Night 5
– District 1 –
Amren Nox places the mug in front of her husband, but his eyes don't tear from the screen for even an instant. She sighs before sliding down into the opposite chair, the fabric still warm from before she left. Her eyes feel heavy but tonight doesn't feel like it will be any shorter than the previous ones.
The Capitol announcers have once again taken over the screen, but Amren is unable to concentrate on the words pouring from their lips. All she wants is to crawl into bed and not think about the alarm set for the next morning. Another day of the same- working until mid-afternoon when the screen will be waiting for her here. It feels like it never ends and all she wants is sleep.
"Ashara Nox comfortably sits in the second-place slot as voted by you at home," the woman chirps with her never-ending smile still firmly on her lips. "Jordan Kalisco, however, is not willing to give up first-place as he pulls in another thousand votes today alone."
"She's doing well," Tybolt whispers, but Amren would be able to pick up his voice through a hundred others. Every word used to make her heart leap, but lately she dreads when his lips part. It was the same when Asher was in the arena last year. He's just too optimistic, always has been, and Amren just isn't willing to get her hopes up.
"Of course she is," Amren agrees, but anyone could tell that her words are empty.
Tybolt's eyes drop to the steaming mug in front of him, but his hands make no move towards it. "You could at least pretend to believe in her."
"One in five," Amren says without any attempt to mask the crack in her voice. "We have to consider that."
"They love her," he says, waving a hand to the commercial playing on screen. "She's going to do it. I know she will."
Tears gather in Amren's eyes, but she turns away before her husband can see. There have been far too many tears between them over the past week without her adding to them. "They loved Asher too."
"That wasn't his fault," Tybolt snaps, but the anger flickers out before it can take hold. She can tell that her husband is just as tired as she is, but it's beginning to get harder and harder to care. He just doesn't understand. "Besides, Ashara's different. She's always been different."
She's always been like me, Amren thinks but she holds her tongue. The last thing she wants to do is fight with the one person who will be able to understand their second loss. Still, it's all they seem capable of these days.
"You've watched her," he pleads. Amren knows that all he wants is for her to just agree with him; for her to tell him that their daughter will be home soon and that they don't have to worry. However, she isn't willing to lie to him when so much is still unknown. "The centre taught her more than we could have hoped."
She doesn't catch herself until the words have already spilled out. "They're the reason she's gone."
"It was random," Tybolt says, clenching both fists in his lap.
"You don't believe that."
"Of course I do."
Amren stands from her chair and her husband follows suit. Their coffees lay untouched in front of them, but no amount would have cured their exhaustion anyways. She doesn't know if she will be able to deal with another round of grief when the first is nowhere near completion. She doesn't think she can stand the sound of her husband sobbing beside her for even one more night.
It feels like such a losing battle to even pretend to hold onto him.
It's difficult to tell whether she's closed her eyes as Ashara grasps her throbbing head. The arena is darker than she's ever seen it, the candlelight having long since burned out behind her. It would be terrifying if she didn't feel so sick right now. To her aching temples, the darkness is almost a blessing.
It would be so much easier to allow herself to fade into sleep, but Ashara knows that's a risk too high to take. The dizziness might have faded with the candlelight, but it left behind one of the worst headaches she's ever had. She might only have a year of first aid knowledge, but the centre had been adamant about head injuries. People can make do without a lot of things, but a working brain is not one of them.
Besides, every time Ashara closes her eyes the only image waiting is Delias. From a strategy standpoint, taking him out was the smartest move she could have made. He's always been one of the biggest threats, and he was vulnerable with his back turned. Delias didn't have the chance to fight back. He didn't have the chance to kill her first and that's the only reason Ashara is still alive.
He trusted me and I killed him.
Ashara rubs her eyes until they burn, trying to keep the pitiful tears from falling. She has no right to cry over Delias when she made the choice to bury him. She has no right to feel anything but guilt or pride, because her grief is too difficult to sort through right now. Her tears feel like acid in her eyes, but Ashara refuses to let them escape. Crying over him feels like a cop-out. Her mourning is pointless when it was her knife that killed him.
