding as I move through the Peacekeeper-flanked sliding doors and into the gymnasium itself. Besides the blue mats, lights and seating, it was an expansive, concrete room filled to the brim with various weapon racks, obstacles and stations. It seems like with every couple of years, the gymnasium gets more and more complex.
"Look at that," snorts the District 3 male. Everyone's heads turn as he jabs a thumb toward a crew of cameramen in a far off corner. "We're going on HV."
The female from District 9 clucks her tongue. "They must be here to document the moment..."
"You know how they are..." comments the District 7 female, "Fanfare, fanfare, fanfare..."
The small group that made up this year's Career pack was early, obviously. The Two female, Sarissa, kept a watchful gaze on everyone as we made up the rest of the semi circle. Her eyes land on me, and I'm quick to avert my look elsewhere.
"There you guys are. I was just starting to think everyone decided to forgo training or something." Warren of District 4 jokes, a smug grin on his lips.
"You eager to be the first sheep to the slaughter, kid?" the man from District 7 asks in a joking yet bitter tone.
The Career from Four chuckles. "Not the first and definitely not the last. Although...I have an idea on who should be?"
"Tributes, cut the chatter."
All eyes watch as a stout, dark-skinned woman with buzzed hair stomps into view, leaping onto a pedestal before the semi circle of tributes. Wearing only the black bandeau of her tracksuit, her muscles bulging as she crosses her arms, the woman's head slowly turns as grey pupils meet each and every one of ours. The only person who could give her a run for her money was Sarissa of District 2.
"Good morning. I am Claudia Floris, head trainer of this facility. Every other month of the year, I serve our Capitol and nation as a master sergeant in the Panem Expeditionary Force. It is overseas where I learn the ways of alien cultures, where the Hunger Games would be considered a farce to them. My colleagues and I learn from them and apply their skills here, with you. This facility comes with a plethora of stations in which you may hone a particular skill to bring with you in the arena. Of course there's the weaponry...scythes, knives of all shapes and sizes and swords of equal effect. And of course there are the 'technical' stations such as archives of prior Games to base your strategies off of, fishing, fauna identification, swimming and so on."
Claudia gestures to the stations she mentions, each being staffed by trainers who nod in acknowledgement.
"Teenager or adult, everyone would love to pick up a gun or a monk's spade, but I wouldn't lack on the technical aspect of the Games. As we've seen time and time again, many tributes fall to the arena's elements such as traps, muttations and toxic food that ravages your body over the course of days just to name a few. You've heard what they've been saying, this year's Games could bring anything, so I recommend you be well-rounded to compensate. Twenty-six of you stand today but over a course of a week, unless you're related to the Linscott-Gordon siblings or Francisco Noriega and Joyceta Rodriquez, only one of you will remain standing. That person nine times out of ten has shown enough versatility to brave the storm."
My stomach lurches at her words. All I want to do is go back to bed and pretend that everything will be okay.
But it won't.
"Usually, there are mandatory exercises each tribute has to undertake, but with this year's roster being made up of adults, we assume that you have sufficient experience to forgo this. I also don't think it needs to be said that you are to conduct yourselves properly while in this facility? No fighting with other tributes...you'll be doing that soon enough. Lunch is served at eleven hundred followed by refreshments at sixteen hundred hours. Other than that...any questions?"
Nothing but silence is what she receives.
Claudia grumbles, fidgeting with her communicuff before glancing back towards us. "Alright then, with that being said..."
A familiar tune plays throughout the general area where we stand, and I'm not the only one to crane my head in confusion, trying to figure out the source. A mix of a piano and violin, the melody is...quirky and quizzical. The semi circle is disrupted when two holographic children appear before Claudia's pedestal.
Lo and behold, the infamous Vi and Pax appear before us, prompting some tributes to step backward in astonishment. Judging by the checkered blanket and baskets with them, they were having a 'picnic'.
"These must be this year's roster of tributes. So far, I'm quite intrigued." Vi purrs.
"Mm...Adults are the name of the game this time around too." Pax responds. Their accents are even 'more Capitol' than actual Capitol people. 'Rostarr', 'Quoite', who knew a pair of holographic children could out-Capitol President DeWynter herself.
"I imagine that means higher stakes." Vi smirks creepily.
Pax waggles a finger toward the other child, returning the smirk. "And even more desperate measures to mitigate said stakes."
