Give Me The Meltdown
Night One

The deathly black wheat was eerily still.

It was unwavering and cold as it brushed against Emeric's arms, the tall stalks clinging to his tan shirt - the color wheat was supposed to be. It matched the black streaks that ran across the chestpiece of his shirt.

And most importantly, it was nothing like home, where the wheat swayed with gentle peace, with life and wind and change.

Even so, it felt like Emeric was in a landslide in his own mind, like he was tumbling into this dark abyss and there was no way he could stop gravity from finishing him off. Putting him out of his misery.

And part of him knew that was what he deserved. Because what had he done when Khiron shot Isobel through the heart? What he had done when Luca had needed him the most? With his tail between his legs, Emeric had run away, allowing himself to be whisked into the night with his back turned to his friends.

Whisked away from his friends, by his friends, he thought bitterly, narrowing his eyes at Deidra and Torrance as they trudged along in front of him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, dark and illicit whispers emerged.

Awfully close, aren't they? echoed the first, the voice slithering across his mind.

Another chimed in. They always have been - Deidra and Torrance first, everyone else second. Just ask Luca.

Just ask Isobel, hissed another, the icy bite of this voice crescendoing beyond the carefully measured whisper of the others. Someday soon, that'll be you. Unless you finally grow a pair and do something about it.

Emeric had always wondered when he would shift from a friend to an ally to a burden in their eyes. Maybe his time was coming soon.

Stop it, he chastised himself. They have been nothing but kind to you. Even when the bodies were piling up and arrows were soaring and spears were flying and, and, and - stop it - they were always there. Deidra stopped for you. She saved you.

The voices in his head were the loudest sound that he heard - aside from the crunch of their boots against the gravel, they were the only sound. Where there had once been laughter and jokes and joy, the silent face of grief and paranoia blossomed.

Eventually, Deidra sighed. "Think this as good of a spot as any to call it for the night."

Torrance nodded, throwing on a smile that was nothing like the smile he had been wearing when Emeric first met him. It took so much effort to remember the boy who ate with his mouth open at lunch, the boy who always knew how to make him smile.

Emeric sure as hell wasn't smiling now.

It might've been because of the arrow that had scraped a layer of skin off of Torrance's skin, but Emeric didn't buy it. Something had changed in him. In all of them, really. Torrance's smile. Deidra's laugh.

And Emeric's mind.

"I think so," Torrance answered, flashing his teeth in this convoluted, hollow smile. His teeth gleamed like jagged fangs under the setting sun. "Anyone want some water?"

Is it safe? Did he poison it?

Stop it.

Not bothering to scrawl "Me!" onto his pad (the token committee very begrudgingly let him keep both the pen and the pad. Not that it'd matter when it rained or Emeric had to swim, but whatever), Emeric waved his hands against the wheat until Torrance got the message and passed him the bottle.

He smiled in thanks, and it felt alien. If Torrance noticed, he didn't mention it. "No prob, Em."

Just as Emeric tilted the bottle and swished some lukewarm water into his mouth, the crest of Panem illuminated in navy against the pink-orange sky, an orchestra of trumpets and violins blaring across the too-silent arena.

Emeric capped the water bottle as the three former friends turned to watch, the unspoken anticipation between them well understood.

Was he dead? Had they left Luca to die?

The trumpets collapsed into a murmur, and the seal evaporated, pixel-by-pixel. God, it was moving in slow motion. Finally, the entire seal vanished to leave an empty sky. And then, the first face…

Oh, thank god. Adaire, the girl from Seven. He was alive.

But for how long? How much longer until Luca's blonde hair lit up the sky like Isobel's did now? And, who was he kidding? How much longer until it was Emeric's face up there?

How much longer did he have until they left him like they left Luca? Like they left Isobel?

If he didn't say something, Anders was going to pop a fucking blood vessel.

"It'll be alright," Khiron assured as the two of them sifted through the rubble in search of any scraps of food that were only mostly burned instead of completely burned. "We've prepared for this. Hell, we prepared for Games without a Cornucopia at all. This is just a minor setback."

