"Legends Never Die"
A/N: Now some of you may be wondering what's going on with that subplot. Simply put, I'm not really a big fan of breaking up the flow of the Games with subplot chapters or POVs. So instead you're going to see what's happened once the Games end, and until then will just have to stay in suspense about it. Sorry lol.
Also, big thank you to whoever nominated Role Model for the SYOT award for best old story. Really appreciate the love. Although realizing Role Model is an "old story" really feels weird. I take so long to finish stories lol.
~Legends never die when the world is callin' you
Can you hear them screaming out your name?
Legends never die, they become a part of you
Every time you bleed for reaching greatness
Relentless you survive~
Peeka
On that first day after I got reaped, while I was on the train, Kyle spoke to me. He told me there were two types of people in the Games. There were people who deserved to win, and there were the people who killed them. I wanted to win, but I didn't want to become one of those people. I didn't know who I was. I didn't know who I wanted to be. Now, I don't have that choice anymore.
Yesterday, I could only just watch. I knew it was wrong, and horrible, and sick, and I hated myself a million times over, but there wasn't anything I could do. It was like something else was taking over, and I was just acting on this primal urge. It was me, though, there's no mistaking that. Nobody else forced me to do that. It just gave control to a part of me that I never even knew existed.
In that moment, I just wanted to win. There were no reservations, no sorrow, no guilt. Just desire. I wanted to survive, and I was willing to do whatever it took to do that. I killed that man from Six, I killed the girl from Four, I tried to kill the girls from One. I killed Ephraim. I stabbed him right in the heart, and even while I cried and screamed on the inside and yelled out that I was sorry, that this wasn't me, I couldn't stop it. Even after everything, I couldn't save Ephraim. Not from myself. He died, staring into eyes that looked back at him with no love, no sorrow, no shame, no guilt. That's who I am now. Not even a monster. A machine.
I was glad when that man chopped off my head. For a moment, while the darkness and quiet enveloped me, I felt something I hadn't in so long, peace. Gone was the monster, gone was the machine, but also gone was the timid girl, the naive woman who worried every moment of every day what others would think of her. For that moment, everything seemed like it was okay. That despite everything I had done, all the mistakes I had made, it was all going to wash away.
I cried and screamed and cursed when I woke up. I was fixed, like nobody had ever hurt me, not a single scratch on my body. Everyone was gone, and there was no more fog to shield me. No more blanket of snow to hide behind, like a little kid peeking up above the covers. The forest is more empty than ever now, stretches of nothingness as far as I can see.
That night, I sat on the ground, looked up into the sky, and waited. There was nothing else to do. No need to eat, no need to drink, no desire to hurt anyone again. All I could do was sit. I looked up in the sky, the faintest glimmers of stars shining behind the canopies, and I saw their faces.
A wife. A father. A friend. Three more to add to the list. How many more will there be before this is over? Do I follow Kyle's advice he gave me, and commit myself to who I have to be? Worse people than me have won, that's what he said. I wonder if he still thinks that now.
I've killed six, and now there's only five more. They can blow my chest wide open, chop off my hands, cut off my head, and none of that will mean anything. I can win. I can decide I want it, and kill them all, and go home. Home. Like that exists for me anymore. There's no more Deke, not after this. He wouldn't want me, and I don't want him. Whenever that gas fills the air, and I lose control, memories flash through my mind. I remember the worst moments in my life, those times when I was terrified, alone, powerless. How many of those times were those feelings because of him? How many times was I that timid girl, cowering in a corner while my cheek burned from the mark his slap had left imprinted on me
No, there's no home anymore. If I win, I'll go back to District Ten and move into a shiny new house, and I'll live there all alone. Nobody will ever trust the girl who stabbed her only friend, the one guy who ever gave a damn about me, in the heart. What I had is gone, what I want will never come, who I want to be is someone I'll never become.
I've already gone halfway. I've drawn the line in the sand and I've crossed it. There is no return. There is no redemption. There's no forgiveness, no pull back into the light. When Cedric was on top of me, hands on my neck, my life slipping away, I made a choice. I decided right then and there who I wanted to be, even if I didn't know it. I came to a fork in the road and I chose.
