Chapter 9 Day 1 part I

He woke up before the sunlight came breaking through the window. The knocking on his door was almost too silent for him to register it. When it opened Alec sat upright. Ragnor looked tired, it was as if he hadn't slept yet. With a nod the stylist closed the door again. Alec knew he had to get dressed and be down as fast as possible. He grabbed one of the T-shirts he had put at the ready before going to sleep. He hadn't bothered trying to find another pair of trousers yesterday.

He made his way down. He didn't hear anyone being awake yet. Maybe Lydia had already left. Ragnor silently let Alec follow him outside. An escort of peacekeepers were waiting right outside their floor; instead of going down they went up. The hovercraft landing pad was at the top of the training centre. Since every tribute was to be escorted with their stylist in an individual hovercraft, the engine was smaller than what Alec had been briefed upon back in 2.

He followed the instructions given by one of the peacekeepers. When they got aboard and sat down, all of their seatbelts were checked and locked. The sound of the hovercraft was surprisingly quite muffled. Clearance was given over the radio comms. Alec felt his stomach doing somersaults as they took off. It was uncomfortable but he didn't feel terrified. This was the first time he was flying, pity there were no windows to look outside. It would probably have been quite the view. He concentrated himself on keeping his focus. The vibrations and the uneasiness in his stomach threatened the balance he had so carefully been trained to maintain.

Another peacekeeper in a medical uniform approached him and strapped him to the chair. Alec turned his head sideways to let the medic do his job. A big needle was inserted and Alec gritted his teeth by its painful intrusion. A small incision was made at the base of his neck. His whole body tensed up at it because there was something clearly wrong, the whole area was numb. But his body seemed to know there were things being exposed to the air that shouldn't be exposed. The tracker was placed deep within his flesh. The sizzling sound of the 'wound closer' pen made Alec's ears ring. But just like that it was done. He didn't feel any further pain or discomfort. It was an effective procedure. Trackers were put into the muscles of your neck since a few years ago. When it had all started they had always been planted into your arm but there were always risks of losing it due to possible amputation. This is why the neck was chosen. Without your head or neck, you were definitely dead.

The medic disappeared without any more words. Alec looked around the hovercraft. It was Spartan and without much to see really. He looked back at his stylist. Ragnor's gaze was a bit lost in nothingness. Alec liked the silence between them. It was as if the stylist was adhering to an unspoken request Alec had never uttered.

The flight didn't take long. There wasn't a real possibility to see details of the arena apart from the dome that it was under. It was huge and Alec tried not to stare at it. They were guided down the ladder to the catacombs, which were dimly lit. The path was narrow, only one person could walk through it at a time and the ground was a moving escalator. Ragnor didn't talk but Alec could feel his unease. People of Alicante were used to more open spaces. Alec couldn't blame him, it was suffocating at times. They walked for a long time and quickly Alec was unable to calculate anymore how long they had walked. It felt like a maze, full of twists and turns. He sometimes had the feeling they were going back into the direction of the hovercraft before they took another direction.

He had heard the labyrinth was seen as going on the longest journey you'd ever take. The anticipation, the excitement and the fear would lay heavy in one's head. You would hear the pounding of your heart in your temples and feel the sweat upon your hands. One step after the other you would walk to a place that would take you to the abyss. A final dark corridor before changing your life forever. But Alec felt okay, strangely at peace even. He moved swiftly and without restrain. There was no sound except for the resonating of their steps between the two walls of the long passageway they were taking. It didn't take long before Alec lost sense of direction. Everything looked the same and everything was mixed up. Forward was the only way to go and still he felt that the cleverly crafted underground paths that prevented him from meeting other tributes, were more intricate than needed. They were deliberately confusing. He wouldn't have been able to map it out even if he had wanted to.

The pathway expanded more and Alec could hear Ragnor sigh in relief. The peacekeepers spread out. The launch room wasn't big but it had some accommodations. Alec knew he could sit down and he probably should have but he couldn't. He put himself in rest stance while waiting for Ragnor to give him instructions. The stylist went to the beverage stations and served himself a drink.