Claudia sighs sharply. "Vi and Pax, as we all might know. AI supercomputers that help facilitate the Games." She explains while the annoyance in her voice is barely hidden. "They too offer advice, however cryptic that advice may be..."
"Everyone's a critic, it seems." Pax mutters, casually rolling up their checkered blanket and mounting it on a bicycle. Vi takes the basket and mounts it on her bicycle. It's only now that I notice their uniforms were unkempt, Vi without her blazer and Pax's sleeves rolled and his sweater missing.
She dismisses him with a wave of the hand. "I say let them. One would be pressed to take our words seriously."
As they mount their bicycles and ride off with a chirp of their bells, Claudia is anything but amused. "Yeah, at your own risk...You may begin your training."
With that being said, everyone slowly stalks off toward the various stations the gym had. Even Emmanuel went off without me, leaving me alone and gawky with the Three girl, who seems just as lost as I am. With it just being us two, we're quick to lock eyes for what seems like a whole hour. She's just like me. About to leave high school, try to make a living of sorts, only for that to be swiped away from her for no reason whatsoever unless you count being killed on holovision for 'entertainment'. I quickly stride up to her.
"Hi..." I snap my finger in an attempt to jog my memory. "Maia, I'm Laelia, District 10."
Glancing downward, she slowly meets my hand halfway and lifts it up and down. "...Hi."
"Do you mind if I join you?" I splutter.
She frowns, her eyes drifting away from mine when she awkwardly replies "...Sure?"
I make sure to smile, nodding. "Okay, great! I guess I'll just...follow you?"
She seems confused, while her eyes scan the entirety of the gym before shrugging. "I guess so."
"Alrighty, lead the way." I gesture my hands toward the various stations and follow along as she moves towards what looks to be an obstacle course. Sure, she might be a little...apprehensive – just look at our situation, I'd be too. But after today we'll be better acquainted for sure. And why wouldn't we be, we're two sides of the same coin. She needs me just as I need her.
Geronimo "Gio" Busan, 26
District 5 Male
"You're a very um...precise person, Tuesday." I remark, flinching as she makes another mark on her target.
"It only makes sense, being a doctor and all requires a steady hand." She replies casually, as if she's 'been here, done that' but she has, in a way.
Using a serrated knife, she lashes out like an annoyed cat, puncturing the neck of the gel dummy in a way that prompts the 'wound' to gush with 'blood'. No matter where she strikes with the knife, the same deadly result occurs. A trainer watches on with intrigue, nodding as she lets out a slight mew of approval.
"It comes naturally," she says, looking over her 'work'. "For a doctor, the utensil is just an extension of the hand, it has to be, or else the hunk of meat you're trying to put back together won't be getting back up anytime soon."
Slightly shocked by her use of language, I let out a startled laugh. "...Hunk of meat?"
"Isn't that what we are, essentially?" she replies with a shrug. I can't find the right words to reply, so I return her shrug. She's definitely has one foot in the arena already with that sort of talk.
Not to be the odd man out, I try my hand and select a regular dagger. I swipe at an arm, yielding a little bit of blood, but not enough in a way that Tuesday seems to get it to. I glance back at her, watching as a team of Avoxes clean up the mess and set up another dummy. She mangles that one up the same as the last. That's the thing, she doesn't attack with vigor like a Career would. She just casually swipes at any appendage like its nothing. That's probably why other tributes aren't paying attention to us.
Finally spying me from the corner from her eye, Tuesday sighs as she places the knife on a nearby trolley and retrieves a towel.
"Listen," she begins, averting her eyes once more as she cleans her hands. "I don't think we should be partners..."
"Wait, what...why!?" I splutter back in response, completely taken by surprise. I glance around the area, thankful that everyone around us is preoccupied to watch. "Why ruin our chances, we might not be family or friends but we're from the same district so-"
"Which comes with certain obligations," she counters with an even tone, "Certain obligations which I don't want on my conscious. If we meet up, I won't attack you. I trust that you'll keep the same promise. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to work on some trapping."
"That seems fitting..." I mutter once she's out of earshot. I quickly pivot and make my way toward the display of weapons, deceiving any watchful eye into thinking that we decided to brush up on different stations rather than breaking up. Once I reach the wall, hands on my waist, I ponder over the various blades and clubs in front of me only to spare a glance over at Tuesday, who watches a trainer set a trap. What prompted her to turn heel like that? No other alliance would keep her close besides me – her district partner. I nod toward a trainer who approaches me. Whatever, it's best not to let it bug me too much. It's better to just get back up and go with the motions, wherever they may take me.
