Full A/N at the bottom because I didn't want a whole wall of text here. But yes, short version: I'M BACK.
Tesla Sinclair, 17, District 1
How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Days?
Years?
I died. That has to be it. Vesper killed me, and this is hell. Frozen on my knees in a room surrounded by mosaics of murdered children, forced to stare for all eternity at the bodies of two allies I stabbed in the back.
Reese . . .
. . . Vesper.
But if he's here . . . if that really is him, that mound of blood-spattered leather and ice-pale limbs, brown hair drooping over a face I can't bear to uncover . . . if it's him, then I'm not dead. I lived. I won.
I killed.
No. You don't do that. Reese was an . . . anomaly. One's an accident. Two's a pattern. And this isn't who you are.
. . . Isn't it?
That wasn't my voice, inside my head. Too hesitant, almost stuttering—and yet it crackles with hate.
I drag my eyes from Reese's slit throat to the other corpse—don't say his name, it's not him, this isn't you—as if it was the one that spoke. Of course it hasn't moved. But still its words itch at the back of my skull.
Or is that just the coating of Greek Fire plastering my hair to my head?
With a shriek, I scramble away from the bodies, away from the discarded flamethrower. Vesper's hand—the corpse's hand is still outstretched towards it, as if seeking vengeance even in death. My nails find the cold flesh of my arms, scraping bloody lines, peeling off the coating of sap and sulphur and flammable, it's flammable, "GetoffgetoffgetoffgetOFF!"
I tear scraps of fabric from Reese's tunic and bury my face in it to scrub my cheeks clean. The overwhelming stench of hot, rusty blood makes me gag, but I would rather that, I would rather anything than the scent of pine choking the breath from my lungs. One spark and I go up like a match. Just like my mother.
I drag my arms against the uneven walls, grinding my shoulders into the stone, but even then I can still feel it, smell it everywhere. My hair. It's hanging in my face, one strand is in my eyes, and did you know that when subject to extreme heat, your eyeballs pop like grapes?
Knife. I need a knife. I had one, didn't I? Yes, the one I sawed halfway through Reese's neck. The one . . . the one . . .
"—you said you were my friend, you said you loved me—"
"Vesper, please—"
Please. I'd almost forgotten how I'd choked on that word. Some part of me still couldn't believe it. Tesla Sinclair crying, begging the very boy she'd once had in her complete control for mercy.
I hadn't been paying attention to much else at the time, though I did see Samantha Hoffman and her allies flee. Their work was done. They'd . . . they'd manipulated Vesper. Filled his head with lies. Made me the bad guy.
I reach for my locket reflexively. The one reminder of my siblings. The proof I need that I'm doing this out of love.
But my fingers come away with nothing but more Greek Fire on their tips.
I shriek again—or maybe I've been screaming this whole time—and rub myself furiously with the rags until every inch of my skin burns. I'm tinted red now, and I can't tell if it's because my flesh is so raw, or if I've just permanently ingrained Reese's blood into the folds of my scars.
"You don't get to judge me, Tesla. This may come as a shock, but you haven't exactly been the nicest person either."
"All this time, I've fought for my family, and only my family."
I'd grabbed my locket as I'd spoken. So I still had it when I fought Reese. Which means . . .
Oh.
Right.
"Why?" He advances on me, a manic tiger let out of its cage. The flamethrower belched more Greek Fire and I wailed, even though it hadn't yet been lit. "WHY?!"
"For them!" I tear the locket from its chain and thrust it before me like a shield. The silver gear has somehow come out mostly unbloodied; it reflects the torches all around us in glimmers of light.
I whimper as Vesper snatches it from my hand. Nothing left to do but make myself smaller and smaller, curled into a ball on the floor and praying that somehow, I'll wake up from this.
This is exactly how my siblings found me after the factory explosion.
"It's your family."
I shudder at the words, though they aren't shouted like everything else so far. On the contrary, Vesper's gone dead quiet. Quiet, but not soft, like his voice used to be. And he hasn't stuttered once.
"Who's who?"
My arms shift away just enough for me to peek up at Vesper. He slowly turns the locket towards me, allowing a glimpse of the photo within. His grey eyes are so . . . dull. None of the anger of the past few minutes—none of the fear he's had for as long as I've known him. For the first time I really see the gauntness in his cheeks, the bags beneath his eyes. Even when he first appeared on the reaping stage, black eye and all, you could still see those aristocratic features One so prides itself on. Not even his father could knock that out of him.
