Chapter Twenty-Six.
Launch.
Linnea Halvard, 18 years old;
District One Female.
Linnea stepped out of her room and yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
It was still dark. The apartment was lit in an eerie glow from a single lamp that rested prettily atop a small, couch-side table. The clock read something just past five AM. With another yawn, she took a step forwards and felt the plushness of the rug below her feet.
She could almost be forgiven for thinking this was a normal day. That Linnea was back in One, sneaking down from upstairs to grab an early morning snack or drink of water. For a moment, all she could hear was the ticking of the clock and Linnea felt at peace.
Then a light flickered on, and Linnea was snapped back into reality.
"They're upstairs," Ailsa said, smiling at Linnea. "And don't worry. The morning of my Games, I didn't sleep a wink. Think I vomited about three times."
Linnea chuckled quietly. Don't wake up the beast. "You vomited?"
"I know, I know, doesn't fit my image. The nerves ripped right through me. How are you feeling?"
Linnea was surprised at how calm she felt. She hadn't slept much at all but that hadn't been because of nerves, really. All her teenage life there had only ever been one goal in mind and that had been leading to this day. If anything, surreal described the way she perceived this moment. Extraordinary.
She shrugged her shoulders in response to Ailsa's question. "Will I get into trouble?" Linnea asked.
Ailsa shook her head. "You're from One. That carries some sway around here. Plus, you're about to go into the Games. What could they actually do to you?"
Fair enough. Linnea nodded at Ailsa, brought her hand up in a small wave, and walked straight towards the elevator. It didn't take long for her to arrive at the rooftop gardens. There was a large concrete expanse where Linnea had been told the hovercrafts would soon land and be ready to whisk them all away to the Arena. For now, though, it was beautiful.
Linnea could describe it as tranquil. Part of her envied the natural beauty it all exuded, whereas Linnea had spent her whole life trying her best to be the perfect image of what was expected. It had made her so critical of others, but worse of all, it had made her feel incredibly critical of herself. The Capitol and the journey she had been on so far had lessened that somewhat. If anything, she was finding peace.
"And the queen arrives."
Britta's voice broke the reverie and Linnea smiled at her two allies. Neviya was lounging against the brick wall, hair frizzy from having just woken up. It seemed the Career girls shared something in common this morning: none of them had had much sleep at all.
Ailsa had been hanging around and after a few calls, here they were. The morning of the Games.
She did a little curtsey at Britta's joke and sat down on the garden bench. She yawned once more and stretched her arms out. "My body has failed me. It's like I need sleep, but can't fall asleep."
"Literally," Neviya said. "A few hours' time and we'll be back up here anyway. What's a few hours' sleep?"
"True," Linnea replied.
Britta sidled on over and sat between the girls, stretching her arms out with a yawn and enveloping her two allies. They all laughed and fell into her. Linnea felt elated for a moment. The pressure of her entire existence – past, present and future dissipated entirely and shattered against the morning breeze.
Britta's laugh was right in her ear but she marvelled in it, finding comfort in the noise. Neviya was the first to lean forwards. Linnea couldn't help but look at her and see the 10 attached to her now. The highest out of their alliance. It had made Linnea unimaginably jealous and also incredibly proud.
What a rollercoaster this experience was.
"I can't believe it's today," Neviya said. "I mean – it's today, girls. Today!"
"We heard you the first time," Linnea replied.
Neviya shook her head and the mood seemed to suddenly change. Britta was catching her breath from the light giggling and placed a hand on Neviya's knee, squeezing it ever so gently. Neviya registered the hand and smiled half-heartedly.
"Have we been stupid?" she asked, looking at her allies.
Linnea and Britta looked at each other and then back at Neviya, both shaking their heads.
"Not at all," Linnea said.
"Don't be silly," Britta replied.
Neviya continued to look at them miserably. "Can we actually take them on?" Her face had gone paler than usual, lip wobbling. "I have no qualms about what must be done. Chancellor, Destan… even Roarke… I don't want to die. I've resolved myself to what we need to do, but I can't help but think we did this too early."
Linnea beat Britta to the punch. They couldn't have this kind of talk. It had to be squashed immediately. If they didn't go into this united and ready for what had to happen, then they were already defeated.