"Are you looking for anything specific, Mr. Busan?" the trainer asks me.
I nod. "You know your weapon history, right?"
"But of course." He replies, smiling at me. "I know everything from the broadswords of an arcane era to the spears of the tribes that inhabit the Northern Wilds."
I smile. "Show me your medieval selection."
Theilian Caldron
District 6 Male
I can't believe this is happening.
Letting out a sigh, Zahira and I stand in the middle of the gymnasium, at a loss of what to do despite the lengthy discussion over breakfast we had with Izzy, Koller and Silvia. We aren't alone in our indecisiveness, as various tributes mill about, most without their partners. That's good, the less cohesive the other tributes are, the better our chances of us – I mean, one of us getting out.
"Where oh where do we begin?" Zahira asks me, her eyes scanning the length of the gymnasium.
"Don't look at me," I reply. "I feel like I'm in freshman year all over again."
"Well like in school, within a few short years – in this case days for us – we won't see them again." She trills with faux cheer.
I let out a snort, the first bit of laughter I've had in three days. "I'm glad to see that you've kept your realism."
"It comes with the job I guess." She replies with a smirk. "How about we just...scout around? Like what Izzy and co said, having some of everything under our belts doesn't hurt?"
"And maybe we might pick someone up along the way?" I add. "Brokering some form of alliance wouldn't hurt I suppose."
"...Sure." Smiles Zahira, although her face doesn't reflect the expression on her lips.
"I'm not sure I like that answer." I return her smile while gesturing forward. "Okay...you're leading this dance."
So, we start where any tribute would start, the weapons. You see it all the time in the recaps, the moment where the tributes make a mad dash towards this section. The difference between them and us is that we aren't helpless children. Everyone here seems to know the drill and knows it well. We watch from afar as the District 5 male is guided by a trainer to use a hammer-axe hybrid of sorts. He slams the hammer onto the head of the dummy in front of him and then switches to the blade as he hacks the neck open of the dummy beside it, all of which prompts blood, bits and pieces to spray around him, to the approval of the trainer as he nods. The man from District 11 wields a gnarly-looking sickle like an extension of his arm while the jailbird from District 9 wields a machete against a duo of armor-clad trainers. He holds his own pretty well.
"Here you go," says the trainer as she wheels the dummy onto the mat. "You're lucky. You're the first roster of tributes to break this thing in."
"What the hell..." I mumble, peering at the 'dummy' in front of me. Of course it was a dummy, but it stood up on its own two feet, with no stand to prop it up. Colored nude, it had eyes but no mouth.
"You're looking at a synthetic, human-sized dummy," the trainer explains proudly, chuckling softly when she says, "It offers a more...intimate experience in comparison to gel torsos and pixel targets."
I shake my head, cursing under my breath. It just goes to show you the amount of waste they pour into the Games. Of all the things that could use a fix, they invest in...these things.
Studying the dummy, Zahira lets out an 'humph' while adjusting her eyeglasses. "Whatever, I've seen versions of these in school."
"Yeah, but they were unmoving on a gurney." I point out.
She dismisses me with a wave. "The more practice, the better."
Zahira takes string-based weapon the trainer calls a 'garrote' and takes position behind the dummy, wrapping the cord around its neck. Holding a remote in one hand, Zahira and the trainer exchange nods as the dummy suddenly comes to life. "Woah!" exclaims Zahira as she and the dummy go from standing to on the mat immediately as she applies pressure, clutching the wire by either end. Astonished, I quickly find myself scrambling backward as the dummy thrashes around the mat, struggling for 'air'. After a minute of thrashing, the dummy's face turns blue as it goes limp and 'dies'.
The trainer nods her head in approval. "Good show tribute, I'm sure your score will be a respectable one."
"You think you could do that for real?" I ask Zahira, offering a hand as she steadily rises to her feet.
"...If it means seeing my boys again? Yeah, I would." Regaining her bearings, she lifts her head forward. "Shit...It seems I've attracted an audience."