Alec eyed the launch plate. They were filled with mines, if you were to move an inch away from its circle before the timer was out then you would get blown up. Since Jia Penhallow's games the plates were now built to retract back into the ground. It prevented the tributes from using the explosives within to their advantage. The expression to 'ascend' during the games of hunger in district 2 was a reference to the launching pad. Because this was an ascension to glory you did only once in your life. Alec kept his expression blank but he was smiling inside. He was excited to take his rightful place in the tribute tube.

Ragnor extended a glass of water to him. "Here, you should drink now." 'You don't know when you'll get water again' was a visible subtext. Alec accepted the water and drank it. He also drank the next one Ragnor offered.

"Get undressed, so I can check out what the gamemakers have planned for you." Alec did what he was told. The colours were black: Pants, underwear, T-shirt, sweatshirt and sturdy hunting boots. It felt ordinary, if not a little stretchy. It was easy to move in. The side pockets of his trousers looked useful to store things into. There was enough space in them for several knives and a gourd or bottle of water if they had one. There wasn't a lot of help needed with the dressing since they looked like pretty basic garments. Ragnor turned toward him with a red sort of robe in his hands. He took one of the sleeves and put it up to the light.

"I am not certain what material this is, but looks like it would keep you warm. The fibres and the way the cloth has been spun shows it will keep you warm at least. Not if it's freezing but it is decent enough to stand some cold."

Intrigued, Alec let himself get dressed into it. It restricted some movement but if he left it open it wouldn't be cumbersome. Ragnor took a few steps backwards assessing him. "It doesn't look or feel water repelled. I think the environment you will be in isn't going to be snowy or aquatic. What I can tell from the gear underneath your robe I think you'll be mostly on flat ground, but your shoes are sturdy enough that they'll permit climbing if it's needed. Since you have pockets in your trousers there might be a very scarce amount of backpacks." Ragnor walked around him. Alec stood still. "Your clothing will either stick out and make you a giant target to be seen miles away or it will help you camouflage. There are always two ways for this kind of bright colour. But I wouldn't discard it. There is always a use for cloth in the games, even if it's just to tear a piece away to bandage a wound."

Ragnor stood back in front of Alec, his fingers tapping his chin pensively. He then scoffed. Alec frowned, wondering what was so funny. "The design of this robe is inspired by the death row uniform." There was no mirror so Alec couldn't look. "During public executions the prisoner is dressed in this robe before going to their execution stand."

The irony didn't make them laugh or smile and silence rose up again between them. Ragnor gestured Alec to sit down. Ragnor laid down a small grooming kit on the table. "You shouldn't go to sleep with wet hair, it messes it up really badly the next day."

Alec nodded and let his hair be brushed and styled. Not that it really mattered. In a few minutes the sweat and exertion would mess it up again. But he didn't reject Ragnor. Ragnor who was uncharacteristically quiet. Ragnor who seemed to want to say a lot of things but didn't. It would have made Alec smile. But he didn't. He was relaxed and let his hair be touched.

The gong echoed. "Tributes are invited to take place in their launching pads."

Alec stood up. "It was a pleasure meeting you and working with you, Alec." If Alec didn't know better he would have guessed he heard tension in Ragnor's tone of voice. He made his way to the tribute tube. Ragnor grabbed his hand and laid down Alec's ring in his palm. Alec had been forced to give it away for inspection before they had gotten onto the hovercraft. It had been checked for traps and whether it would give him an unseen advantage in the arena. Alec slipped it on and stepped onto the launching pad.

He turned himself one last time to Ragnor. "Good luck." He saw Ragnor greeting him with the honorific military farewell stance of district 2. Alec nodded in acknowledgement and appreciated the respect Ragnor was showing. The tube closed. He put himself in rest stance as he ascended to the surface. This was it. He exhaled, determined, ready for combat; this was finally it.

The light was blinding. He had a hard time to keep his eyes open. They had spent a long time underground after all. They were in a forest area. The trees were small and unclimbable, there were dark leaved bushes. The grass was dead and looked burned black. There was fog everywhere around them. Lydia was at the other side of the tribute circle. District 1 and 4 were just as spread out as them. Next to him on his right he had one tribute of district 11 and to his left the tribute of district 8. The cornucopia looked like a wooden basket but the reflection of the sun indicated it wasn't, in fact, made of wood.