"You know the type of person Chancellor is. And I think it's safe to say we've seen a little bit more of the true Destan. This is the Games and we know…" Linnea paused and sighed, the sadness clawing at her at what she had to say next, "…we know that two of us won't make it. But we're together." She took Britta's hand and Britta took Neviya's. "We're a team. We're going to have to do horrible things today but we signed up for this. We chose this path and what we're about to do is wrong – sure. Most of the kids here did not want to walk down this road. But what's done is done. For our sakes, we know what we have to do."
Britta nodded. Neviya nodded. And for the final time, before the Games hit them like a bullet, they fell backwards into another heap with Britta's arms around them and just smiled, looking up at the morning sun.
It was beautiful.
A slice of heaven.
And soon, hell on Earth.
Sinta Montero, 16 years old;
District Seven Female.
One hour left.
Sinta struggled to eat anything. She'd tried to eat a bowl of cereal but that felt like concrete going down her clamped throat. She'd tried to bite into an apple but she'd spat it straight back out. Even the sweet tang to the orange juice had felt like acid scorching her mouth.
She'd given up in the end and now just sat on the couch, leaning into the warmth and comfort of the cushions. It was now a waiting game. The feeling of knowing what was to come and the clock being there, highest in the room above them all, almost teasing them with its two hands ticking, ticking, ticking.
Sinta would give anything to be back on stage with Anastasia. To be back in the Training Hall. To stand side-by-side with Bryce on the Chariot. To sit in the luxury of the Capitol's train.
To be with my friends.
Sinta's stomach was playing its own game. She'd already been sick once after the fiasco of trying to eat something. More than anything, she was terrified. It gnawed at every speck of Sinta Montero that it could get its hungry claws into. She wanted to cry. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to forget.
Yet, Sinta would not give up.
She couldn't.
"You have a sponsor in line?" Sinta found her voice asking aloud, directed towards Gigi her mentor.
The kind woman nodded her head but her face betrayed the warmth she was trying to exude. It didn't bode well that her mentor was just as terrified for Sinta as she felt for her own chances. She had spent the entirety of her time in the Capitol being the confident, secure presence that she'd always prided herself on being.
This morning, after a dreadful sleep, it felt like that had all been stripped back. It left her feeling a weak version of herself. A Hunger Games tribute version of Sinta Montero. Not the upbeat, friendly girl from Seven that had sat on a wall and laughed with the people closest to her.
"A businesswoman from the upper echelon of the Capitol," Gigi said. "She has a daughter your age. I spoke to her last night after your interview and she found you charming. She's going to do her best to get you something in the Arena."
"That's nice of her," Sinta said earnestly.
"As the Games go on, things become more and more expensive. If you make it past the first few days-" Gigi paused and looked horrified, realising what had just slipped out of her mouth. "I-I didn't – I didn't mean-"
Sinta shook her head and tried to smile at the only woman that had really shown her proper kindness in the Capitol. A woman that was trying her best. "It's okay, Gigi. I'm going to do my best."
"You have a great alliance. There's a lot going for you, Sinta."
"Exactly," Sinta said, her stomach a mess of nerves and fear, but the glow in her chest beginning to brighten again at the thought of her five allies. It was Sinta that had brought them together. Sinta that had united a group of tributes in loyalty and trust. She knew, deep down, that all of them would have to die if she was going to see her friends and family again, but right now that didn't matter. Surviving today had to be her priority. "And I appreciate all you've done for me Gigi."
A door opened and Ellis, Bryce's mentor swaggered through with a glass bottle in his hand. He slumped into the armchair and offered Sinta as caring of a smile as he could muster. He was a nice man but with vices that held him back from doing anything for Bryce. Sinta and Gigi had done her best instead for her District partner. Her friend.
"You alright, kid?"
Sinta nodded at the slurred voice of the man in front of her. "As well as I can be. Is it mad that I feel impatient to just get there?"
"This is the worst part," Gigi agreed. "The waiting is painful in itself."
"I've done all I can now in the Capitol to give myself the best chance. I just have to remember that."
Another door opened and Sinta heard the tell-tale steps of Bryce slip into the room. When Sinta saw Bryce stood in the entranceway of the lounging area, she smiled brightly and stood up. Then there was a sniffle and as Bryce stepped forwards, Sinta saw his entire face streaked with tears, bright red cheeks and hair a mess.