She's spent the last year hating Isa for leaving Asher behind, only to discover that she's a dozen times worse. Isa never killed her ally, it was Ashara that took the very first chance she got. It might have been the smart move to make, but that doesn't make her hate herself any less. She's a hypocrite at best. A traitor at worst.
She's alive, but is that all that matters to her anymore? The caustic tears still burning her eyelids say otherwise but they don't change what she's done. She could spend all her remaining days crying and it wouldn't bring him back.
No, she doesn't deserve to cry. Not even a little bit.
Ashara curls her knees up to her chin when she hears the nearby branches rustle. A few hours ago, she would have forced herself up to take even the slightest opportunity for another kill. She can't blame the spinning in her skull for her inaction anymore. She's just so tired and her thoughts are like a hand clenched around her throat. It almost feels good to let them suffocate her, to let them show her how worthless she can feel. They're not enough to stop trying, but they're enough to keep her tucked against the tree and simply hoping that no one will find her.
She isn't worth motivating, but she just can't give in. She can pause but she can't stop. Not now, when she's come for far and gotten so close. Please, just keep going. Please.
– District 4 –
Fire. No matter which way Grier turns, all she can see are flames swirling above her skin. Screaming is impossible for she knows that the moment she moves, the fire will finally consume her. As her body trembles, it sears the hairs on both arms, but she cannot stop herself. So close. It's all so close.
Grier Kalisco's eyes fly open as the pressure on her shoulder pulls her from the nightmare. Tears are hot in her eyes as the shadows of the room come into focus. The old couch slumps under her body as she tries to sit up, and her movement sends dust into the air. Grier shudders as she turns towards the room's new centrepiece- a flickering screen whose light looks far too much like fire.
"It's late." As she begins to recognize her surroundings, Grier isn't surprised to hear her sister's voice. That doesn't stop her from turning away.
"I'm still watching," Grier whispers. Her eyes burn as they try to focus on the screen but that's not enough to deter her. Every second that she's been able to keep herself awake has been spent in front of it. There's no other way to know that her brother's still okay.
"Come on," Ivanna says, nodding towards their bedroom.
Grier shakes her head. Just the thought of leaving the screen sends a surge of fear into her veins strong enough to tear through her exhaustion.
Ivanna sighs, but she doesn't press further. "He'll be okay."
"I know," Grier agrees, but the crack in her voice betrays her uncertainty. They've had this conversation a hundred times since Jordan left but every time it feels less sincere. Grier doesn't want to think about him being anything other than alive. He has to come home.
When the front door clicks open, neither takes their eyes off the screen. It's hypnotizing, this shiny box that transports Grier into the arena with her brother yet refuses to let her help him. She isn't sure if she loves the screen or hates it. She's too tired to even try and separate the emotions.
"How is he?" Her father's voice is softer than it's ever been, but that's just become normal for all of them. It's like they're all afraid to speak, to move, to do anything now that he's gone. Grier's own throat stings from the constant whispering.
"He'll be home soon," Ivanna says quietly, squeezing Grier's hand tighter with every word. Grier can't stop herself for reaching out for the comfort of the statement. She needs so badly to believe that her sister is right.
Another cloud of silence settles around them as the announcers replay clips from the feast. Even though her stomach turns as she watches, Grier doesn't turn away from the clips of her brother. Any glimpse of Jordan is something to hold onto, even when she barely recognizes him.
"He'll be different when he gets back," her father whispers and Grier doesn't have to turn to see the tears in his eyes. This isn't the first time he's said something like this and it makes her more upset each time. Ivanna says that he's trying to temper their expectations, remind them that Victors aren't the same when they get out, but Grier doesn't want to hear it.
"I just want him back," Grier snaps, tearing her eyes away for a moment to look at her father. He's the reason that Jordan will be different, him and their mother. Money is the only reason that he left. If they worked harder, he would still be here. He wouldn't have had to train after work and stop tucking her in at night.