"30, 29, 28, 27…"

There were things on the ground. Stones or other things, Alec couldn't see it properly from where he stood. Whatever they were, one wrong foot and he would end up tumbling. He mapped out a way. No bows were in sight. The fastest way to a first weapon, which was a knives throwing belt, would be if he would get on the track of the tribute of district 7, straight line of sight. Perfect, he had his plan of action.

"20, 19, 18…"

He got himself ready. He knew how to do this. There was no place for failure.

"5, 4, 3…"

He sprinted. His legs were on fire and he heard the blood rush in his veins. He felt a tribute close to him. He elbowed them to the floor and ducked. Rolled over the ground and grasped the knives. He was back on his feet just as fast. Jace would have been proud. He clasped the belt around his waist. A spray of blood blinded him. The smell, the stench. He was sure he had some on his lips. He used the body for protection, it was still warm and incredibly heavy. He ducked again, throwing a knife in the direction the spear had come from. He had probably hit someone and had taken his aggressor out. He had to get closer to the cornucopia; a girl rushed into him, she was clawing, screaming at his chest, he took a hold of her. He stabbed, stabbed again. She was digging her nails into his neck, stomach. Ouch. Her teeth were on his arm. He stabbed, stabbed again. It took more strength to take the knife out than to plunge it into her. Why wasn't she dying ? She was choking and the blood was warm on his hands. Why wasn't she dying ? He stabbed her again in the collarbone. He felt the twist in his forearm muscle. The effort it took was more than he had expected. She finally stopped. He threw her on the ground.

He avoided another projectile thrown at him. He needed something stronger, more deadly. He was the next target of the boy of district 10. The boy was snarling at him. Alec felt himself run, not wanting to get stabbed. He ducked. Another knife had been thrown. The district 10 boy died as he spat out blood from his mouth, his co-tribute standing over him. She dislodged her knife from his throat and she made a run for it. She grasped a backpack in passing. Someone threw himself at him. He didn't know who or what. He felt fists upon his face. The pain in his nose made him cringe as he tried to protect his head. The impact of his head against the ground had made him see stars. He used his strength, straddled his assailant. He reached the first thing he could find. He hit the metal bit of the shovel against the tribute's head.

Blood, more blood. His hands got sprayed warm and he felt nauseous. But he couldn't stop. He heard the bone break. The gurgle of death died in the boy's throat. He was much, much smaller than Alec. He let go. He was dead.

His hands trembled. He took another chance to get up. Closer to the cornucopia. He heard screams and agony. He reached a backpack. There was no better weapon in it. Another girl died in front of him. She had tried to reach for the box in front of him. Meliorn smiled at Alec, satisfied. He used a spear to throw it into another body. Alec felt himself freeze.

He heard his name being shouted and he turned around, another knife in his hand. A well struck blow to the heart. Her dark green eyes looked back at him. Her mouth was open, she actually hadn't aimed at him at all. She had just tried to get the backpack behind him. Her body grew heavy, her eyes glazy. She smelled of blood. Of sweat. He tried to get the knife out of her chest but he couldn't, it was stuck between her ribs. He looked at her, unable to tear his eyes away. She was convulsing. She couldn't keep standing up. He helped her to the ground, laid her head on the floor, he sat on his knees. He should move on but he couldn't take his knife out of her body. He needed it. Needed his knife to survive. He… He…

She shuddered more and more. She smelled of exposed flesh and things that weren't supposed to be tasted metallic in his mouth. He was unmoving. Her shudders stopped. Her body didn't resist. She was limp. Alec was on his knees. He couldn't move. She just wanted a backpack. She just wanted something to survive… More screams echoed, more bodies fell. The blood. It coated his pants. He looked at her face, pried open her fingers from what she had been holding. Gourds of water. Several bottles… He had found the water.