Turning slightly, I watch the Careers as they begin to walk off, they too probably watching Zahira's bout with the dummy. Unlike the documentaries, they don't carry themselves with overt swagger. Instead they chat quietly among themselves, their eyes shifting from Zahira to myself before moving on. I also catch the back of the mysterious Twelve girl as she walks off toward the obstacle course.
"Do you think they saw me as a threat?"
I shake my head. "I wouldn't worry if I were you. If anything, it looked like the dummy was in charge of you."
"Whatever, I was perfectly in control."
With a penchant for menacing weapons, Zahira also gets her hands on an imposing knife, using it with noticeable restraint, unlike the garrote and the dummy. She notices me gawking, placing the knife down and looking at me.
"Although I see myself as more of the 'supporting' team member, at least I could step up to the plate when the going gets tough, and it will." She says with a cocked eyebrow. "What's your weapon of choice Thelian?"
Sighing, I shrug. "My way with words...? I'm not sure." I mean, what does she want me to say? We just got here.
"'Reasonable' is the last thing I'd peg anybody with once the gong goes off." She replies dryly. "Unless those words compel the competition to slit their own throats, I suggest you chose something."
"Heh, how easy it is to lose our sense of humanity..." I grumble, looking over the vast array of blades and clubs on the rack in front of me. I pick up one of the short swords, surprised at its weight while I turn it slightly in my hand, shaking my head while watching as it glistens against the light above. I think back to the 95th Games, and how Rafaela Novia slowly sunk a knife into the chest of the Twelve boy after a grueling and personal hand-to-hand fight. It takes a unique kind of person to look someone in the eyes as their life drains away. Unfortunately I'm not that type of person.
"How about you try a launcher?"
"I'm sorry?" I reply, turning towards the trainer.
"Slingshots, crossbows, harpoon guns..." she drawls,her accent accentuated while counting them on her finger. "Everyone loves a katana fight, but I'm a firm believer in weapon diversity." She hands me a handgun, but instead of magazines to load it, she hands me a belt of arrows as well. "What you have there is a harpoon gun. That thing could carry normal bolts, explosive bolts... Launchers like these are rare. But hey, it's the Fourth Quarter Quell, anything can happen."
I level the weighty weapon in my hands, regarding the two women as I move toward the firing range just beside the rack of launchers. Raising the gun towards one of the gel targets twenty feet away, I close my right eye and fire as my arms jerk with the air it emits. The arrow whistles through the air, slamming into the throat of the dummy with a slight thunk.
"And?" the trainer inquires.
I nod. "I tolerate it."
"...You 'tolerate' it?" the trainer deadpans, as Zahira snorts in the background.
"Yes. It's efficient, quick and...humane." Depending on where I aim it, it could be. It's a much better option than plunging a knife into someones chest or hacking them with a sickle.
"There's little room for morals in the Games, tribute." the trainer replies with folded arms.
Handing her back the weapon and belt, I shrug. Then I suppose I'll have to make some.
Linden Norton, 40
District 11 Male
"This is some top notch work, tribute," the trainer praises, nodding her head in approval as she observes the dummy laid out on the gurney before us. "Where did you learn how to do this?"
Wounded with a serious gash across one of its thighs, the cut was bleeding something fierce. Judging by the trainer's device in her hand and how much of a ruckus it was making, the dummy would've been 'dead' if it weren't for Wondr'a's quick thinking. Using a mixture of berries and oils from plants, she made a balm of sorts, closing up the wound and stopping the bleeding in its tracks.
"It ain't much, really..." Wondr'a replies meekly, her cheeks flushed. "My Momma was a real...outside person."
Wondr'a damn near jumps out of her skin when the trainer claps her on the back. "Be glad it rubbed off, be very glad."
"Who needs these skills when all that matters is a good sword?" I say aloud. "When's the last time someone died a death from a cut?"
The trainer eyes me like I'm stupid or something, shaking her head as if she were speaking to a child. "With all the chatter surrounding this year's arena...I wouldn't be too too dependent on the horn if I were you." She says, turning her attention to the Ten female. "Your partner seems to be on the right track. I suggest you do the same."
As she pivots on her heels and tends to the pair of girls from Ten and Three, I can't help but scoff. On the right track, yeah right. Ever since we got on the train, Wondr'a's head has been in the clouds somewhere, a far cry from the 'defiant volunteer' the Capitol has been fawning over.
Speaking of Wondr'a, I glance down at the girl, who's hard at work tending to a miniature garden. "So, what's your deal?"