Khiron steeled himself for a bite back, but instead, Anders took a deep breath. Then, she nodded. "You're right."

He whistled lowly. "Was not expecting that."

"Gotta save all my angst for idiots higher than you," Anders jeered playfully, but the glint in her eyes as they glazed over Aristide and Kiani on the opposite side of the clearing was anything but joking.

"In time," Khiron chimed in. Sometimes, he felt like Anders' emotional babysitter - no, that didn't quite capture it. More like a sheep herder, corralling his beloved but very sporadic and admittedly very dangerous farm animal back into her little emotional barn.

"Not too much time," she countered. "You've seen Aristide - he's not as dense as we would've preferred."

"But we both need each other. If we bounce now and knock both of them out, we're down to four," Khiron whispered back, low enough so that no one but Anders would even know he was talking. "Not yet."

"Not yet," Anders agreed. "But soon. At fifteen at the latest."

Khiron nodded. He could live with that. He chuckled a little at the phrasing in his head. Kiani and Aristide wouldn't. "Fifteen it is."

"Can't sleep?"

Well, you see, deathmatches didn't exactly make Kosmin wanna close his eyes and hit the snooze button, so yeah, he was having some trouble sleeping. That, and the nervendering replay of Elorah hitting the ground, Elorah tumbling to a stop, Elorah taking her last breath, Elorah, Elorah, Elorah.

Turning to the sound of Kendra's voice, he shot her a sheepish grin, the awkward charisma shallowly masking the haunted look in his eye. Luckily, the waning light of the moon was on his side. "What gave it away?"

Kendra beckoned him closer to her, away from Venezia was somehow stilled with sleep, her body rhythmically rising and falling against the ground that had quickly morphed from forest to desert-plains as they had trudged through the arena earlier in the day.

"Well, for one, you snore like a motherfucker when you're actually sleeping. God, I could hear you across the hall on the train - I didn't sleep for shit."

Stifling a laugh, Kosmin grinned apologetically to her. "Sorry, sorry! I can't help it! It's a condition, okay? Have you heard of sleep apnea?"

Kendra scoffed. "Bitch, have you heard of sleeping on your side?" They shared a muted laugh as Kendra shook her head. "Plus, I know you, Kos. Could've told you a week ago that you wouldn't be sleeping good tonight."

He nodded sadly. "I don't think I'll be sleeping at all. You should just sleep - I can watch."

Kendra shook her head. "You have to try, Kos. You're gonna be about as useful as a wet noodle if you don't sleep for at least a bit."

"That's nice of you," Kosmin chuckled, "implying I'm not already a wet noodle."

Another laugh. A voice in the back of his head scolded him. How can you laugh? How can you feel happy when your friend just died? How can you not be solemn in her honor? In her memory?

He shook his head. That wasn't what Elorah would've wanted - she would've wanted them to live. To live as they were - happy, excited, hopeful. They all knew it was coming - if not Elorah, then Kendra, Venezia, him. There was no other way.

"Promise me you won't turn into someone else," Kosmin murmured, turning away from Kendra and focusing instead on the stars that illuminated the navy sky and the barren, desert hills. "Promise me you'll still be you after I die."

"Don't," Kendra warned, turning to him sharply and grabbing his shoulder when he didn't reply immediately. "Do you hear me? Don't go there. I don't wanna hear it."

"I'm just being honest, Kendra. The odds are - "

"I don't give a fuck about the odds," she interrupted. "I don't give a fuck about whatever the leaderboards or sponsors' bets said." Kendra paused for a second, a gentleness mixing into her hard expression. "What was the name of that girl? The one from the reaping?"

Kosmin looked down, obscuring the tears that pricked at his eyes when her name rolled off his tongue. "Kitsey."

Kendra nodded. "Think of her. Not the odds or the bets or your fucking realism. Think of her and home and your life, instead."