I've already started down the path, I might as well finish it.
McKenna
It happened in an instant.
Horatio and I had regrouped after what happened. When we realized Picaboo wasn't dead, and saw what she had done to Merrium, we were sure to collect all the food and water from the feast and get out of there. We discussed tactics, weaknesses, potential ways to kill a girl who somehow has become seemingly invincible. When the night got late, we took turns staying awake, keeping watch and continuing to brainstorm. If he came up with an idea, he didn't share. Not that I can place blame, I have my own secrets as well.
The morning came, and with it came something new. Sunlight. The canopy overhead was still oppressive, but now stray light crept through the cracks. The forest was visible again, the fog gone. Both of us knew what that meant.
Out in the distance, the light got stronger, the forest clearing and becoming less dense. Eventually, we arrived in a clearing. It was beautiful. The sun was shining again, beams of light shining against my face and reminding me of something I had begun to forget. That no matter how dark things got, the light always rose again. Horatio and I sat in that clearing, filled with green grass, yellow glow, and fresh air, in what felt like the first moment of true rest in this entire week.
And then, just like that, it happened.
The District One duo were the first to enter the clearing, breaking past the treeline as us two stood in the center. The two were shaken up. Both of their clothes were torn into tatters, Prestige's face cut up, three long gashes across her cheek that were sure to turn into scars if given the time. Hailey stood next to her, but barely, her right ankle barely supporting itself, while a claw mark tore into her stomach, the gauze they slapped on top of it not hiding the deep wound beneath. Hailey was unarmed, while Prestige held a metallic tube in her hands that looked like a handle, but without a blade attached. I made note of the dagger in Hailey's boot, the handle just barely poking out.
The little girl entered just a moment later, shaking as she stepped into the clearing. She had nothing with her. No backpack, no weapons, no food. Just a coat that she dropped to the grassy floor as soon as she stepped into the sunlight. She had no injuries, but she barely stood on her own two feet, her legs shaking as she struggled to keep herself planted. I ignored her immediately. No protection, no weapons, no chance for a miracle.
Picaboo entered last, just a few tense seconds later. Like the little girl, she didn't have any possessions with her. She didn't need any swords or knives or bows though. She was the weapon. Blood covered every inch of her body. She was more animal than human. Wild hair, shredded clothes, feral eyes that darted from body to body. She barely even grimaced as the claws extended from her knuckles.
Horatio smiled. The metal gauntlets he wore on each of his fists lifted into the air as he weighed his competition. He was like Picaboo. He was his own weapon, remorseless and willing to kill every last one of us himself.
And so began the finale.
My eyes gaze across the field, nobody yet willing to make a move. Horatio and I made a deal, on our honor, that we wouldn't fight until the final two. If we fight together, after all, there's no doubt us two will be the final ones standing. But I know too well what will happen then. Horatio is a force of nature, a freak. I'll never beat him in a fight. Not now, not ever. Waiting to fight him in a duel is signing my name under second place.
I don't want my legacy to be the Career who won by backstabbing. The dishonorable, dishonest, disgrace to District Four. But if I win, I can have time to rewrite that legacy. I can make it into something more, something greater. Dying in the Games is a legacy that's inescapable. I won't let that be how they remember me.
The metallic handle feels cool to my touch in my pocket, my finger fiddling over the button that will ignite it. Horatio decapitated Picaboo, and saved Prestige's life, all because he just wanted to prove himself and get into a fight. His bloodlust dictates him, my wits will always guide me. I found the sword on the ground, abandoned, while he wasted his time doing that. Now, I have a way out. A way to win.
Picaboo is the first to move. She runs faster than I would have thought possible, making a dash towards the two of us. Horatio steps forward, slowly walking towards her, each step seeming to make an imprint on the ground. Hailey starts to make her way towards the fight, but stumbles and falls after just a couple steps, as Prestige rushes to help her up. Rain stays frozen. I trail behind Horatio, still holding onto the handle in my pocket, being sure to keep a comfortable distance from the fight about to take place.
