"Lately I've been, I've been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard
Said no more counting dollars, we'll be counting stars…"
~Counting Stars (OneRepublic)
o0o
Asher Foster (17) District Five Tribute
Only nine of us left… who would have guessed that these things would have flown by so quickly? I flex my fingers, still smirking as the claws slide out of the leather gloves on my hands. I still can't believe I was Sponsored with these.
Nine of us are left, and I'm well aware that I'm not the most viable contestant for the Victor spot. Not when there are players like Aegis Harlow and Halliday Frost and Thames Venturi still in the competition.
A nauseous, self-contained feeling still roils in my stomach at the thought of any of the Careers- especially Thames. As loathe as I am to admit the fact that they're skilled fighters, I have no choice but to acknowledge their strength. If I don't, I'm going to get caught out, and that won't do me any good. Not in the long run. Even after whatever it was that happened around the Cornucopia and that large explosion that caused Athena's death, I can't let my guard slip, because the moment I do, one of them is going to emerge from the shadows and assassinate me from behind.
And that's the worst way to go. I want to die with my head held high, with a fighting chance, not with a slit throat and crumpling like a limp bag of flour.
Chances are that if the Careers split, at least one of them would come here. This is the closest part of the Arena to the Cornucopia, and an ideal location to set up base. I need to scram. It's time for the wolf to pack up his den and move to a new location. Find higher ground… perhaps the top of a building, in the city area, where I can have a full view of the Arena, and roar my battle cry to the moon before, once again, going on the prowl.
Yes! Yes, that's where I need to go. I need to get away from this place because ever since I came here this place has smelled like death.
I have meager supplies, and perhaps the city will prove more fruitful. I haven't gotten any Sponsor gifts, not since the claws, but I'm not going to dwell on that.
Now, my pack is secured on my back, and my cycle roars to life beneath me. The trees are uniformly spread in this area, and there seems to be a direct path out of here- strange, unorthodox, but that is the world we live in today, isn't it? One where 24 children are thrown into a place called the Arena and told to murder each other while the world watches in varying degrees of horror and revulsion and fascination.
I'm out of the forest faster than once could say mouse.
On the way to familiar territory. If there is a city, that means there are streets and back alleys and niches that I can find and abuse. There's a reason I was the head of one of the most feared street gangs in District 5. I intend to use every skill in my repertoire to my advantage.
It takes me only an estimated half-hour to reach my destination, and I dismount the bike, catching the baton as it falls to the ground in one smooth motion.
I've not taken two steps from where I swung off the cycle when I'm stopped, frigid iron biting into the hollow of my throat.
Keep your calm, Foster. Closing my eyes for a brief second, I blow out a long breath. Then look down the blade at the boy, who's grip on the sword is steady like nothing else. As if he's spent years with a weapon in his hand.
Indeed it is someone from a Career District that meets my eyes. But his name is one that is not associated with acts of direct violence.
Instead, it is the famed Eel of District 4, Mikail Drakil, that holds his leaf-shaped blade to my throat, and his ocean-eyes do not hold any kind of recognition as he takes my face in. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't spill your throat on the ground."
I swallow, and the point of the sword digs into my throat. It's only going to take a duck and a single swipe to spill this boy's organs on the ground.
So, in response, I hold up my hand. Flick my fingers, one by one, and let the steel claws slide out of their hiding place.
This gives him pause. Makes him study my hands for a good five seconds before he lowers his sword. "Asher Foster. Leader of the Coyotes. Right?"
I nod.
Every District has its street gangs, and we have our ways of communicating with one another. We might not ever meet, except save for the few message runners each gang has, but we hear about each other, along with the rumors and legends of each leader of their respective clans.
"Mikail Drakil." The other boy holds out his hand, but takes one look at my gloves and pulls it back, a smirk flitting across his face. "Nice claws."
I match the dark expression. "Thanks. Nice sword."
Mikail glances down at the weapon in his hand, held loosely as if it's a simple household object instead of an instrument of death. Nods, as if acknowledging its beauty as well as the compliment, before looking back up. The sly expression in his eyes is clear.
Just like that. All it takes is a few years of indirect communication and a shared goal. A shared position, and a mutual understanding.
We're in business, and ready for bloodshed. It's time to show everyone who we are, make them remember our names, and know who we are.
It might take a monster to gut one, but if that's the title we have to take to get to the top, then so be it.
And when it's just the two of us left, and the Arena is stained red, I will add Mikail Drakil's name to the twisted scorecard that already holds two names.