"And what about you?" Kosmin added after a second of silence. "Who's your - erm - your Kitsey?"

"My dad," Kendra answered, quirking her eyebrows as her words met her ears. "Okay, not like that - I just meant that's who I think of, and - okay, I'm going to stop there. Final answer, my dad."

They laughed again, a truly outrageous tally of three honest bouts of laughter in one sitting. "Tell me about him."

Kendra scoffed at first, and Kosmin could pretty much fill in the words that first came to her mind. "I didn't know I signed up for group therapy!" Or, "Fuck I look like? A lil' mopey baby? Kos, baby, that's you!"

But something must've stopped her because the words that came out were very different. "He makes the worst food ever. Like the worst. He'd find a way to burn anything. He also left his dirty clothes everywhere. Like his socks somehow always wound up on the couch."

"Sounds like a keeper," Kosmin thought aloud, stretching his back until he was laying down next to Kendra.

"Right?" Another laugh, and another shift. Another Kendra. "It was just me and him growing up. And he worked all the time, you know? Sometimes…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Sometimes I'd resent him for not being there. For like, I don't even know, being there for the first time I failed a test. Or did really well! Or the first time I got arrested."

"You're a real keeper, too, huh?"

"Shut up," she laughed, punching Kosmin squarely on his shoulder.

She sighed. "I sound like such a little shit, huh? Wah, wah, my dad had to work so I didn't starve so I just had my evil stepmom. Woe is fucking me, right? God, I loved him so much and I acted like such a little shit."

Kendra dropped her head into her hands. "I wish I would've said that more. The love you part, not the little shit part."

With a light chuckle, Kosmin sat up and put a hand on her shoulder. "He knows, if that's what you're worried about. He knows you love him."

"Thanks, Kos," she chuckled lowly, "but you don't even know him."

He smiled. "But I know you, and - don't take this the wrong way - you're one of the most... transparent people I know. There's no way he doesn't know." Kosmin paused, cracking a sly grin. "Also, we're being televised nationwide."

Another laugh. "Good point," Kendra conceded, sighing as she lied down. Kosmin followed suit - he felt like that was becoming a habit of his.

"For Kitsey and Mr. Kendra's Dad, then," he said, letting the echo of his words lull him into some comfort, regardless of how false the comfort was.

Kendra rolled her eyes, smiling nonetheless. "For Kitsey and Mr. Kendra's Dad."

Venezia had always been a light sleeper, so when Kosmin and Kendra started laughing about their snoring and noodles, she was wide awake.

Part of her wanted to go over and sit with them, to reconnect with these people that she genuinely liked. At one point, at least. That seemed so distant now - a lifetime ago.

Maybe it was because in between then and now, Elorah's life had ended. A lifetime ago, indeed. Not that Kosmin and Kendra seemed to remember.

She tried not to resent them for being close, for being able to feel anything but anger and sadness and anger again over Elorah's death. She tried not to hate them for being able to get the memory of her face when the spear went through her ribcage out of their heads.

She tried not to hate them for being able to put the past in the past.

She failed.

As his eyes fluttered open, Luca made eye contact with… a complete stranger.

The last time he'd recovered from a bonk to the head, he'd at least been alone when he came to. Maybe his allies abandoned him but at least he wasn't in grave danger. But two times in a row?

That would just be too easy, right?

Instinctively, Luca's hands raced to his belt to pull out the daggers he'd been holding, and - fuck. So they weren't there. Did this kid take them? Or was it the girl from Ten, Bethan? Luca's mind raced to come up with the answer. As if it'd save him.

"Easy," the boy said. It took a second for Luca to place him. It was Novie. Novie from Seven. In another second, Luca let out a sigh of relief. Not just Novie from Seven - Novie, Nuria's ally.

It all came back to him then - Bethan chasing him, Bethan cornering him, then a flash of Nuria, then bonk. A cannon, somewhere. Bethan's, he remembered the squelch more than he'd like to remember. Then, lights out.