Wondr'a glances up at me, her brown eyes wide open. "...Huh?" she mewls out, as if she were a small child rather than a grown woman. I dunno why, but it makes me feel annoyed. Imagine being an ally with her in the Games. I can and it's not pretty.
"I'd thought you'd be over there swinging swords with the best of them." I reply back, jutting a thumb toward the Seven and Eight male among others who get acquainted with their weapons of choice. But as I observe Wondr'a closely, the girl doesn't look the sort to even harm a fly.
"No...No thank you," she replies hastily while waving me off. "I'm fine where I am."
"What do you mean 'no'? You volunteered for this, girl?" I reply irritably. "Why the hell are you even here?"
Even though her face is obscured by curly locks, the sniffles she makes paint a clear picture in my head of what she looks like. "...I'm not sure."
Sighing, I shake my head. "Listen, I respect you and all, but I need to start thinking about my well being. I'm going to go do my own thing, okay? Good luck."
Her lack of a reply gives me full agency to pivot on my feet and make my way toward the weapons. It's common for tributes to volunteer just to escape some situation they were facing at home. Panem was a weird place like that. But I can't be tethered to someone without any resolve. What is my resolve even? Return home to a district I hate and a dysfunctional family?
"What will it be, tribute?" asks a handsome trainer, his muscles bulging as his arms cross. I quickly divert my eyes toward the rack of weapons, nodding towards a real menacing looking one with a blackened blade.
"I'll try my hand at one of the sickles." I reply, pointing to it.
"Wise call." The trainer says. "It doesn't hurt to have some familiarity during uncertain times."
I let out an airy scoff. "Heh, you don't know how right you are..." familiarity during uncertain times. Scenes of Delia tensing up whenever I go near her, me berating Jarlan and images of Ace and Salas looking at me with fear and anger swirl around in my head. I can't help but wonder how they'd process my not coming home, given my relationship with them. Instead, I lean back on our goodbyes after the reaping, one of our happier times as a family...and those were rare.
I say my thanks as a trainer sets up a gel dummy for me to practice on. Just think of them, think of Daniel. They may not be pleasant relationships, but they're familiar. And think of the possibilities if I won?
With a roll of the shoulders, I begin swiping at the dummy in front of me. The first two swipes are startling, as they draw a startling amount of blood. The swipes that come after seem routine, it's just like...forcefully harvesting stalks of wheat. Big, wide as a tree trunk-like stalks of wheat.
"You seem pretty at home with that thing...obviously." calls a voice behind me.
"I'm a harvester part time, so I guess yeah it comes naturally." I reply, turning to meet the face of the young man from District 5. I make note of the mace he lugs over his shoulder. "I also saw you swinging that thing around. What for, you don't look the Career type?"
"No, no, I'm more so a guy who appreciates their history – the weapon's history that is. Why play it safe with a dagger or a short sword when you have such a wide assortment hanging around? It sounds 'Career-like' but, we're gonna have to be like that if we want to get out right?"
Well, would you look at that? "Yeah, exactly."
He extends a hand toward me. "I'm Geronimo, people call me Gio."
I return the gesture, nodding as he pumps once. "The name's Linden." I say, smirking as I wait for the inevitable offer.
"Now listen, do you mind if we hung around for a little bit, maybe get to know each other...as much as two people from opposite regions of a country forced into a fight to the death could get to know each other? If we don't get acquainted by the end of the day, we could just move on?"
"Sure, I don't see why not?" I reply, reflecting the smile on his face. Unlike Wondr'a, who's stuck in her own world, this Gio guy seems a helluva lot more trustworthy and reliable. Sure it could turn back to bite me, but we can cross that bridge when we get there. All we need is another tribute who shares the same mindset and we could be viable – enough to keep the Capitol's attention.
"Alright Linden, sounds good."
Ricardo Marcenas, 50
Snow Island Male
Look at you guys, so gullible.
Shaking my head in utter disdain, I watch from a bench as each tribute eagerly tends to a station of their choosing. Like drones, it's as if they've forgotten their livelihoods and inhibitions and dedicated themselves towards how to best outlive and kill one another. I expect this from scared children, but grown men and women, some of which lived through the war or tasted its bitter aftermath?! You'd think they would show some restraint – no, some form of defiance – like the older folks from Three, Seven and Nine, who sit at a nearby roundtable and haven't moved since the trainers gave us the go-ahead.