He put most of it back. He didn't hear, he didn't listen. His fingers trembled when he closed the backpack again. He couldn't discern his arms from the redness of his robe. The stickiness of blood, it started to be dry on his hands. The coat of it crackled a little. A little bit longer and he could peel the stains away. She was leaking upon him. He still couldn't dislodge the knife from her ribs. Another scream in his ears, another death. The noise of it was deafening. He couldn't think. The dirt. The horror. People were dying. All around him, they were dying, they were dying all around him. One by one. It was a slaughter. He still couldn't take out his knife. She was dead. They were screaming. He couldn't move. He stared at her dead glazy eyes. Her blood was still leaving her body.

It stopped. The screaming stopped. But not in his head. They were still echoing in his head. Why couldn't they be quiet. They were dead they were supposed to be quiet. He had to calm himself down. Get a clear head. Clear himself from emotions.

A clear head meant survival. A clear head meant life. He had to lock himself away. But he couldn't, he was frozen and his airways had stripped themselves from their ability to be able to expand. He was suffocating. He couldn't lose it. The eyes of Alicante were on him. He couldn't let go. He couldn't scream or shout. He couldn't let it go. He had to distance himself. He had to do better. He put his palms against his head. Breathe in, breathe out. The blood on his hands. He wasn't allowed to lose it.

He was so tense he couldn't move. He couldn't freaking move.

"Alec ?" Lydia crouched to him. He hadn't heard her coming nor what she asked of him. "Alec ?"

He looked up and she looked scared. Terrified. "A stone." She shook her head as if she hadn't understood his request. "Give me a stone." His whole face was blocked and his limbs were heavy. His heart was just laying still, he could hear it but the pain was so huge it was just collapsing. He was collapsing. "Give me a stone please," he made sure his voice didn't beg. He couldn't be begging, this was only the very first few minutes in the game.

He had to empty his head, he had to feel alive. He had to scream. He had to let it out in a voiceless shout. He had to be himself. He had to become alive. He had to make sure he was still alive. They hadn't killed him. He wouldn't lose his mind. He wouldn't lose himself. 'Lydia, Lydia please.' He wasn't sure if he said it. But she seemed to be looking around for something. He had to awaken and be sure he would live another day. She extended a flat stone to him. Exactly what he needed.

It was a trick he had discovered with Jace, something they hadn't told anybody about. Something that was their secret. Something that he hadn't thought about in years until now. Something that had been akin to tradition decades ago at home. Something that would ground him. He was sure of it.

He turned his ring around his finger and raked the Adamas L on the flat stone. The sparks immediately lit up. The L was glowing white.

This was the only way.

He tugged on the sash of his robe which was sticky with blood. He lifted his T shirt.

The searing pain made him grit his teeth. His whole body focused on it. The burn ran deep through his bones. He refused to make a sound. He refused to show how it was really feeling. It took effort and focus to let it dig into his flesh, to move it around. It was reminder of Jace. A reminder of their laughs when they had recklessly burned each other. How Jace had hugged him and they just had continued sparring and using the rings to their advantage. It was a reminder of the horrifying scream Izzy had given when she had seen their injuries. How she had dragged them to the infirmary. How he and Jace didn't stop snickering like the two teenagers they were. How they had found a fib to cover the story up. How they all got grounded together doing chores. They had laughed so hard because it had been cool and something they had discovered together. Something that was theirs to keep.

It hurt. It made his whole body jolt. The smell of burning flesh intermixed with the blood but it was something he could concentrate on; block anything else from drowning his senses. He drew the mark the best he could. His hand was trembling but it was minimal. He would get through this. It was the only way. The deeper the white flame dug into his flesh, the more his head emptied. There was only the pain. Only the hurt. It was as blinding as it was deafening; it was liberating. The memories swam to the surface of his vision. He exhaled as he traced the details of the random drawing he was making on the side of his ribs. When he finally opened his eyes again he remembered. He remembered what he was fighting for. His family, his brother, his sister, Jace. He was fighting for district 2.

When he looked at Lydia she had hidden her emotions well. She didn't say anything and stood up. Suddenly he was feeling lighter. His head was empty. The fog and drowsiness made his mind float just enough for him to be able to concentrate. The pain stung unmistakably. It was lapping at his core like a rabid dog. And yet. Yet it made him feel better. He rolled down his T shirt. Awakened, he knew he had regained his focus.

He stood up, ready to face whatever had just been thrown at him.