Oh no. She stumbled forwards and enveloped him into a hug. He was taller but that didn't matter. He rested her head in her shoulder and just sobbed; agonizingly painful sobs that ripped right through Sinta.
She had done as much as she could to bring out the confidence in this boy that deserved the sunshine and the love of so many, yet had never seemed to believe he was worthy of it. And she had been so proud to see it grow inside of him.
Sinta would do anything for Bryce. Anything to make him believe that he was deserving of a happy life.
"Oh, Bryce," Sinta said, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "I know. I know."
Bryce tried to say something but it was strangled by the sobbing and he gave up, his body shaking as Sinta held him as tightly as she could, feeling their body warmth connect. His crying made the dam inside of Sinta break and her own hot tears trickled down her cheeks, splashing against the rug as the two friends from District Seven just stood there.
In the background, the clock continued to tick and Sinta wished she could rip it from the wall and smash it against the table. The two mentors from Seven – Gigi and Ellis – just sat there. It was a picture of sadness. A portrait of why the Hunger Games were so wrong, so evil.
"We'll be okay," Sinta found herself saying, and she had to do everything she could to believe it. "We're in this together."
Bryce nodded his head feebly in her shoulder. "Together."
And the two of them continued to cry, friends united in fear.
Iva Giorgi, 17 years old;
District Nine Female.
"Holy shit balls it's actually happening."
Iva looked at Spelt's mentor, Noah, and couldn't help but cringe as he flounced around the room, panicking.
"You have everything you need, right?"
He was acting like they were late for a trip. Iva just watched him, unable to make words come out of her mouth, and it wasn't like Spelt had the hidden talent of being able to speak much either. The two tributes from Nine just watched as a man that was supposed to be a composed sense of leadership continued to pace around the room, muttering to himself.
Velma on the other hand, Iva's mentor, walked up to the man and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to make them more nervous than they already are," she said, not harshly, but stern. "Now sit down and drink the rest of your coffee."
Iva smiled as Velma's eyes met hers. In truth, as that infernal clock continued to tick down the time they had left in the Capitol's false sense of luxury, Iva just wanted it to be over with. The trip to the Arena she'd been told wouldn't take too long and the preparation underneath would only be around twenty or so minutes.
It was this bit, on her apartment floor, that felt overwhelming. It was suffocating.
Spelt, from the other side of the room, cleared his throat and all eyes snapped towards him. He hadn't said a word since the two had woken up and Iva didn't blame him. There was nothing else that could really be said. They'd gone over their separate strategies, Iva with more of a focus since she had an alliance. Spelt would get in and run out. It was quite simple really.
Iva had Henley and Damon to worry about. Alliances came with their own strings that she was still unsure of, but had also grown to connect with. Henley had solidified herself as the most competent in their alliance. Damon was potentially a liability but that had been Velma vocalizing the thought, not Iva.
She liked him. A lot. Way more than she'd ever expected.
The harsh truth of the Games was weighing heavy on her, but she was allowing herself the blind delusion that they could be close. Anything to repel the nerves.
"Five minutes," Spelt said, eyeing the clock. "No wait – three? I'll be honest, I've never really learnt how to tell time."
Iva looked at the clock and felt her heart leap into her throat. "Two. Two minutes."
No one moved a muscle. Not even Noah.
"We best get going then," Velma said solemnly. "No harm in being early."
Iva looked at Spelt. Spelt looked at Iva. Something went between the two of them and it almost made Iva want to break down in tears. She couldn't allow herself those emotions, though. Growing up with just one other person in her life, disconnecting herself from people her age, she'd never really learnt how to deal with what other people were feeling in the first place anyway.
She blinked away the tears and refused to allow herself weakness. She had to get into game-mode.
Velma led the way towards the elevator and Spelt shared a quick hug with Noah. Only one mentor was allowed to escort them to the roof. Iva nodded at the man and he tried to smile back but truthfully, she knew that he would rather see Spelt return than her. She didn't blame him for that.
The elevator doors seemed to take longer to open, but Iva was sure that wasn't true. Each step they took felt like concrete was weighing them down. When they finally stood in a line of three, with Velma pressing the button for the roof, Iva felt something against her fingers and almost jumped up.