My head cranes upward when that peculiar tune flutters through the air. The two holographic children appear just feet before me, the boy hauling fish off a rod from a invisible river and the girl reading a book on a picnic blanket while nibbling on a sandwich.
"Burly, intimidating..." drawls the girl, swallowing her food.
"And don't forget intelligent, as he couldn't have gotten very far without that." The boy replies, observing the fish in his hands.
"So why does he sit here, merely observing when he could obviously be putting his prowess to use?" finishes the girl, casually closing the book in her hands.
"I don't think you've really taken him in, my dear colleague. He clearly has a case of defiance." Says the boy, tossing the fish 'away'.
The girl frowns. "Mmm, oh yes, yesterday's display was...unprecedented to say the least."
"I imagine he will end up playing the game soon enough." says the boy.
"They always do, often sinking to a lower level than those they criticize." replies the girl. They both turn to me now, their faces expressionless.
"I'm not playing your 'game', simple as that." I snort, crossing a leg.
"How does one 'opt out' exactly?" inquires the boy with furrowed brows. "Are you just going to take a leap of faith before the gong goes off?"
"The Snow Island male pegs me as a prideful type, not the sort to end it all outright." The girl replies. "I'd wager he'd be like he is now, all pouty while mutts tear him limb from limb."
Having enough, I quickly rise from the bench, huffing as I stomp off. To where exactly? Anywhere but where those two...things were. I think it's safe to say that they were what I hate most about these 'Games'. Designing artificial intelligence for the Hunger Games was a waste in of itself, but giving them the likeness of innocent children...
"If I were him, I'd at least pick up a skill or two." I hear the boy say from behind me in a sing-song tone.
"If he wants his futile attempt of resistance to go anywhere," the girl replies, "He'd better."
Still I resist their teasing, instead pacing past each station with a keen eye, watching the occasional tribute try their hand at their contents. It was around a closed-off room named the 'VR Room' that I noticed I had grown a tail.
"What do you want?" I snap, turning to meet the face of District Two's female, Sarissa Levesque. She stands ten feet away while leaning against a pillar. Unlike most people who still at my rough voice, she begins to close the distance with a small smirk on her lips.
"Oh you know..." she replies casually, unperturbed by my hard exterior. "I'm just scouting the competition."
"Look around, there's plenty of others to choose fro-" my eyes narrow as she flashes a hand in my vision.
"The real competition," she presses, her tone becoming far more serious. "I can kill every tribute in this room six ways till Sunday...but you, you're just one big question mark."
"Is that so?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't you a little too old to be playing the Career game?"
"Not if you're the one training them up." She counters.
"So you're an active Peacekeeper then? Army, Expeditionary?" I inquire with folded arms. "That's usually what Career rejects end up doing."
"No, the Militia." She replies, making no show of allowing my words to sting. "But with how boomin' work is, I mise' well be active duty."
"Ah si...Now I know where it comes from." I muse, referencing the poor mannerisms of 'tributes' from her district. "How does it feel to facilitate the death of children, I wonder?"
"All I do is prepare them the best I can. Some have it, some don't." Sarissa replies without missing a beat.
"And you do?" I fire back.
That touches a nerve. I can barely hide my smirk as her face flushes with annoyance. "Yeah, no shit. Why the fuck would I be here otherwise?"
"I'm not sure." I reply casually. "Blind adoration of Capitol and country?" I've served with plenty of them, and she was a typical Two down to a tee. Cocky, bloodthirsty, stubborn.
"You know, they teach about you in Two." She says after we spend a minute glaring into each other's eyes.
My brows furrow with intrigue. "Do they now? Do they teach anything about my undying love for the island and its people?"
She shakes her head, her lips wearing a sardonic smirk. "No, though they did get the arrogance part down pat. That being said, thank Snow you and your father weren't totally at the helm, or else Panem would've lost the whole of the Carrib."
"Do not talk about my father or I will kill you where you stand!" I caution while ignoring the watchful eyes we start to attract. The Peacekeepers stationed near us exchange glances, but make no move to separate us. Levesque, being the girl she is – that's what she is at the end of the day – being as old as a twenty-something Sofia, just smiles.
"I'm not fazed by hard talk, Captain..." she replies. "In here actions speak louder than words and from what I see, especially yesterday's shitshow, neither are sufficient in your case."