And now, Novie. He was assuming the boy from Seven wouldn't kill him given the fact that he definitely had the chance while he was completely unconscious.

"Sorry," Luca said as he sat up, groaning as flurries of pain shot from his head down into his eyes until little shockwaves were coursing throughout his whole body. "Where - where are we?"

Novie shrugged. "The Hunger Games."

"Oh, almost forgot," Luca answered with a smirk. "God, maybe if she'd hit me a little harder, I actually could forget."

With a laugh that was somehow authentic given the gallows humor (not quite accurate, seeing as Bethan died by a scythe, not a noose), the boy from Seven took a seat next to him. "We're not too far from where… we found you. Still in the forest part of the arena."

"Where's Nuria?"

"She and Corvin went off to the pine trees to look for some nuts or something," Novie replied, frowning. "Although now that I think of it, I don't think nuts grow on pine trees."

Luca gingerly sat up, relieved that the pain in his head had mostly receded to a dull ache. Right, Corvin. Their other ally. The one that was easily double Luca's size. "They don't, but the seeds in pine cones are edible."

Novie raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "You snack on pine cone seeds in Three?"

Luca grinned, playing into Novie's gung-ho atmosphere. He knew the type, and he knew what they expected out of a pale, blonde kid from Three. In a way, Luca was almost like a circus animal to them. Make me laugh! Make me smile! Who cares if it's completely inhumane as long as I'm smiling!

"Did you not in Seven? I thought pine cones were an everywhere thing, y'know? Like I knew eating microchips was a Three thing, but - "

"You're shitting me," Novie interjected, "you do not eat microchips."

"See, I knew there was a brain somewhere in there!" Luca quipped, the two boys laughing louder than either thought was smart, but neither was willing to speak up, to reveal the veritable processing of risk management that both of their minds were capable of.

So as Luca and Novie both sat, joking about anything and everything they could possibly think of, their mands wandered. Not too far, though. Their thoughts both centered on the other. Assessing. Analyzing.

Their conclusions were even eerily similar - the other boy was more than met the eye. The only difference, really, was what their objective moving forward was.

Luca: How can I make it out of this little shitfest without passing out - again?

Novie: How can I get rid of this little shit before he screws up all the hard work I've put in?

"I hope Luca's feeling better," Corvin thought aloud as he swung the scythe (the one he used to kill Bethan, mind you) and cleared the jungle vines that blocked their path.

Where there were once tall redwoods and oaks, trees of the jungle variety (if you knew the name, kudos to you, but Nuria was from Three. Okay? Three. Anyway.) swathed their path with vines and weeds. The air was thick and humid, almost unbreathable.

And in the corner of her eye, Nuria saw more microbiomes within this large tree-themed sector. Palm trees. Birch. Other… trees. Three, alright? The sheer detail in the arena was frightening. It was almost unbelievable.

Nearly as unbelievable as Corvin's bullshit. "Yeah, me too," Nuria murmured as she slashed the vine in front of her with her machete. "Hopefully he's woken up by now."

The difference was - Nuria meant it. Maybe he was small and maybe he didn't bring much physically to the table, but Luca was far from useless. He was perceptive. Observant. An opportunist.

And most importantly, he was on her side.

Nuria wasn't some mastermind strategist or anything, and she wasn't trying to become something she wasn't. But she was keenly aware of when tides were turning against her.

Usually, it was some rude middle-aged white man or some self-absorbed rich pretween boy, but this was different. This was delicate, fragile. She knew that she wouldn't last with just her and Luca - practically any of the alliances in the arena could take them down on numbers alone.

They needed Corvin and Novie. Just the same way Corvin and Novie needed her. And by extension, Luca. At least for a little bit. They were kinda like the high-school sweethearts that were always going to get divorced.

Nuria grinned to herself. She'd probably win the custody battle considering the boys didn't even want lil' baby Luca.

Just as Nuria really started buying into this whole baby analogy (imagining Luca with a pacifier was really it), Corvin's voice stopped her in her tracks. "Nuria, look."