But I have. I scooped him out piece by piece until you could see every bone beneath his yellowed skin and left behind a shell so hollow it could barely stand.
"Tesla," he says again, and I flinch. Just like he used to when I spoke. "Who's who."
"W-What?"
"In this picture."
I can't imagine what he's getting at. But he's so tall, so close to the torches on the wall. I swallow my next moan and instead choke out. "W-Well, my . . . my parents, in the back. My mom, she, she's holding Electra. My baby sister. Archie's on his knees on the front, and on either side are me and my twin. Wirea. I-I'm the one on the left."
"I know. I can . . . see it. In your eyes. Even as a kid."
The words cut harsh across my ears. Vesper's still quiet, but his tone . . . there is absolutely no doubt that he hates me. No, more than that. Samantha Hoffman hates me. I disgust him.
"So what is it? H-Huh?" I'm shocked to see new tears forming in his own eyes as he says this. But I feel no sympathy—only fear for what he'll do next. I can't keep track of his mood shifts anymore, can't begin to fathom the train of thought in his head. "What makes them so different from everyone else? From . . . From me?"
"Vesper—"
"What did you see in me," he continues, louder, voice trembling ever closer to a yell, "that night in the Capitol? What was it that makes me worth less than them? Less than anyone else you could have tortured like this?"
"They're my family—"
"I have a family!" I recoil as his face contorts in fury. "They're why I'm here!"
"I know—"
"My mother saw the same thing. Someone . . . s-someone expendable. So WHAT IS IT?" Suddenly, he's screaming at the ceiling, eyes darting from brick to brick at a madman's pace. "Why is it always . . . always . . . me?"
His voice falters at the end. For a split second, the rage drops, revealing nothing but raw despair.
But only for a second. Then he throws down the flamethrower and picks up my discarded machete. The point digs painfully into my chest.
"Soren Tains." He's shaking so badly, the blade is cutting a shallow pattern across my skin. "Say it."
"S-Soren Tains."
"Stanley Bevalli."
"Stanley Bevalli."
"Reese." The sword drifts up towards my throat. One twitch from either of us, and my blood will be spilling across the ground. Vesper's eyes blaze. "Reese Durnham."
"Reese Durnham."
"And Vesper Prospero."
I hesitate, caught off-guard. Wrong thing to do. My head snaps violently to the side as Vesper slams the hilt of the machete into my jaw. I crumple at his feet, my sobs reduced to swollen grunts.
"Vesper Prospero! Because you, you ruined me. You lied to me! You drugged me! You got in my dreams and you, you hurt me, you made me kill, you . . ." He breaks off, breathing heavily in what might almost have been a laugh, if his chin wasn't trembling so badly. The sword rises, right in front of my forehead. "Vesper. Prospero."
"Vesper Prospero."
"Those names are on you. I . . . I k-killed them. I can't change that, I can never change that. But you, what you did . . . that was evil."
"I know. Oh god, Vesper—"
"STOP!"
He hits me again, with the fist that holds my locket. White hot pain splits across my face as my nose snaps; a cascade of blood pours across my chin, mixing with Reese's.
And for some reason, that's what does it. The stickiness. Not the physical agony, the emotional strain, the heart-pounding fear that I'm about to die. What gets on my nerves is that I can suddenly feel every speck of dirt and gore that has latched onto my skin since this game began. There are still gummy patches of Greek Fire behind my ears from my first fight with Samantha at the Circus. I haven't been clean since I left District 1 and I'm just fucking SICK OF IT.
"Do it!" The words tear through my snarling lips as I scramble to my feet in front of Vesper. He raises the machete defensively, but I have no interest in attacking him. My arms are wide open, inviting him. "Kill me then, you goddamn coward!"
"Don't—"
"You piece of shit!"
He goes completely still at that. And yes, there he is.
There's my Vesper.
Up goes the sword. Readied to swing. Thoughts scream through my head of pain and oblivion, but I silence them all. If this is it, then I'm not going out on my knees.
The machete falls. I feel the wind from it. But no blow is struck. Vesper steps back, shaking his head.