Having heard enough, and wanting to stop myself before snuffing her life with my bare hands, I stomp off to the 'VR Room', a room boxed in by glass panels. I'm greeted by the attendant, a woman with purple cropped hair and vine tattoos snaked on her right arm.
"Good day tribute, care to try a combat simulation? This is the closest thing you can get to the Games before they start."
"Si." I nod, casting a glance outside where Sarissa and her gaggle of idiots stand waiting. I select a fake longsword, giving it a few practice swings. It was akin to any machete or field tool back on the island, so it was easy to take up and use.
"Like I said, this is the best thing besides the Games themselves," rambles the trainer as she fastens the last piece of armor onto my person. "Multiple targets will engage you with various levels of difficulty. If they hit a pressure point assigned to a part of your body, you will feel the effects. The same could be said with your sword. We shall begin with ten targets."
Nodding, I stride toward the middle of the room as the lights begin to dimmer. Silence covers the room for a moment before I find myself focusing on a whirring sound. My eyes shift to the corner of the room where four golden lights congregate. They move in tandem until a silhouetted man made of cubes armed with a mace materializes and begins to charge me.
"While kids go by with nothing to eat..." casually, I sidestep the mace as the dummy slams it to the ground while I raise my sword and bring it down upon its neck, watching as the dummy's head splits from its body while the two pieces explode into tinier cubes. It goes on like this for the next seven targets.
"My Gods...throughout all the trial runs I've had, I've never seen a test subject so uninterested." The trainer remarks over the loudspeaker. "Fight like you have a purpose!"
Fighting in the Games requires no 'purpose'. But in regards to my predicament, I suppose she has a point.
As I dispatch the eighth dummy by disarming it and skewering it in the chest, two sword-wielding dummies materialize from either end of the room and move to engage me. I parry the blow from the left one, just as I feel my back 'give out' while the dummy on the right strikes me. I drop to my stomach and spin, sword in hand. One dummy jumps while the other isn't so lucky, dispatching its legs with one spin. Recovering to my knees, I barely evade a sword to the forehead just as the unlucky dummy from before is reduced to minuscule cubes of dust. I turn toward the last dummy as it raises its sword for another downward chop. If the dummy had a face, it would be one of astonishment as its sword is sent whistling out of its hands by my upward counter. Standing on my own two feet now and with a powering step forward, I bring my sword down upon the unarmed dummy. For a second it stands motionless, only to teeter forward and dissipate into two separate halves. The lights return back to normal, signaling the end to this pathetic display of excess.
"That was a Capitol show, tribute." The trainer applauds.
"Gracias...for that was the only one you're going to get." I reply dryly in return, turning my attention towards the outside.
Beyond the sliding door, where some tributes watch, I just see the behind of Sarissa and her Careers as they skulk off elsewhere. Beyond them I can see the VIP balcony where they watch. Most noticeably however, right behind the sliding doors, stands the District 12 female, gently applauding with coyest smile on her lips.
Tobias Ledger, 63
District 3 Male
Verona lets a low whistle escape from her lips. "Well, that was an interesting display."
"I'll have you guys know that when I was his age, I had moves like that too..." I reply, while making a show of puffing out my chest.
"The man's fifty at most. You're aging yourself pretty badly there." Verona replies wryly.
"Sixty-three is a whole new ballgame." I reply with a smile.
"...I should know," Verona guffaws, her hands shooting into the air. "I'm there myself!"
While Hermia and Verona share a chuckle I opt to show my amusement by grinning, following behind as we return to our table at the 'wilderness survival' section. Since being dismissed by the Head Trainer, this is where we set up 'camp' while watching the younger adults have at it with the various equipment available. We three have learned precious little in our hours of sitting here, drawing the ire of the trainers tasked with this portion of the gym.
"Are you three actually going to learn something or are you just going to sit there?" One of the trainers asks us. Behind him is a pair of twin girls, their glares and crossed arms identical to his.
"But young sir, we are learning..." I reply, motioning to Hermia and Verona. "...About each other! It's been so long since I've seen these women."
Verona nods. "Mhm, we're building alliance cohesion. Results are best shown when we aren't interrupted, so scram!"
We snigger when the young man, in typical Capitol fashion, tosses his arms into the air and moves to join the District 11 female, all while the twin girls huff out a joint "Hmph!" and follow behind with noses pointed in the air.