"Huh?" There was nothing in front of them. Well, not nothing, but just more nameless trees.

Slowly, Corvin pointed to the sky. "Up there."

And then she saw it. Above them, a treehouse. No, that wasn't right. A whole network of treehouses, connected with tautly strung rope bridges. It was like a tree village. A tree village with an extensive system of -

"Ropes," Nuria repeated to herself. "Rope in trees. Rope, like - "

"Like Novie's chariot uniform," Corvin finished. "I knew that was out of place." He paused, turning to her hastily. "Novie's from Seven. What did you wear?"

"I was a radio tower. You?"

"I was a knight in glass and… rainbow armor."

Nuria smirked. "Fitting."

For a second, Corvin blushed before shaking his head and refocusing. "We know what the arena is. There's a radio tower somewhere, and there's armor or maybe and armory, and - "

"Champagne," Nuria added. "One was champagne. I think Six was flying trains - oh my god, like the ones at the Cornucopia." A wild grin flew across her face but quickly faltered. "But what do we gain from that? How can we play that to our advantage?"

Corvin pursed his lips. "I don't know," he admitted, "but it's something. Let's get Novie and Luca - that would be a perfect place to camp out," he said, jabbing his thumb at one of the treehouses.

Nuria nodded and quickly followed behind Corvin as her ally retraced their path, following the carnage of slain vines and weeds. The pieces were slowly coming together, and with this information and Luca by her side, something clicked in Nuria. Something akin to a plan.

Maybe she was more of a mastermind than she gave herself credit for.

So Lycus understood that crying was a healthy way of expressing sadness or whatever, but this was getting out of hand.

He had been certain that something would snap in Tegan. Maybe it was seeing Adaire and Rion die, sealing each other's fate with their dying breath. Or maybe it'd the hectic pressure of the arena, the rapid pace at which they had crossed from the gravelly train biome to lush orchards of apples and peaches to a sandy plain.

For him, it'd been watching the spear splice into Elorah's back. It was the constant, never-ending memory of that moment, over and over and over again. She was never going to make it, he told himself.

God, he just wished he hadn't seen it. He wished he could've avoided it like he'd avoided all the repercussions and consequences and emotions that had tried to nab him back in Twelve, drag him into the ocean of his own despair and drown him.

But there was no point in wishing for anything anymore - it happened, and that was it. It didn't have to be in vain, either. It woke him up.

There was this cruel, quiet hope of his that something fucking terrible would happen and make Tegan wake up, too. That something would shake her until her bones rattled and make her smell the bloody fucking roses.

Or at the very least, stop crying for a second.

"Tegan," he murmured, barely audible over her muffled sobs (which were still loud as fuck given the eerie silence of the arena, mind you). "If anyone's nearby, they'll hear you."

"Sorry," she sniffled, rubbing the glassy sleeve of her rainbow uniform across her reddened eyes. "I just - I don't get it. They could've both gotten out of there, Lycus. Or maybe just one of them, but still better than neither."

Slamming his eyes shut to stop the tears that threatened to flash out of his eyes, Lycus nodded. "I know."

And to some extent, he did see where she was coming from. Because in Tegan's world, they weren't just allies - they were friends. Lycus had no doubt that if it'd been him and Tegan being hunted by the Careers, she wouldn't have tried to throw him to the wolves. No, if anything, she would've bitten the bullet for him.

He winced at the image of Tegan, skewered and battered and dead on his behalf. That didn't exactly make him feel better, given what he knew he would've done. What Adaire and Rion had tried to get away with. And just as quickly as that guilt came, Lycus swallowed it. Buried it.

There was a small voice in his head that protested, that begged him to open his doors and feel something. To be something better than just an icy island. It was the same voice that told him to take Elorah to the roof the night before.

And even though a part of him was all - fat fucking difference that made, huh? - the better part of him knew it had made a difference. It made a difference to Elorah to not have to spend her last night alone, afraid, broken.