She looked at Spelt and saw a silent tear roll down the bridge of his nose. His fingers awkwardly tried to find their way round Iva's and something compelled her to allow him to hold her hand. It felt strange and totally unlike Iva, but it also felt warm and comforting and the tear that splashed against the elevator floor made Iva looked at Spelt with genuine fondness.
"Good luck in there, Spelt. I honestly mean it."
He nodded and bit his lip, another tear rolling down his cheek. "If I don't make it, I want you to. You don't deserve to die."
Before Iva could say anything else, Velma's voice rang out louder than she probably intended. "Neither of you do," she said. "One of you is making it back here alive. You just – you just have to."
The doors opened to reveal a rooftop garden that looked beautiful under the morning sunlight. As much as Iva wished she could have a chance to go and relax amongst the flowers, it was the two hovercrafts in front, settled atop the concrete that overwhelmed Iva's senses.
Two lines had already begun to form and a crowd of mentors stood to the side, watching their tributes as Peacekeepers stood intimidating before each queue. Velma took tentative steps forwards and Iva and Spelt followed, releasing hands as quickly as they'd joined.
You got this, Iva thought, as they neared the crowd. I have to believe it. I just have to.
Velma turned to face them and placed a hand on both Spelt and Iva's shoulder. A gentle squeeze and Iva wanted to hug the woman. As a gesture of thanks.
"Spelt, on your left. Iva, on your right," she said, pausing to look at the two of them. A tear built up in the corner of her eye and she blinked. "This never gets any easier." She released her hands from their shoulders and stepped backwards. "I wish you luck, both of you. I honestly do."
When Velma gestured for them to step forwards, she joined the crowd of her fellow Victors and Iva nodded at Spelt, who returned it and the two separated for their queues.
Iva looked at the crowd of Victors and pictured herself there, amongst the mentors seeing off their tributes. She could see the pain on so many faces and stood, shaking in her position in the queue. Shual from Ten stood in front but he didn't look back at Iva. She could see him shaking too and knew it wasn't just her that was absolutely terrified.
Calm down. She closed her eyes and took a step as the queue began to move. Calm down.
Iva opened her eyes and settled them on the hovercraft.
It was really happening.
Time to leave the Capitol.
Sheridan Sannah, 17 years old;
District Eleven Female.
I'm going to throw up.
Sheridan was buckled up next to Altia. She tried to convince herself the reason she felt so sick was because the hovercraft had hit some sort of turbulence, bouncing up and down, but Sheridan knew that was bullshit.
Her palms felt sweaty as she kept fiddling with the seatbelt. She had a sore throat, a headache, and her eyes were puffy and tired. Sheridan had never given a fuck what the Capitol thought of her during this week, but she hadn't been stupid enough either to throw her chances away for something so silly as pride. Now, though, she wished she'd spent longer in the shower.
Who knew if she'd ever have the chance to take one again.
Opposite Sheridan and Altia, Celestin and Sinta were sat next to each other, both pale in the face and eyes brimming with fear. She felt something towards them that had wowed Sheridan the past few days. For as long as she could remember, she'd kept people at an arms-length because they came with their own baggage and dishonesty. Ever since meeting Sinta, and from that the domino effect of everyone else, she'd started to think that maybe back in Eleven she'd been a complete and utter fool.
Had she wasted her time, all those years, keeping people at bay? Sheridan would do anything to get home to have a go at answering that question. She'd do whatever had to be done to give herself a shot at a normal life again.
"You look like you're going to vom'," Celestin said, not looking far off being sick either. Sinta nodded her head with her eyes firmly shut.
"For the first time in what I think is forever, I'm going to kindly ask you to not talk to me," Sinta said. "Not to be rude. I'm worried if I talk I will throw up everywhere."
Celestin nodded and apologised. His eyes turned to face Sheridan and Altia as another bump upwards left him groaning uncomfortably, twisting in his seat.
"You alright?" he asked.
Sheridan nodded. "You'd think with all their technology they'd be able to get us there in one piece. Maybe dying in a horrific hovercraft incident would be an easier way to go."
Sheridan laughed at her silly way of lightening the mood and saw the girl from Five – Henley, Teak's District partner – eye her warily. She bit her lip, almost ashamed of herself.
"Sorry," she said, quietly. "I didn't mean that."