The Wolfchild is on the prowl, and this Arena is my hunting ground.
o0o
Halliday Frost (18) District One Tribute
When I catch Sash side-eyeing me for the eighteenth time tonight as I pace circles around our campout beside the Spiral Course, I've had enough. "What?"
Sash blinks. "What what?"
I scowl at him, stopping my movements to cross my arms and raise an eyebrow at him. "You've been acting like a jumpy jackrabbit around me ever since I killed Jordan. What's up?"
He shifts on his feet, brown eyes dark as he stares at the fire we've somehow managed to get going, salvaging wood from the forest and using parts of the Cornucopia to strike up a spark. "That's exactly it, I think. That you killed someone, Just like that."
I glare. "I'm a Career, Sash. I was trained for this. I've watched this happen my entire life. When it boils right down to it, what do you expect me to do? Roll over, show my belly, and play nice? I didn't think you were that sort of person."
Sash puts his hands up. "Hey, hey, cool your jets there, Halliday!" My nostrils flare at his reprimand, but he pays no heed as he continues. "I'm just… unused to this, I suppose. I don't mean any disrespect."
Smooth. He knows he's treading on thin ice.
It's tempting to just lay into him right here and now. He's not even a fully-trained Career for god's sake. All he knows how to do is shoot some things. He might be skilled, but I don't think he has the heart for killing, even if he slaughtered his District partner in the Bloodbath. On top of all that, he's been so distant lately. Staring off at the horizon, the yawning, black vortex above us that just waits to claim its next victims and display their faces in the sky one final time before they vanish forever.
And yet I still chose him as my ally. It's a decision I've questioned numerous times over the last few hours. Sash didn't have a problem locating, stalking, and shooting a squirrel we came across on our way out of the forest for dinner tonight, even with his injury, but I know I could do that just as well with the bow if I were the one wielding it. Much as I hate to admit, all he is to me right now is companionship and a meat shield.
Companionship is important in human life, yes, but sometimes, like now, it's only going to slow me down. Sash has to go. He's maimed, and although his arm seems to have healed a bit due to the medicine we received, it's clear the painkillers are wearing off and he's feeling the full extent of his injuries. He was only able to make that shot because of the painkillers, I realize. Once we run out, he's dead.
He's dead, and I'm the one who's going to have to kill him. I know instinctively that I'm going to offer the quickest, cleanest death out of anyone here except maybe Thames or Lauren, but Lauren doesn't seem to have the stomach for killing and Thames is with Aegis. There's no relation between the word painless and the name Aegis Harlow.
A blow to the nervous system should do it. Shut everything down, fast and efficient. I just need to find a good time to make m-
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Sash's question startles me, and I take an involuntary step back. His voice has become guarded, and the chocolate-brown of his arms has hardened, icing over and his voice is scarily low as he stands up, a hand going to his bow.
"Don't bother," I scoff. "We both know that you can't do much of anything in the state you're in-"
Faster than the eye can track, Sash has an arrow nocked and the bowstring half-drawn, gaze frozen as he stares at me down the shaft of the arrow. "Say that again."
My temper rises, and I open my mouth, tongue turning to silver as I narrow my eyes.
Luckily, whatever I'm about to say, however I'm about to flay into him, is interrupted by the parachute that plummets out the sky and thuds into the ground at my feet. Both of us close our mouths, record fast, and blink at it.
Alright.
Message received.
Sash offers up a weak smile. "I guess verbal sparring doesn't suit the Capitol, at least not as well as physical sparring, does."
I take his half-assed apology with a nod and about as much grace as I can muster, before picking up the package. It's glowing emerald green, signifying it's for me.
Sash gestures for me to open it.
I do so. Inside is a ring. A beautiful ring, admittedly, the sapphire gemstone glittering in the Arena lighting. It's a gorgeous piece of jewelry, even I can see that. Small, intricately tinkered diamonds are nestled in among the woven bands of silver, and it's a perfect fit as I slide it experimentally onto my right ring finger.
It feels so right, sitting there, and contrasts so terribly with the emptiness and nausea that settles in the pit of my stomach.
And that's when the world stops spinning, it's like the farewell room in the Justice Building back in District 1 all over again and someone has punched their claws straight into my chest and wrapped steel-cold talons around my heart.
That shattering feeling is back again. The kind that fills me to the brink and overflows, spilling out secrets and emotions and my darkest thoughts that I never wanted anyone else to see and now it feels as if I'm transparent.