And it made a difference to him. To Lycus, who had that last moment to say goodbye to someone who he'd hurt so badly, whether or not she knew it.

Under the bright starlight, Lycus turned his head away from Tegan as a stray tear swelled out of his eye.

"I don't wanna remember them like that, but I can't get it out of my head," she whispered.

Her voice was so much smaller than he'd ever heard it. Gone was the vibrant girl at the Ball, the cheery girl at lunch during Training. And in her place, a sniveling, cracking husk.

"I think it's easier to just not think about them," Lycus offered, rubbing his shoulder against his wet cheek hastily. "It's not productive, in any case."

Tegan frowned. "You're just choosing not to remember them?"

"I'm choosing not to be haunted by them," he lied. A couple weeks ago, those words were basically his mantra. Now, they felt foreign on his tongue.

"And when I die?" Tegan flinched. "If. If I die - the same? You'd just forget all of us because it wasn't productive?"

Lycus inhaled weakly, doing his best to keep that shakiness out of his voice. "I don't think either of us wants to have this conversation," he said finally.

A moment passed before Tegan banished the silence once again. "I'll remember them for the both of us, then." She shuffled on the sandy ground, turning to him. "I hope you'll reconsider, Lycus. I want someone to remember me, too. Just for a little while longer."

It was then that Tegan's tears stopped and Lycus's started.

It was like they were the last chip in the bag.

Shoal smiled at the picture of Aristide, who was currently walking beside him through the endless field of black wheat, wrestling with Khiron and Anders over a singular chip. The chip was Shoal, if you hadn't caught on. Well, technically Shoal and Adela, but Shoal was the one in the driver's seat.

If Shoal said they were with One, Adela would launch a spear at Two. And if he said Two, Adela would do the same to One.

It was just a matter of who and when now.

The whole chip analogy was really quite closely painted what it had felt like as Aristide bickered with the Wonder Kids (get it? One? Won-der? Anyway.) about who would pair off with whom to hunt and which pair would stay back.

"I'll go with Shoal," Anders had declared. "And Adela and Khiron can pair off - just like we did in training."

"That kinda makes sense," Aristide had responded casually. "But don't you think I should stay with Shoal? Seeing as I'm the one who's best equipped to tend to his bruising and cuts if anything reopens."

That had gone on for a while before Adela - of all people - made the great compromise. "I think Khiron and I make a good, fun lil' pair, and Aristide should stick with Shoal in case anything happens. And since you two have already picked up kills, would you mind sticking back here?"

Kiani had shrugged casually, and Anders, angrily.

And then they went on their merry way.

And now, there was so much opportunity in front of him. The longer he waited to choose a side, the harder they fought for him. Soon enough, they'd be just like Adela - ready to go to war at the flick of his wrist.

The thought brought a smile to Shoal's face. "So tell me about you and Kiani," Shoal started, filling the night trek with some much needed ambience.

Aristide shrugged. "Not much to say. We trained at the same facility. Trained together once we were both selected. Then she backed out. Then she volunteered anyway."

He scoffed, both at Kiani's flippance towards volunteering and at the fact that Aristide was clearly downplaying their past. "Sounds like Kiani."

"Right?" Aristide chuckled easily. The whole carefree vibe he was going for was an interesting choice seeing as the stately performance he'd given in the Capitol didn't really mesh well with it. He probably noticed how well Shoal pretended to get along with Khiron and took notes.

Aristide stretched awkwardly as he continued. "Adela's the same, right? Not the chosen volunteer? Not that there's anything wrong with - "

Something shifted in the corner of his eye. "Shut up," Shoal murmured.

"What? No, for real, it's not a big deal - "

"Shut up," Shoal repeated in a hushed hiss, nodding to the almost dissipated smoke plume not too far from them. Unsheathing his sword, Shoal nodded to Aristide. "How do we wanna go about this?"