"Not again." Almost a stutter there. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and when he next meets my eye, the weakness is gone. Along with everything that made him mine. "Not for you."
His glare still pins me to the wall even as he turns it on the ceiling. "Not for anyone. Ever again."
And he turns.
And he walks away from me.
He makes it three steps before I let loose a feral scream and slam Reese's knife into his back.
I drag that same knife out now, far slower than I had pushed it in. Red up to the hilt. And Vesper was still wearing the relatively functional leather armour we'd all started the Games in. I can't help but marvel at my own strength.
My eyes glide away from the wound, skip over the face, and land on the outstretched arm. His hand is still curled in a fist. A hint of silver chain pokes through the knuckles.
I reach out towards it. And then suddenly the world jumps to the left, and my vision goes black, and when I'm next aware, I'm lying on the ground vomiting up whatever meagre food I had left in my stomach. It's leaked onto my tunic too—more stains I'll never get out.
I'm sick of this. Physically, mentally, emotionally done. People like Reese, like Vesper in the end with his morals, his inability to ever see a goddamn thing through—thank you both, thank you, really, you've done such a service to mankind with your willingness to abstain from playing the fucking game.
The only thing either of them managed to do was prolong this nightmare. On day one, this could have all been over if Vesper had just manned up and done what he was supposed to. But no, he kills Soren Tains, one fucking person, and then he just cries . . .
"Those names are on you."
. . . Well, fine. Fine. Yeah, I hear you, Vesper, and you can go fuck yourself. You too, Reese. I can feel her words scratching around in my skull—you're not a saviour, you don't care about them, Vesper believed in you, he deserved better. I can practically picture the pair of them, floating above my head like two judgemental saints, laughing and whispering and cuddling on high as I struggle down here in the muck.
They had it easy. Because in the end—and ohohoho, isn't this ironic—I was the only one getting my hands dirty. I tipped my moral compass on its end in order to make us competitors in this game. If there weren't people like me in here, like Riley Byron, hell, like sociopathic Samantha Hoffman? Everyone else would have been trapped in this never-ending shit cycle until the Capitol picked them off out of boredom.
Soren, Stanley, Reese, and Vesper. Four names on me? Well, that just means I did one sixth of the work to actually get somebody out of this hellhole.
I would gladly have the blood of every single tribute on my hands if it meant getting to go home tomorrow to a mattress and a bathtub and a pancake breakfast with my fucking family.
This time, when my hand snakes out, I don't feel so ill. My fingers intertwine with Vesper's—just like old times—before I break them all at the knuckles to to get at my necklace.
The picture is still there. Unmarred, thank god. But the chain is broken. I could maybe try tying it around my neck, although . . .
No. Better idea.
I pick up the flamethrower and fasten my locket around its mouth.
The very feel of it makes my skin crawl, but I grip it all the harder, vocally swearing at my goosebumps. I must sound crazy—I must look crazy, as I point the flamethrower at the corpses on the ground and scream and fire.
No real flames emerge, obviously, just more of Samantha Hoffman's heinous Greek Fire. There's that pine and sulphur scent again, threatening to make me hurl—I clench my teeth and keep right on spraying. The bodies are shiny with sap by the time I finish, and the flamethrower still doesn't feel fully empty.
Just enough inside for one more person.
I spend some time tearing up my old pack and fashioning a strap so the flamethrower can sit over my shoulder. The machete goes in my belt, as does the bloody knife—but only after I take it to my hair.
One grimy black strand after the other drops into the bloody puddles. Hair that had Archie calling me "Raven" when we were younger with that half-cocked grin of his. Hair that even Wirea was jealous of for being just a bit thicker and glossier than hers. Now it's a rat's nest of patchy tufts that stick up at all angles, stiff with dried blood.
I never would have gotten the Fire out of it, if I'd kept it long. And though a tiny part of my mind that has somehow managed to cling to a shred of vanity is fretting about what I look like now, I convince myself that I don't care. There are no mirrors in the arena. And once I get out, I'll be able to wash myself clean and pretend like I never changed.
One last test, first. To make sure I can go all the way.
I bite my lip to a bloody ruin, scream just because it's easier, and then yank a torch off the wall and throw it onto the corpses.