And it's horrible and awful and sordid and I hate it, I hate it with every fiber of my being, so much that I'm vibrating where I stand, and all I can hear is the roar of blood in my ears.
There's nothing but red filling my vision as I throw myself at him, my momentum and weight bearing my former ally to the ground. Every thought of a painless death has long since fled from my mind.
It's easy enough to shove a knife into his heart and slide the other across his throat.
o0o
Ambrose Volta (14) District Five Tribute
I hope Lauren is staying safe. A quick, hurried glance over my shoulder proved that Killian wasn't hot on my trail, and by logic, he'd be going after Lauren instead. We had parted ways too fast for us to agree on any sort of rendezvous point, and I can only pray that we can work on the fly. Lauren's smart. She'll know what to do. Right?
I shake the thought from my head like a cobweb. Lauren will know what to do. She's four years my senior and knows the Hunger Games well enough to know escape strategies. Maybe not how to escape a psychopath on a motorcycle, chasing you and breakneck speed across a city, but escape strategies nonetheless. Come on, Lauren. I believe in you.
My own surroundings speed past me, and I'm going far too fast to take in any of the buildings. I gotta slow down. I'd just blow right by Lauren if she somehow lost Killian and came to regroup, and it wouldn't be good for Sponsors if we just ran right past each other and had to go on a chase then. Plus, I don't know what these things run on, what kind of fuel powers them, but this bike is the only form of mobility I have in my inventory at this point. I need to save it, in case I need to make a swift retreat- or jump right into combat.
I slow down, continuing at an easy cruise, taking stock of my surroundings now that the danger has seemingly passed. This place looks oddly familiar- the looming structures, exuberant and luxurious, even without the bright colors and spark that the Capitol so often favours. Is this place really modeled after the Capitol layout? That seems sort of risky. I've heard stirrings of a rebellion- rumors traveling down through the Districts, from wandering traders that roam the wilderness between our settlements. Rumor has it that the grumblings started in District 2- strange because they seem to be the Capitol lap-dog: supplying armor, weapons, Peacekeepers, you name it, District 2 gives it to the Capitolites by the crateful.
And Aegis Harlow is still alive. Granted, I have no idea where he and his allies are at this very moment, but if he got to this place and won the Games… I could see him as a rebel. He certainly gives off that vibe at times, dark and brooding, but with so much more beneath inky waters than what meets the eye.
Why am I worrying about District 2 right now? I should be worrying about me! Me, and Lauren, who could currently be getting mauled to death by some sort of artistic serial killer with a lust for blood. And I just abandoned her? Just peeled away, without a second thought or a glance back? That's not right.
I kick the bike into a higher gear and spin around. Allies don't just ditch their friends at the first sight of danger.
Hang on, Lauren. I'm coming.
The scenery and buildings are back to a black and blue blur as I hightail down the roads, careening around corners, trying desperately to remember the way I got to my previous location. Left? No, no, right. Haven't I been here before? Keep going, keep going. Lauren has to be around here somewhere!
I'd yell for her, try to get her attention, let her know I'm coming to help and that I'm not alone, and I have a knife, that I can fight, but it would be pointless. I'm going to fast and my voice is too muffled for me to be of any good.
I'm charging along, going fast, quicker than a cheetah on the plains of District 5. Too fast.
I don't see the trail of red that appears in front of me, seemingly out of thin air, as real and solid as the air that is no longer in my lungs as my bike slams into it at high velocity, throwing me forward as it dissolves into pixels beneath me.
I land, skidding on the unforgiving Arena floor, my joints groaning in pain and flaring up at my skinned elbows and knees as I struggle to rise. What the hell was that?
I'm still trying to regain my feet when I hear him. It's the sound of nightmares behind me, a voice that sends shivers up my spine, and the unattached, dispassionate voice of Killian Doppelmen sounds behind me. "There you are."
His light trail, I realize distantly. I thought those were just for show. What the hell did it do to me? I grope around for my pack, trying in vain to get to my knife, but Killian's dismounted from his own bike and is on me in a flash, a dagger at my throat and something small and lensed- a- a camera?- in his other hand. "You've caused a whole lot of trouble for me, recently, Ambrose Volta."
He drags the knife upwards, the point leaving small spots of blood in its wake as he slides silver steel to my lips, laying the knife flat against them.
I stare up at him, frantic, and he smiles down at me. Pushes down on my shoulders, driving me into the ground. I'm utterly helpless, easy as a lamb lead to the slaughterhouse, and this is where the killing happens, doesn't it? This is where I'm executed, but unlike the lambs, I will not be offered a stun and a quick death.