As much as he enjoyed being in the driver's seat, Shoal understood that Aristide was far more lethal than him (mans was a fucking murder machine), and he knew when he to bow out.

Aristide nodded, switching on the face that Shoal recognized from their first encounter. Stoic. Focused. Deadly. "One of us drives straight on while the other waits ahead in the wheat field."

Shoal bit his lip. "And if we need help?"

A flicker of confusion crossed Aristide's face as the word help left his mouth. "Oh," he intoned briefly before his resolve returned. "Yell for Kiani."

"Why?"

Aristide grinned. "So they'll be looking for a white chick." Twirling an axe in one hand and a sword in the other, Aristide licked his lips. "You good to drive straight in?" He nodded. "Then good luck, Four. See you on the other side."

Torrance jolted awake to the feeling of hands against his back.

"Get up," Deidra hissed frantically. "Get up now."

Beside him, Emeric was already crouched up, the bags under his eyes clearly indicating he hadn't been asleep at all. Probably hadn't the night before, either. Not that Torrance could blame him. Everything was so much harder when it could be your last one.

"Why? What's wrong?" Torrance asked groggily, doing his best to collect his few worldly possessions and strap them onto his belt without straining the jagged cut that dug into his shoulder.

Deidra pursed her lips. "I thought I heard a voice just a minute ago," she whispered. "I put out the fire and there hasn't been anything since, but - but I think we should go, right? Better safe than sorry?"

Emeric nodded frantically, his already thin face now gaunt and haunted with his bags and thinning face. Not from hunger, Torrance realized. Stress. He was getting eaten from the inside out.

Torrance nodded with him. "Yeah."

"Okay, does anyone care which way we go?" Deidra asked, smiling.

It wasn't her smile, though. It wasn't carefree and untamed and fearless. This smile was crooked. Forced. Torrance didn't blame her - he had done the same thing. It felt like a lifetime ago, but less than a week ago, he'd done the exact same thing, joking about their stupid chariot costumes.

God, he wished they could be laughing about being cows and waiters right now.

Just as another wish crossed his mind, it came true. He was wishing that Deidra would wipe that broken smile off her face. And she did.

Torrance didn't realize why she stopped smiling until she drew her sword and parried Shoal Salucci's first strike and kicked him in the shin.

"Run!" she yelled wildly, tearing further into the field of black as fast as her legs could take her. And before he realized it, he was right there with her, pumping his legs without really thinking about it.

In the split second that Torrance stole a glance back behind him, foolishly elated to not see the boy from Four on their heels, the next Career jumped out. This time, it was Emeric who frantically ducked, narrowly avoiding getting beheaded by Aristide's axe.

"Fuck," Torrance growled, yanking Emeric by the hand and branching blindly into another direction - somewhere, anywhere. Armies of wheat stalks slapped and screamed against them.

And suddenly, the wheat just stopped. The earthy ground gave way to a floor made entirely of panels that buzzed with the static of a TV with a shitty satellite. Power lines, running water, and solar panels littered the area haphazardly.

What? Torrance shook his head - it didn't matter. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the two Careers burst out of the field. Who knew how many were there, hungry for a kill? The realization happened then.

They weren't all getting out of this alive.

"Take care of him," Torrance ordered, roughly pulling Deidra by her arm and drilling his eyes into hers. "Take care of him, and take care of yourself, and promise me one of you is getting out."

"What?" Her eyes were glazed with fear and terror, and - there. Realization. "No. Torrance, stop - Torrance!"

"Get the fuck out of here," he whispered lowly, his voice colder than he'd ever heard it. Colder than he'd ever been able to imagine it.

And with that, he turned around, facing the two Careers who glowered at him. And to his relief, the sound of muffled sobs and Deidra's and Emeric's footsteps against the panels echoed behind him. He smiled. He really smiled. "Hey there, fellas!"

Aristide turned to Shoal. "I can take care of him. Go after the other two."

Shoal shook his head. "Let's stick together - less chance of anything going off the rails."