Horatio and Picaboo clash, Horatio grabbing onto Picaboo's wrists and stopping her momentum, her claws just inches from his neck as she lunges upwards. The two struggle for a moment, but she's no match for his strength, and is quickly tossed to the ground.
He attempts to grab her by the neck, but she swings at his hand, the metal glove around his non-dominant hand getting sliced to pieces and falling off of his hand which is now covered in deep lacerations.
Picaboo tries to take the opportunity to climb to her feet, but the brutal injury doesn't seem to slow Horatio down at all, horrifyingly it seems to do the exact opposite. He's enraged, grabbing her by the hair with his still-gloved hand and slamming her into the ground face-first. He does this again and again, until she stops thrashing out with her claws, beginning to go limp. Horatio doesn't waste any more time, spinning her around so that her bruised and bloodied face is turned towards the sky.
Her eyes are swollen shut, only a tiny crack left to look up into the blue sky up ahead. From my distance, I can just make out a few garbled words before Horatio brings the thick metallic gauntlet down onto her face.
"I'm sorry."
With that Horatio brings down his fist, the force of his arm combined with the steel causing her face to cave in in a way that I didn't think I face could. It's like a bowling ball being dropped into a watermelon, repeated until there's nothing left that can be recognized, just a pool of mush.
Boom!
Picaboo's canon goes off.
Horatio is laughing, a sort of cackle as he stands back up to his full height, looking down at his handiwork. He takes off his glove and lets it drop into the mess. I can't see his face, but I can only assume the smile that must be crossing his lips.
Any hesitation I had is gone, a little bit of fear and a whole lot of self-preservation sending me silently forward, taking the hilt out of my pocket, and igniting the blade as I swing at his back.
The blade stops inches from his back. His hand is clamped around mine, squeezing so tightly that the circulation cuts off at my wrist, and I can't even feel the hand anymore. He's barely turned around, a cocky smirk as his eyes gaze into mine knowingly.
Panic rises in my chest. I try feebly to yank my arm back, if not just to free myself and get a chance to run. Get the opportunity to plan something, think my way out of this. I can't have it end now. Not like this. Not with the blade just inches away from sure victory, and this asshole staring at me with eyes that say, "I won. I've outsmarted you."
He doesn't say that, though, he doesn't need to. Both of us already know what's just happened, what this means. He lets out a soft chuckle, and shakes his head. "You've outlived your usefulness."
My arm bends into an unnatural position as he twists at it with his free hand. My grip on the handle is guided by him now, and I'm helpless as he forces the blade to reverse its direction. I can only watch as the blade stabs through my stomach, and I'm forced to face reality.
I won't ever go home to District Four. There will be no following in my grandmother's footsteps. I'll have no legacy of greatness. McKenna Bay won't be remembered as a victor. She won't be remembered as a leader. She'll only be remembered for this.
Horatio flicks his wrist, and the blade is brought upwards, slicing through my chest and upwards as my world turns dark.
Prestige
McKenna is split in half as Horatio drives the sword upwards, easily cutting through the top of her head. He doesn't even look, turning around to face us, as what remains of McKenna falls forward into the ground in unison with the canon.
Boom!
Hailey has managed to climb back up, swaying on her feet as she struggles to stay standing. When I found her after the feast, she was barely conscious, lying in a pool of her own blood. The sponsor gift of a basic med-kit managed to keep her alive, but I don't have to be a doctor to know that won't last much longer. Her skin has gone pale, and while she still has a razor focus, it's obvious she's just running on whatever adrenaline is still left pumping through her.
She can hardly even speak, just heavily panting as she shakily pulls the dagger out, while Horatio takes his time stalking over towards us, ignoring the little girl who remains frozen in place not too far from us.
"We have to fight," Hailey pants, keeping her gaze locked on the behemoth that makes his way towards us.
She's right, of course. We have to fight. We have to kill him. The monster of a man who bashed in the face of the girl we thought couldn't even be scratched, who didn't even break a sweat killing the most skilled career in the arena. The sword suddenly becomes heavy in my hands.