Not at the hands of this man.
No, there is no such stun at all, because Killian sweeps the knife between my teeth, the blade slim enough to slip between my bite as I snap at it, desperate to waylay the sure agony that is to come.
Every effort I make is in vain, though, as Killian continues slowly, painstakingly, drinking in my every reaction, a noticeable thrill running through him every time I make a particularly frantic move.
But he soon grows tired of simply watching, and wants to do. Wants to do something more, to inflict the pain, and begins to cut, rending flesh and muscle from my body, a gleeful cackle in his throat and a sick light in his eyes while he does it.
I can't stop the scream as I see the first piece of flesh- my flesh- fall to the Arena floor, pale and bloody against the black ground. The agony turns distant, if only for a moment, and everything except that little bit of me that's been separated from me is the only thing I see.
Killian's melodic, if slightly deranged voice is the last thing I hear before the world begins its final fade to black around me. "Smile, everyone is watching…"
o0o
Killian Doppelmen (18) District Six Tribute
Her screams are beautiful. Resonating in my ears, down my spine, sending thrills through my entire body as the girl fights back beneath me, howling as I drag the knife through her face. Her blood stains my hands, my arms, the air around me. And it makes me feel alive. She's started screaming at some point- she's screaming and I love it.
Without this, the euphoria of this performance, of every performance, I will become too sick of living, but unwilling to die, and that is a horrible way to exist in this world.
This world, where there are so many art forms available and so many shows to put on, and so many people will view my work and cry.
It's the majesty of the kill that soars through my veins, the high of her death scream riding in my bloodstream.
Ambrose Volta is now a limp, lifeless corpse beneath me, blood pooling around her head and speckling the blade of my knife. The two pieces of her I have cut out- parts of her cheek, her mouth opening now extending from ear to ear, forever locked in a morbid smile.
An eternal smile.
She was young and beautiful, but now she is battered and dead.
I am not yet sick. I am insane, but that will not stop my performance. That will not stop any of this. The camera in my hands proves that- this beauty and dance and duet that has unfolded in these past moments caught in film reel, preserved for the nation to see. Eternalized in every viewer's vision, emblazoned in their minds and behind their eyelids as they close their eyes and relive the performance I have laid out for them this day.
I look down at the camera, now stained with the rust-colored substance that costs the majority of my body, and can't stop my own smile from spreading across my face.
There is nothing that can stop me from spreading this magnificence from across Panem now. When I die, this device shall go on, carrying my legacy with it.
Holding the camera out at an angle, so that everyone surely watching this will get a good view, I find the replay button. And press it, fully re-immersing myself in the events that happened not a minute ago, the still-warm corpse of my newest victim lying mutilated before me.
The girl was young and stupid and thus was her downfall. A selfless mistake that ends in her death. The video begins with me dismounting my own bike after intercepting hers- the engine on her light cycle so loud I could hear her a mile out. It didn't take any strategic genius to develop the plan of taking her off the cycle and eliminating any chance of escape before I would make my move.
I am a thrill-seeker, I love the rush and stimulation I get from watching them thrash and struggle, begging for mercy and howling in pain. The killing for most like me is an afterthought as if it's an encore, something to leave behind, but it is all part of the final act for me. This was her curtain call, and what a majestic, resounding one it was.
She died hard. She went to the slaughter like a lamb and put up a struggle. It was a ball. She squirmed as I choked her, and her lips twitched. She let out a single, high-pitched scream, and I stabbed her in the side to shut her up. It only made her howl again, so I kicked her in the head. She went limp for a few moments after that, but after I plunged my second knife into her side to wake her up, she began crying out again. That knife I put into her body broke: a shame to lose such a good blade.
Normally, I would have finished the job by slitting her throat.
But she was no young damsel on the streets or alleys of District 6. She was Ambrose Volta, from District 5, one step above me, and she was a tribute of the 26th annual Hunger Games. And what do tributes do? Tributes die. They are sacrificed for the Capitol's amusement, and while I do not like playing lapdog or approve of conforming, I could sate myself with this. For now.
With this bloodshed and massacre.
This girl does not smile nearly enough, I thought to myself, at that moment. So why not send her back home with one permanently on her face? Not such a bad way to go, and this way, she will always be smiling when she reaches the promised lands.