"They still get paid and we die either way, dunno what it is to them." I mutter, nodding off to the set of dominoes on the table. I smuggled them in from upstairs. Besides glares from the Peacekeepers and trainers, I haven't been chewed out yet. "How about we play another game of muggins?"
Spooning them with her hands, Verona corrals them towards her. "I'll shuffle them around."
When the sniggers die down, I say, "Who would've thought we'd reunited here of all places?"
When my name was drawn, I'd be one helluva liar to say I wasn't scared outta my mind. But true to my craft, my ability to put on a face of confidence was enough to bide me through the shock, even if it was based on a bluff. But now that I'm here with Verona and Hermia, people who I thought were long dead...that fearlessness isn't so much a front, but more so relief. Going through this with two other folks, who understand and have been though what I have, it's a comfort thing.
"In all truthfulness Tobi," Verona replies under a keen gaze, "I thought a man of your...trickiness would be dead."
"People with my skillset tend to slip into the background when shit hits the fan." I reply with a coy smirk. My smirk falters when I ask, "How's your dad holding up, he's probably old as dirt now." Working in customs allowed me to see the better part of Western Panem. Verona's old man was a bigwig within Seven's rebel cell. He too was a part of the network of rebels smuggling information...food...weapons.
The sad smile and small shake of the head that follows is enough for me to nod and mutter out a quiet. "Oh..."
"How's Thaddeus?" Verona asks in return.
"No longer with us." I reply curtly.
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry to hear that."
"No worries. It's too bad, just as the War was coming to an end too. Being knocked out of the fight so early gave the Capitol plenty of time to compile a list of dissidents. He happened to be on it."
"I was a doctor, as you know, probably the only reason why they kept me alive after capturing me."
I turn to Hermia now, who's awfully quiet for some reason. "What's your story Rhodes? You have to have one, given the last time we talked you were working customs in District Two, not Nine."
She begins with the Battle for District 2 and the Capitol counterattack following the failed siege of the Nut and then the retreat eastward when the Capitol regained their momentum. Hermia packed up and left for Nine. During one of her scouting runs she was injured by an airstrike, thus the nasty scars. During her stay in a makeshift hospital she'd met Verona and more specifically a boy. They were really itching to take the city away from rebel hands so they began evacuating her and the injured to safer grounds. Hermia was safe, but the boy was killed when they gassed that shelter and the surrounding blocks.
"I wasn't special, they tossed me into a camp like every other defeated rebel, then they let me go when I had no use for me." She finishes. "It was then when I found out I was pregnant. His folks took good care of me though. I was definitely lucky."
"Yep..." I add, "Very, very lucky."
It's after a minute of heavy silence until Hermia shoots out from her seat and begins to pace.
"We...we really fucked up, didn't we?" Hermia says with a deflated sigh, gesturing haphazardly to the contents of the gym. The Peacekeepers keeping a keen eye, tributes prepping for the hundredth time to fight for the death, it's all still here because we didn't fight hard enough. "Christ...it's all really sinking in now."
Verona replies with a nod. "Yeah, I can cosign that. We fucked up real bad. And out of all the people they could pick..."
"All 'those people' are either long dead or wishing they were." She replies bitterly. "You've seen the constant executions on the holo. Even if you were somehow still alive in a camp somewhere, stacking the arena with you and twenty-odd other sacks of skin and bones wouldn't be ideal Games to watch. We may be older, but we're not useless. Shouldn't we try and do something?"
I shrug. "Do what? Okay, we may be somewhat functional, but we're not sure as hell not on par with every other tribute in this room."
"You said it yourself yesterday, where would you be if we weren't here with you?" Hermia snaps back. "Like I just said, we may not be the strongest, but with three likeminded people, maybe just maybe, we can work towards something."
"She has a point..." Verona chimes in, sighing. "As much as I hate this city and everything it stands for. We can't just go with the motions, lest they paint the picture."
"Listen...I'm the first guy to get up and go without a set plan in mind but..." Before I could get another word in, Hermia is already making her way towards the various stacks of weapons. "Rhodes, where are you going!?"
"C'mon Tobi," groans Verona, clasping my hand as she tugs me to my feet. "Were we really planning on sitting down all three days? What would you do for the private session, just sit there?"
With an impish smile I reply, "...Basically."