I'm not a fighter. I'm not a killer. None of this is me. I can't do this. I run fast and kick a ball well, how does that translate into murdering an unkillable freak? All of the times in my life that I've failed, how is this going to be any different? I've fallen on my ass so many times, messed up in every part of my life, even the parts I was supposed to be special at.
I can already feel the weight of failure on my shoulders. Horatio is almost to us now. A part of me wonders if I should just run. Hailey wouldn't be able to keep up, she would fall behind and Horatio would get to her and kill her just like he killed the others. I know that. I know that it's a selfish, awful thought, to just run away and hope that somehow, through some stupid, twisted miracle everyone just dies on their own and I get to leave. But still it echoes through my head.
For all my screwups, for every little thing that I've messed up in my life, all the people who never gave a damn about me; I don't want this to be the end. There's still so much left I want to do. I want to play soccer again in front of a cheering crowd. I want to feel the wind in my air as I run, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as not a single person can catch me. I want to be lifted up in the air, drenched in water as my team all celebrates around me. I want to fail, to be lying down on the turf late at night, tears filling my eyes and a burning sensation in my heart. I want to be embarrassed, to feel like I can never show my face to a single person ever again. I want my heart to break into a million pieces in the worst and best way imaginable, so that whenever I see her I'm not sure whether to laugh or to cry.
I want it all. The pain, the joy, the love, the hatred, the elation, the sadness, the good, and the bad. Nothing matters to me anymore but getting to continue to feel all those things, to get to keep riding those ups and those downs wherever they take me. No matter how high I rise, or how long it feels like I've been at the bottom. I just want to live.
Hailey makes a move. As Horatio gets near us, she suddenly bursts towards him. Even he seems surprised by it, on his backfoot for a second as she slashes out with the dagger, just narrowly missing his neck.
She doesn't get a second chance. Horatio grabs her by the arm and brings a full force punch to her head, Hailey dropping flat backwards as he lets go of her, her body thudding against the ground as she goes still.
Fear and rage bubble up inside of me, mixed with adrenaline that throbs through my veins, pulsing against the inside of my skull. I step forwards, igniting the sword. The red blade extends from the handle.
Horatio switches his gaze to me, ignoring Hailey as he stomps towards me, seeming completely unworried. He just flashes a small smile, igniting his own blade. The two of us continue to circle one another, taking the other in and waiting for their moment. He takes a subtly step forward, and without any further hesitation, I leap once more into the fray.
Our blades clash against each other, red and blue locking in place. Every movement is a perfect choreography, each attack being deflected, every strike being parried. There's no thought, just a calming trust. A faith in myself, and in the mantra that echoes through my mind, rejecting the Prestige who sat in that room after being reaped, and felt absolutely nothing, and wondered if it was even worth it. No, that mantra is shouting above that memory now, rewriting it into a new reality.
I want to be alive.
Hailey
The world fades in and out. I'm caught, trapped halfway between here and there. Darkness creeps into my vision, the world blurring into view for a few moments, before washing back to dark.
I can still feel it all. My head throbs, my face aches, my stomach is crying out in agonizing pain, my ankle buckling under itself even as I lie flat on the floor. Every part of me screams out, refusing to continue anymore. There's no more will, no more fight.
The fight is just a haze, blue and red lights meeting and then pulling back at a blinding speed. In a brief moment where the life is breathed back into me, I crawl onto my knees, holding out my elbows as I fall forward when the darkness retakes its grasp.
When the light arrives again, I pull my head up, my hands staked into the ground to keep me from falling again. There won't be any more rising back up.
I can see more clearly now, still a blur but now one that I can make at least some sense of. Prestige is the red, the giant fuck is the blue. He's way stronger, much more skilled, more brutal and more practiced. But she's faster, lighter, and seems to be moving as if she knows what's coming, dodging before a strike is even thrown. Somehow, the two are locked, neither giving an inch of ground.
The darkness starts to creep back in, but I fight it off, punching myself in the stomach, just wanting to will some sort of emotion back into me, some tiny shriveling piece of fight out from what remains. It works well enough, the burning pain nearly causing me to buckle onto the floor, but clearing up my vision just enough to keep the light in my eyes.