If she thought about it more Grier might regret blaming them, but it's so much easier to hate them than to hate Jordan. All she wants is her brother; to her tired mind, nothing else matters.
Jordan wants nothing more than to charge himself deeper and deeper into the forest. People might say that there's no running from their problems, but they've never run their body into the ground like he has. They don't understand the mental freedom that he can only get with complete exhaustion. It's been something Jordan has always been able to count on. He can't compare the old grease on his hand-me-downs to his classmate's polished shoes if he's too tired to notice.
That's all he wants right now. Jordan holds the flashlight steady in his hand as he picks up speed, concentrating only on pivoting around roots and trees. The others will be afraid to keep their flashlights on, but Jordan won't allow himself to put it away. He should want them to find him; it's the only way this is going to end. He slams the soles of his boots harder against the soil with each step, but it doesn't make a difference. He's out of breath, stopped with hands on his knees, but he still feels just as weak as when he started.
Weakness is the hardest thing for Jordan to understand right now. He's done everything he's been trained for and ended too many lives to count on one hand. He's the only volunteer remaining despite only training for a year. Jordan should feel strong, capable, and ready for this all to finally be over. Instead he feels the same as the moment the darkness first descended on him at the feast- confused, afraid, weak.
Things had been so clear over these last few days. Jordan has held all of the power; he's cut down anyone who dared be even be near him. The only scars he'll have are from the dog-creature's claws on his back. He's taken out Aristona and outlasted Delias and Romello. Anything that should make him afraid is either dead or far away.
Yet, he shivered against the total darkness and hesitated in front of Noemma. Jordan can tell himself that it was strategic all he wants, but he'll never believe it. He's never felt a damn thing for any of the others he's killed. Nothing should make her any different but something did.
Jordan thought that he had finally found himself in the arena; found a place where he was on top and not crushed under someone's shoe. The power he feels as strongly as electricity over his skin is intoxicating. No one can beat him, no one can even try.
If he could go back, Jordan promises himself that he would kill her. His blade would cut through her throat like butter and he wouldn't allow himself to care. Noemma might cry or scream like the others, but he wouldn't let that stop him. No, the next time he sees her, she'll be dead. Nothing will ever make Jordan feel weak again.
Not the arena, not the darkness, and certainly not Noemma.
– District 4 –
Thomas Dobra never thought he would feel out of place by the docks. He's practically grown up by the water, taking odd jobs until he was given a longlining job almost five years ago. Seeing the coast guard towers grow up ahead, however, sends a wave of unease over him that's stronger than any ocean current. Thomas has never actually visited his sister's work, and now feels like the absolute worst time to start.
He doesn't understand why the guard can't wait to get her locker cleared out, but Thomas isn't in any state to argue. Noemma isn't even gone yet, but things have already moved on without her. It makes him sick to his stomach how little they care about her. There's no doubt in his mind, though, that his boss would do the same thing if it had been him.
To the higher ups, neither of them are anything special. Except they're wrong, because Noemma is special. She's his sister and she's still alive even though everyone talks about her like she's already dead.
He doesn't recognize the man that opens the tower door, but he greets Thomas by name and welcomes him inside. It all feels too casual, too happy, when the air at home feels so broken down. Is it wrong to think that the world shouldn't be allowed to feel so normal without her?
"We had to empty her locker already," the man says with a shrug towards the edge of the room. "Everything should be there, though."
"Thanks," Thomas nods. There's someone else in the room, but he ignores her as he steps towards the cluttered basket. The smile on her freckled face reminds him too much of his sister.
He isn't even sure what he's looking for as he rummages through her belongings. There's not much here, but Thomas can't help but feel like he's violating her privacy by touching any of it. He didn't think to bring a bag, so he carefully places what he can fit into his pockets. A ball of stretched hair ties, a mostly empty water bottle, a handful of folded papers that he can't bring himself to look at. He'll have to carry the rest.