The heat flares at once, like warm blood on my face. My legs tremble from the effort of staying put; I'm well away from the pool of Greek Fire, but what if I didn't get it all off of me, what if a spark lands on me?
You'll burn. Like you should have at the Circus. I should have left you to die.
Fuck. Off. Vesper.
I force myself to stay the whole time. Even though I gag again when the smell of burning flesh fills the atrium. Thoughts of Mom pop into my head, but I immediately chase them away with the memories of the two self-righteous bodies before me. Reese's condescending smile. Vesper's twisted rage. All useless in the end. Nothing but ash.
The corpses are well on their way to disintegrating when I finally permit myself to leave. Greek Fire won't extinguish by itself for an age, and I've wasted enough time as it is. This game has been going on for far too long.
So I'm gonna end it.
OKAY. OH MY GOD. HELLO.
Fun fact: I'm alive. Not so fun fact: It's been almost four years since I absolutely left this story in the lurch with no warning whatsoever. I've been PMing a bunch of you who are still around, but for anyone I've missed: I am so, so sorry. I absolutely shouldn't have left without at least saying something, and I wish I had a solid reason for why I did. Second year uni was a bit rough, not in the way that anything major or terrible happened, so it's not really an excuse, just... yeah. At some point, it had been six months since I'd updated. Then a year. And part of it was technical issues (lost my log-in credentials for this site, lost my email account credentials, email account got deactivated, got new computer, it is an honest to god miracle I was still able to get back on this account), but a lot of it was me being just too embarrassed and guilty to come back after being gone for so long. Which in hindsight was very stupid and I should have owned up to it a lot sooner, but I can't turn back time, so all I can do is post this now.
Honestly, if you have anyone to thank for this (and I am so, so thankful to them), it's jayrob89. For anyone who's not aware, they've been writing History Still Repeats Itself, a continuation of this story after I completely dropped the ball. I had no idea it existed literally two days ago when I was feeling particularly crappy about my original writing and on a whim decided to check out this site again, and their story was top of the list.
It was quite literally a jaw-dropping moment. I was so embarrassed even thinking about this story, because it was unfinished and I'd started it five years ago, so it was probably terrible by my new standards - but here was someone who cared enough to keep it going.
Anyways, I had a bit of a cry and then set off on a mad search for anything that could help me log back in to my old account, and thank god I managed to find a totally random email from five years ago that actually helped me out there. So, yeah. I'm back. And I'm so sorry, and so, so grateful to everyone who gave their support while I was writing HRI. Tribute creators, readers, lurkers - you guys are all amazing. And quite literally got me through some of the roughest patches in school. Thank you so, so much.
So here we are. I owe you guys some long, LONG overdue closure, and I'm going to do my best to get it to you. This chapter is both shorter and was written far, far quicker than old chapters used to be, just because I wanted to get something out to say that I'm here, and I owe you this, and I'm committed to doing it (plus also I kind of left this story on a cliff-hanger for four freakin' years and if you want to burn me at stake for that it's totally reasonable). Future chapters are gonna go back to the regular multi-POV format. They won't be out quite as quick - I have to go back and reread all that I wrote for this story previously to re-familiarize myself with everything, plus I've got a lot of awesome writing to catch up on from all you wonderful authors. I also haven't written anything like this in a long, long time, so it might take me a minute to get back in the groove. My writing's probably changed, and I've probably changed, and yeah, if I was starting this story today, I'd probably do some things differently, but like, that's all part of being a writer. You don't abandon your old stuff and pretend it never happened because you're worried it wasn't good. You keep working on it and you make it better.
And um... yeah. I feel like I should end this more dramatically, but it's 1am and I literally have never stayed up this late for a non-school related reason except for when I was writing fanfiction. So that's kind of cool (also I'm old. I'm old and tired why). If you've got more questions or you want to check in or yell about my absence, I'm trying to answer PMs pretty regularly, so feel free to shoot me one - I also left a pretty long and rambly review on jayrob89's story that kind of talked a bit more about why I left, why I came back, if you want to know for whatever reason. Also just like, seriously, check out their story and praise that author. Their support - all of your support - means so, so much to me.
BRB after I've reread this entire story and remembered what the heck I was foreshadowing. Will hopefully be another update soon-ish! I can't tell you how long exactly that will be, but definitely less than 4 years.
Thanks again everybody, and it's wonderful to be back!