Prestige is like an acrobat, spinning and twirling out of the way as the fucker chops at her like he's holding an axe. He lets out a scream, ducks down to her height and swings at her head, sailing above her as she easily ducks out of the way.
She pops back up, and smacks him in the head with the butt of the handle, spinning away just in time as he swings wildly at her. The force behind the hit seems to take the fucker off guard, and he stumbles backwards. Prestige takes her chance, twirling forward and sweeping out with her blade at his midsection.
He's just barely able to hop backwards in time to avoid it. The two of them both are fully into the battle though, and neither misses a beat, both of them spinning as they reconfigure themselves, moving head on towards each other, their swords travelling with them as they stab forwards with their blade.
The two are eye to eye, Horatio leaning forward so that the two are on an even footing. The blade extends into the stomach, eyes wide in disbelief. They let in one final breath, a pained gasp exhaling. A sword falls to the ground, and as the blade unignites, a small wisp of red fog seems to emanate from the handle.
Prestige stands still for a long moment, seemingly frozen in place. Then, she falls.
I try to scream, to jump to my feet and run over towards her, but my body isn't listening anymore. I can only just sit, locked into place, locked into this moment, watching helplessly as she falls onto the ground, those bright eyes going dark.
Horatio tosses his sword to the side, and brings up his foot, hanging in the air for what feels like an eternity. The world seems to be stuck in place, trapping me here in this moment forever. This moment, with no control, no strength, no ability to change anything that's about to happen. No way to turn back time and stop that blade from getting to her first. No chance at saving the day. No locked eyes in a final moment, a wordless sort of connection, something to give meaning to something that makes no sense. There's nothing. Just stillness in the air as Horatio stomps down his boot. A fleeting moment, the world too blurry to even see Prestige's face as the heel connects against the bridge of her nose.
I want to force myself to look. To watch and see what I did. To know that it's all because of me. But I can't even do that, my vision fading to black as a distant cannon fires off.
It's sound that comes back first this time. The world is still empty as I hear a high-pitched scream, just for a moment before it's silenced.
Boom!
My vision comes in, clearer this time than before. I can see Horatio in the distance, the little girl's neck snapped in a direction it isn't meant to be. He doesn't even look as he tosses her down to the ground.
His eyes are on me now. I can see it, a look in his eyes, a sick, sadistic sort of glee as he makes his way towards me. My body is still completely shut down, but the threat of him is enough to get just enough adrenaline to force myself onto my feet one final time. I'm hunched forward, barely able to keep my balance, not a single weapon in hand, and none around me. The world is spinning on its axis, each heavy step away from him nearly bringing me collapsing to the ground.
I keep on marching though, knowing there's no escape. I can't run, I can't fight, I can't even hope. But still, I force myself onward. Because no matter what, I have to just keep on fighting. I can't let him break me. I won't die on my knees. I refuse to fall down. Nobody will ever get to see Hailey Hills cry and beg for her life from a sad, sadistic fuck. I just have to keep on going, one step after the other, the only victory I have left.
Something grabs me roughly by the hair, throwing me down to the ground. The world spins again, but I manage to stay awake this time, even as I find myself face down in the dirt. My legs are numb, everything from below my hip losing all it's sensation. So I reach forward with my arms, hands digging into the grass and pulling myself forward, inch by inch.
"Still fighting, huh." He's laughing from above me, and I don't have time to brace myself for the kick that he sends to my side. I feel the air sucked out of my lungs, pain surging back into my gut as I feel blood damping my shirt. I'm barely able to keep myself on my stomach, the force just about sending me onto my back. I keep down though, grimacing through the pain as I extend my arm again, dragging myself another inch.
He brings his hand down onto my back, pinning me in place against the ground as he leans forward, his voice a cold, harsh whisper that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise up. "Let's see how long that lasts."