The shadow song was irresistible, and it guided my hands as I twisted the knife through her flesh, it moving easily through flesh and muscle, disconnecting sinew from vein and the first part of her body, the part that did not belong, that hid her large, forever-there smile from the world, fell away.
The second followed not long after, and the smile across her throat, red and matching the liquid pooling around her head, was the final, easy touch.
And, of course, my calling card.
My MO, my initials written out beside the kill, in her blood,
K. D.
The Virtuoso.
The video ends.
And then the parachute falls from the sky. It contains a few buttered biscuits, still hot, a Tupperware container of well-done steak, and a bottle of water. Attached to its neck is a single tag, with jagged, writing written in dark red ink scrawled across the manilla of the paper.
Long live the Virtuoso.
o0o
Thames Venturi (18) District One Tribute
The hue of a new night sparkles over the dimming blue lights of the Arena. A mockingbird- the first sign of life besides the rabbit that we've seen in this horrid land- flutters in the coolness of the twilight, blinking dark eyes that glint like amber in the fading glow of the Arena. She twitters her gratitude aloud in a clear voice that slides through the silence like a fish does through water- calm and sure and beautiful. With a twitch, she hops to a new perch, barely rustling the branches of these strange trees. But a bond more fragile than spider silk is shattered as she lifts herself from the branch, allowing a single leaf to flutter down on its own breeze.
It tumbles through the air, lazy and graceful like it has all the time in the world, dancing in and out of the light and shadows cast by the crisscrossing grid of the Arena floor. Finally, it comes to rest and is gently stirred by a puff of breath as Aegis Harlow exhales slowly, a sigh as he comes into wakefulness. Blinking heavy, inky eyes open, he lets out a lion's yawn, the resulting rush of air blowing the leaf down to the floor as he sits up, stretching his arms over his head. "Hey, Thames." A soft smile is sent my way, as he moves away from the tree he was leaning against as he dozed. "How you holding up?"
I hesitate at the question. There is nothing but pure, undiluted honesty and concern in Aegis' eyes, and still, I falter. A familiar line of thought is rapping at the doors of my head. Burden, revolting, just keep your mouth shut and head down, don't cause any more trouble than you already have.
And yet the gates shielding my mind remain steady. Adamant and unbreakable, because it's Aegis who's asking the question. Aegis, who understands flaws, and has been nothing but beautiful and transparent with me. I should give him nothing less in return. The burns on my arm flare up slightly in agreement, but it is a welcome pain this time, one that reminds me of all that I have to fight for. Sitting here, beside me, his head tipped back to the darkened sky that shows the first sign of reality, the twinkling of stars throwing reassurance and a small amount of encouragement into the air.
"Not- not well," I admit. It's a weak response, and not one Aegis deserves, but it's the best I can muster. Everything's just- crashed down on me so hard, the events of the last few days and what I've done- I have blood on my hands, now.
When not four days ago I had preached that we are not bred for bloodshed.
What a hypocrite I am.
It's painful to think about. A slim, wicked dagger slipped between my ribs, directly into the organ that keeps the lifeblood flowing through my veins. It thuds, gives a few, desperate spasms before stuttering, resuming its previous rhythm after skipping a few beats.
I'm glad that the dagger was metaphorical.
My scattered, if not mildly gruesome metaphors drag me back into the present, where the Hunger Games are in progress around me. Where I am a tribute in the Arena, and every move I make is going to be broadcasted on life TV across Panem if there's not a fight going on somewhere else right at this moment.
If my assumptions are correct, and the display Aegis and I have made of ourselves up until this point, then every Capiolite and District citizen eye is on us.
Right now.
It's almost enough to make me shatter as I did at the interviews, but now, there will be no privacy and opportunity for me to crumble into the sanctuary of Aegis' arms and let him hold me until the sun comes up.
Even if I feel like I must be open with him, I cannot say or do the same for the rest of the world.
"It's our first night away from the others, Age," I whisper. The subject change is painfully obvious, but Aegis simply shifts at my side, wrapping a hand around my waist. Go on, his touch assures me. I'm listening.
"It's our first night alone." I reiterate as if that will somehow link these words to our previous, if brief, discussion. Aegis, thankfully, doesn't comment or try and bring us back to whatever he was originally trying to say. Instead, he twists around, the Arena light reflecting in his dark eyes, glinting off mirrors of unwavering kindness and support. "You're not alone," he says, with painstaking clarity. "You have me."
I duck my head under the gentleness of his gaze. "That's not what I meant, Age."