There was something there - Aristide pursed his lips but said anything. Torrance scoffed. It was like they didn't see him. They didn't, not really. They saw, what? A high scoring outer-district tribute? A threat? They definitely didn't see a person. They wouldn't have volunteered to kill people.

He hated them. Torrance wasn't one for hate, but he hated them. They deserved what was coming to them. "Do y'all need a minute?"

Shoal sneered as he twirled his spear. "Shut up."

Torrance was in the middle of coming up with something stupid to say when the boy from Four broke into a sprint. Hysterically, Torrance doubled back, away from where he vaguely heard Emeric and Deidra heading.

Again, he found himself running without really thinking about it. His mind wandered - they wandered home. He thought of his family, crying at the screen as their boy ran to no avail to his inevitable death.

But they'd be proud, hopefully. They saw their boy, their Torrance. Sacrificing himself for his friends. Not tired, not giving up. Not finding an easy way out. Not ready to die.

For a second, Torrance shook his head and he was vaguely aware of a building in his immediate vicinity. A factory. Bolting towards it, the double doors slide open easily and gave way to a single, massive chamber, ornately designed with completely white marble walls and floors, an illuminated array of colored buttons the only non-white objects in the room.

But no other door.

"Nowhere to run, Torrance," Aristide announced evenly, his axe and sword drawn. Shoal was just behind him, like a toddler behind his mom. "I'll make it quick."

Instinctually, Torrance found himself backing up, inching closer and closer to the back of the room. Toward the buttons, he realized. With a quick glance back, something clicked. Everything clicked.

Before that moment, Torrance had never believed in fate, but this felt meant to be.

"No," Torrance answered him. "I'll make it quick."

And before the two monsters in front of him could crawl and slither out the door, he turned around and slammed on as many buttons as he could.

At first, nothing.

Then, flurries of angry, white-hot glass flying and marble and shattering and breaking and exploding and the noise was unbearable and then the ceiling was the ground and the ground was falling down onto him and then everything was spinning and screaming and it wouldn't stop screaming.

And then nothing once again.

Technically, only Gamemakers were allowed in the headquarters, but no one seemed to mind when Elari used to spend stray moments here and there, and then suddenly she was always here.

It wasn't like she wanted to be in the belly of the beast, but she felt better here. Better with Ortega in sight, where she could watch him and make sure no one was beating him or torturing him or whisking him into the night, never to return.

At first, it bothered her that Genevieve and Levaya weren't with them, too. So obviously, she started bringing them here with her.

It was in moments like these, when tributes destroyed each other and became things they weren't - the warm boy from Ten simply wasn't meant to become a killer, and yet here he was, unquestionably responsible for the death and chaos that ensued - that Elari regretted her decision.

As two cannons - not three, Elari realized absentmindedly - echoed into the night sky after the explosions finally stopped, Elari looked to her daughters who were clinging onto each other, fear and horror and sadness etching frowns and tears onto their faces and permanent, deeper scars on their psyche.

In a way, it almost made her feel grateful. As cruel as it may have been, Elari much preferred tears to cheers. She wouldn't know what to do with herself if her baby girls were excited to see someone else's death.

But eventually, these hours and days in here would make them different. Eventually, their daughters would pay the price of their father's punishments, just like Elari had long paid for Ortega's already. Their childhoods would be slaughtered. They'd be broken. Numb. Detached to death. Detached to life.

Elari was speaking from personal experience.

howdy fellas! checking in w miss thing in the capitol… she's clearly thriving! as are the tributes hahaha! frfr hope y'all are doing well and safe and healthy and the whole shebang yk!

as always heartfelt thank u to the submitters of tribute(s) who died this chapter! luv them all luv u all im just such a loving and amazing person ik ik ik

speaking of deathz they'll be consistently in every chapter LOL pacing be DAMNED we got tributes to KILL

Who do you think is dead O_O

Who do you think is definitely safe for the next two or three chapters?

leave a review they're my primary source of nourishment!

see you soon!