He pulls his hand back, and my breath begins to quicken, ragged breaths coming in and out as I pull my head out of the dirt. His threats in the training room after the fight come back to me now, those cruel, awful whispers that even then made my blood go cold, even as I convinced myself to shake it off, that I wouldn't let him get the chance. And in that moment, I lose my fight. Fear takes over, the muscles shrinking in my arms as I feel myself fading away, losing my grip. There's no more stubborn will, no burning desire to make him pay, for everything he's done and everyone he's killed. I just want to give up, to let it be over. No more pain and fear and regret. I'm not clinging onto life. I can't take it anymore. Not what comes next. I've been holding on for so long, I just want to let go.
And then I see it. Through blurry vision, just in front of me, barely beyond an outstretched arm, out of absolutely nowhere, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Something impossible.
My arms ache, half my body doesn't listen to my commands, but still I push myself forward, my fingers stretching as far as they can, digging into the soil, gripping onto the dirt. I pull myself forward, my muscles straining, wounds in my gut opening as I feel myself tearing apart with every strained effort, just to get forward those few inches.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, but it doesn't pull my backwards, or hold me in place, it just lays there, still. "There's nobody to protect you now, nowhere to run." He's still using that chilling, disgusting whisper. "It's just you and me. You might as well try to enjoy-"
My outstretched fingers find what they were blindly searching for. Energy rises from within me. My hand wraps around the metal, and the world moves in a blur as I twist myself around, and stab the blade into his head.
Both my hands are on the handle. I don't even look at his face. Refuse to look him in the eye. Refuse to see his dying moment. My hands are moving by themselves as they pull the blade back out. I stab him again. He falls backwards, onto his back, face to the sky. My hands are still around the handle. I stagger towards him, falling to my knees. I watch myself as I bring down the knife into his face. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. At some point a canon goes off, but I don't stop. Again. Again. Again. Trumpets blare, a voice begins talking, but I can barely hear them over the screaming. I keep on stabbing. Over and over again.
I feel a hand press against my shoulder, in that same way as he did, a gentle, soft touch. My knife is raised high as I spin around, rearing back my arm and barely stopping myself as the man in all white armor raises his arms in the air, backing away. I'm aware that I'm still screaming, and cut myself off, now all too aware of the sobbing hiccups that are coming from me uncontrollably.
"M'am, calm down," he says in a soothing voice, keeping his hands up as he gestures to the other few similarly dressed men beside him. "No one here is going to hurt you. It's okay, you're safe now. You won."
A ladder drops down beside him from the sky, and I follow it up with my eyes, up to the hovercraft which is flying above us. And beyond that, painted in the air, taking up nearly the entire sky, is my face. And below my face, words.
Congratulations! The 101st Hunger Games Victor: Hailey Hills
I can barely read it, my vision blurred from water that pools up in my eyes. My mind is refusing to work, not processing a thing.
I feel my legs give out, and I fall into the strangers arms, allowing my eyes to close. I barely notice the needle poking my arm as I drift off to sleep.
And that's a wrap, congratulations to the winner of the 101st Hunger Games: Hailey Hills! D1 ladies go back to back!
So yeah, surprise, the Games are over! I know the games seemed rushed towards the end, and that's cause it was. You'll see soon. Otherwise, let's get into the final obituaries, because I got emotional and wrote a lot.
5th: McKenna Bay: McKenna was an interesting case. She was honestly so easy for me to write, and was such an incredible character with so many dimensions to her. I had so much fun writing her intros, and for a time I was considering her as a potential victor. She started disappearing a bit in the Games, and I regret that, since it isn't because I didn't like her as much, or had trouble writing from her perspective, but rather because I just couldn't find ways for her to get involved. That's on me, and honestly is bound to happen sometimes when you have so many characters to juggle. Nonetheless, McKenna was one of my favorite characters I've ever received, and in a different story very well could've been victor. I'm sad I won't get to continue to tell her story, because there's honestly so much that could have been ahead of her. But in the end only one can have that story be told. Thank you Caleb for one of the most incredible characters I've ever seen, I really hope that you decide to send another character in, because they're always so well made, I could honestly write an entire story just from the perspective of McKenna.