He raises an eyebrow. "Then we are still not alone." He tugs me closer, nestling me up against his side, hand curling protectively around my hip. Normally, I would protest such actions, but... this is Aegis. It's Aegis, and he makes everything beautiful. I rest my head against his chest and listen to the vibrations of his voice as he points at the sky. "We have the stars, Thames. The stars and the moon and constellations."
His fingers tug and sift through my hair, gentle as the wings of a butterfly, and I can't help the small break in my voice as I ask, "Show me?"
There is no hesitation in his movements as he points up. "That's the Big Dipper." His finger traces a path across a starlit sky, and supernovas explode in my chest as I watch.
"That's the North Star, right there." He points out a single star, shining brighter than all the rest. "And that," he purrs, a chuckle rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, "is the Great Pancake."
Laughter, golden and astonishing, bubbles up inside me. Spills out, uncontained. "Age, there is no such thing as the Great Pancake!" Aegis simply smiles down at me, and those inkwell eyes are lit up from the inside with an indescribable glow. And his beauty steals my breath away.
For now. Just for this one night, maybe this world, torn and bloodied as it is, could be ours. Ours. Just for tonight.
o0o
9th: Sash Radcliffe, 16, District Eight Tribute (Submitted by ShippingDeity) Killed by a dagger across the throat and through the heart, courtesy of Halliday Frost. Sash… Sash, after my own heart, a rockstar and band player and just generally a more badass version of me. Only thing missing is the keyboard instead of a bass. Heh. But back to his character… holy rutting hell. So much fun to write, so easy, I could sing this guy's praises to the moon because what a dynamic character. I didn't want to see him go so soon, but with this Sponsor gift and suggestion that came along with it, it was too good of an opportunity for me to turn down, and also give Halliday another kill. Sash, bud, you were already maimed, and I think you knew this moment was coming from the moment Halliday looked up from whatever was in that box. Rest in peace, Sash Radcliffe. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 1/1/3]
8th: Ambrose Volta, 14, District Five Tribute (Submitted by dsalazz) Killed by a slit throat, courtesy of Killian Doppelman. Ambrose… okay, I don't necessarily enjoy the fact that I only have two other girls alive in this Arena. I really don't. But in the end, I suppose everyone else does have to go, and only one can walk out alive. Unfortunately, Ambrose, that one wasn't you, despite your wonderful demeanor and potential within this story. Rest in peace, Ambrose Volta. May you fear no evil. Feel no pain. [KDA: 0/1/0]
o0o
Alliances:
Angels and Demons: Thames Venturi (D1M) and Aegis Harlow (D2M)
Ice has Melted Back to Life: Halliday Frost (D1F)
Danger and Diplomacy: Lauren Silver (D3F)
Claws and Cruelty: Mikail Drakil (D4M), Asher Foster (D5M)
Living on the Edge of Insane: Phoenix/Killian Doppelmen (D6M),
o0o
A/N: And another chapter written and posted! I hope you all enjoyed reading it! I certainly know it was a blast to write, even if *winces* there was some pretty gruesome stuff going on. Apologies if I made anyone lose their appetite. The next chapter, Over the Edge, will be in the works tomorrow, although September 11th may be an unrealistic publish date because I have two other things I need to have completed by then. But either way, my goal is to have chapter 30 out before next Tuesday. Praying that I can achieve that.
Sash and Ambrose are both dead, and with the tragic death of the rockstar that is bound to shake Panem to its newly laid foundations, the lower Districts have been eliminated.
Thames and Aegis are in the forest, Halliday is at the Spiral Course, Lauren is in the city, and so are Mikail, Asher, and Killian.
We have seven remaining in the Arena! Best of luck to everyone else out there, and may the odds be ever in your favor!
Fun fact of the chapter: Parts of Killian's PoV were inspired by a few of the letters left behind as the famed, still unidentified Zodiac Killer.
-THE REMAINING SECTION OF THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE DEPICTS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND THE DARK, DARK THOUGHTS OF THE AUTHOR. PROCEED WITH CAUTION-
Alrighty, I figured I would explain what exactly Killian did to Ambrose for like, the one other person out there that's interested. What he did was cut out parts of her cheeks, in a sort of crescent pattern, so it looks like she has a massive smile going literally from ear to ear. The reason why the cause of her death wasn't blood loss, is because human beings are surprisingly resilient. I mean, you can survive getting stabbed in the back by a one-foot long knife six-ten times if you're lucky and no major organs were hit.
Over, out, and may the odds be ever in your favor,
~SetFires (Vixen)