Altia's hand brushed Sheridan's. She looked at her ally and Altia pulled her arm back. "Sorry. Didn't mean to do that. I just can't sit still. This thing is really annoying me."
Sheridan twisted in her own seat, the straps digging into her. After what felt like the most torturous journey she'd ever been on, and it wasn't like she'd been on many, the hovercraft started to descend and immediately Sheridan wished she could be back in the air again.
Fuckfuckfuck. We're here.
The next ten minutes seemed to blur into one. She said a quick goodbye to her allies as they were all shoved off the hovercraft and Sheridan found herself being led by a solitary Peacekeeper. They walked down a very clinical looking corridor, which led onto another, then another.
"It's like a maze," Sheridan said to nobody.
The Peacekeeper said nothing and continued to escort Sheridan until they reached a door with an 11 in gold upon the wood.
"In here?" Sheridan said. "Carry on sir." She couldn't help but salute sarcastically and she threw open the door, walking into the small room. Immediately, her eyes went straight to the far corner where a metal pedestal lay, half encased by a transparent tube.
She knew what that meant. And she knew what the five-minute counter on the wall stood for as well. Her mind went immediately to what she'd seen on the television screen last year. The blood. The bodies. The two from Eleven dead in the first five minutes.
She'd known the girl in passing. She'd been nice and all Sheridan had ever been was a complete asshole. And now it could be me. In ten minutes, I might be dead.
The thought had no time to grip hold of Sheridan because the door opened once more and Rococo, her stylist, walked into the room. At the sight of the annoying little man, Sheridan took a step backwards. Her lip curled in distaste. She couldn't get over her dislike for the Capitol and its people. Especially men like this that thought dressing up all prettily was such an honour for anyone not from his prized city.
It didn't matter squat to Sheridan. She hadn't fought against it either, though.
"Get this on," he said, walking over to the side of the room and picking up the Arena outfit from a peg. She hadn't even registered it had been there but when he threw it, she realised that there was nowhere to get changed privately.
"I suppose you've seen everything," Sheridan said. "Pervert."
The man just narrowed his eyes at her as she stripped and put the outfit on. It was nothing special. Cargo pants, white short-sleeved top, a jacket to go over it all and keep her warm. Rococo took out a comb and moved towards Sheridan but at the sight of it, she took a step back and held her hand up.
"Don't you even think about it," Sheridan warned. "There's no need. Not where I'm about to go."
She looked at the timer on the side and realised it said two minutes. She gulped. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Her entire body was shaking but she refused to give this man the satisfaction of seeing her cry and break down. She'd done that silently in her room this morning.
This was the time for Sheridan to be the fighter she had to be. Regardless of the cost.
"Best step onto the plate then," Rococo said, waving half-heartedly in the direction of where she had to stand. "Hope to see you soon. I guess. Whatever."
Sheridan sneered. "Charmed as always."
She did as she was told however and moved slowly over to the metallic disc. She stood on it, as straight as she could, her feet shoulder width apart as she stared out at Rococo. He waved at her as the countdown reached 10 seconds and the tube encased her, shutting her off completely.
Oh my god I'm going to be sick… Sheridan's face felt hot, her throat tighter than ever, and all she saw as she began to rise, was Rococo's snide little wave, followed by a middle finger.
That fucking little…
If anything, Sheridan would win just to wipe that smile off his face.
The sheer pleasure that would give her however was wiped clean as she ascended into darkness. Ten seconds fell into fifteen and she rose, fixing into place.
Fuck my life.
Let the Hunger Games begin.
This is mental. 72 POVs and a year and a half later… we are here! The Games begin next chapter.
I know my update speed has been ridiculous and I'm aware for some it became a lot, but I genuinely appreciate each and every one of you, whether it's just through reading, or you dropping a review as well. I've never felt this much about a batch of tributes and the idea of having to get rid of any is more difficult than I thought.
But the show must go on! So some questions ready for the next update.
Who do you think will die in the bloodbath?
Who do you want to die in the bloodbath?
Overall thoughts on this story so far?
Apologies in advance for anyone that loses a tribute next chapter. I think I'm going to now give people a chance to actually catch up lmao (if you want to!) so expect the bloodbath by Thursday at the earliest. Could be later. Earliest Thursday tho I promise!
Thanks guys for everything. Twenty-six chapters later, we are hereeeeee.