4th: Prestige Freeman: Here's the deal. Raw truth for a moment. Prestige is my favorite character I've ever made, and it's not even close. I've made some 50 tributes, a couple dozen mentors and escorts and Capitolites, and hundreds of other characters in my original stories, and none of them can even come within striking distance of her. Words just flowed out when I wrote her. So much of myself went into Prestige, both who I am now, and who I was before. I could relate with her struggles in a way that you don't often do with characters, and I felt myself grow as a person as Prestige did in this story. I'm honestly confident I won't make a character better than Prestige ever again, and I'm okay with that. I know a lot of you guys liked her too, which was really awesome to see, considering she's the character I poured myself into the most. And yet, here she is, gone. It probably doesn't make much sense, but this is where her story had to end. I had tons of ideas about where she would go after this, all sorts of happy endings for her to get. But while that would be the easy thing to do, it just wasn't what this story needed. Killing her off hurt, and I tried to convince myself of a million different ways I could let her live, but in the end this is where she had to die. At least she died with that final positive revelation about life, even if it came so late.
3rd: Rain Kaniff: When you write a story over the course of multiple years, you're bound to lose connections to some characters you wrote at the start, and that's kind of what happened with the Kaniffs. I really enjoyed writing them, but when I came back from this latest break I just didn't know what to do with them anymore. Rain was my original victor back when I planned this for the first time way way back (like a couple chapters into Role Model, when her and Clyde were the only common threads the 101st Games as planned then have with the final product you see now), but ultimately I think having her be victor right after Glory just didn't add any new dynamics and do anything to add to the next story. Rain was still such a unique, strong character though, that will always remain one of my favorites.
2nd: Horatio Rex: Naw fuck off.
6th: Picaboo "Peeka" Benner: Okay, so I saved her for here, because there's a lot I need to say about her, and a lot of it is pretty final in terms of all the tributes who are dead, and really sums up the feelings I have towards all 12 of these tributes. So here we go, confession time, here's what I got: I wanted Peeka as my victory so many times. Just as many as Prestige, probably even more. I drew up plans for her story after the Games, her character growth, the places she would go, who she would become. I loved writing Peeka, possibly the most out of any of the characters in this, and I wanted to continue to write her story. But in the end, as I sat in the middle of this chapter, having a crisis as I determined what to do in this final chapter, whether to stick to my plans or break them and let Peeka (or Prestige, or Rain, or McKenna) win, I had to face something. Peeka is a character I would enjoy writing so much, getting to write her as she has to come to terms with what she's done, and work towards redeeming herself, would have been fantastic. But the story that would feel best to write isn't always the story that I should write. In the end, the story I wanted to tell of her, and of Prestige, didn't fit in the story that's yet to come. The best character I received, the most fun character I had writing, the character I had the easiest time writing, and the victor are all different characters. Maybe that makes sense, maybe it doesn't. Either way, I'm rambling now, so I'll wrap this final obituary up. Celtic, Peeka was an amazing character, and I'm so grateful that you gave me the opportunity to bring her to life, through all the hardships she went through as well as those brief moments of joy. Thank you so much for submitting her, and I sincerely hope I get the chance to write another of your brilliant characters again.
VICTOR: Hailey Hills: First Rain was victor, then Prestige, then as I opened up submissions I decided it would be someone who was submitted instead of one of my own. And then I wrote the D1 intros, and Hailey has always been a victor since then. I could say a lot about her character, but there's still much more you will all see of her in the coming chapters and the next story that I hope will justify her winning to you. But what I can say is that Hailey was such a natural, easy character to write. It was easy to see the world through her perspective, and while crowning my own character victor leaves a bit of a sour taste in my mouth, I know that this is the right choice for the stories yet to come. I hope you guys will continue to follow along, because her story is only just now beginning.
As one last note, I'd just like to thank you all for your support. I couldn't have made it this far without you all constantly being there for me.
There's still three more chapters left before this story wraps up and the 102nd Games begins, starting the final act of this trilogy. I'll have info on submissions for that soon, but until then just one last time I want to say thank you all for sticking through. We made it.