Thomas flinches at the sound of giggling, and it hurts more than it should to realize it's not his sister. When he turns around, the girl is sitting on the man's desk with her hand playfully squeezing his shoulder. The man brushes a hand over her thigh and whispers something that Thomas doesn't want to listen to. He turns back to gather the last couple items, feeling immediately like he's intruding. He's not sure if he's being cynical or if the way that the man's looking at her truly is making him sick. Either way, Thomas decides it's about time to leave.
He has to pass the couple to get to the door, and the girl jumps down from the desk as he gets closer. Her uniform looks a lot like Noemma's, and its bright colours contrast heavily with the man's smart dress. He pulls her to his side for a moment before he sees Thomas approaching. The surprise in her eyes could easily be mistaken for discomfort.
"Leaving so soon, Thomas?" The man asks with a cool smile.
"Yeah, uh-" Thomas begins, racking his brain for a name but coming up with nothing.
"Matteo," he answers. "Thanks for coming on such short notice. I think we'll all miss having her around. She was a hard worker, that one."
"Thanks," Thomas says flatly, though he wishes that he had the nerve to say nothing. If they can't even wait a couple or weeks to replace Noemma, they don't deserve her. He'll be sure to remind her of that when she gets back.
Though they're the only offer of light for miles, Noemma does everything to avoid the glowing cobwebs. She's grateful for the breaks in the curtain of darkness, but it's too good to be true that something could be trying to help her. She's always done her best to be optimistic, but even Noemma knows that nothing good can come from the arena. She keeps the webs well in view, but only gets as close as she has to.
Her only plan right now is to get away from the Cornucopia, but it's hard to trust herself enough to know how far she's walked. Noemma's exhausted, but the thought of someone stumbling over her as she sleeps is enough to keep her going. She still can't see the end, but Noemma knows that it's getting closer. There's a real possibility that she might actually get out of this place. It's hard not to dwell on thoughts of the outside and remember that she's not there yet.
There are too many emotions swirling around her mind to even begin to sort through. Noemma's wanted a lot of things in her life, but they all feel so superficial compared to right now. The late nights of studying coupled with early morning drill practice feel like nothing, even though they felt like everything back then. Her first year with the coast guard felt like a blur of exhaustion, disappointment, and pride. She wanted to do something with her life, and she wanted it to mean something.
Now, she just wants to have her life. Noemma has seen and done unspeakable things since she left home. If she thought about it harder, she might still hate herself for killing Evi or being ready to fight Jordan. If she makes it home, Noemma's sure that she will get there. Now though, as she shoves a piece of bread into her mouth, she can't hate herself. In the strangest possible way, she's actually proud.
She still finds tears on her cheeks when she doesn't remember crying. Nightmares still flash behind her eyelids every time she closes them. In fact, Noemma's mind feels as bruised and battered as her body, but there's some peace in that simple realization. She's fought for herself. She's good enough for herself. For the first time that Noemma can remember, no one else's opinion matters.
She ran into the feast even knowing the danger. She turned to face Jordan no matter how furiously her legs shook. The others might be more prepared, some of them might have even trained to be here, but Noemma's stronger than she ever knew.
Noemma screams as a silhouette passes closely in front of her. She scrambles backward, almost losing grip of her spear as it smashes against a tree. It's too dark to see where they've gone but Noemma doesn't hear movement. The flashlight is in her hand within seconds, its dim spotlight finding the figure easily.
She doesn't recognize him. That's the first thought that crosses Noemma's mind as she stares across at the boy. His eyes are as empty as Jordan's, but rather than focused they only look tired. The tribute slowly brings his hands up in front of him, palms facing her. He doesn't look afraid, but Noemma is certain that she does. She hasn't seen anyone since Jordan ran off.
"Stay back," Noemma says. Her voice isn't nearly as strong as last time, and the fact that she is still fumbling with the spear only makes her less intimidating. She wasn't expecting a fight, not so soon. She should have been, but she wasn't.
The tribute nods, palms still raised. For a moment, their eyes remain locked and their feet remain firmly on the soil. He doesn't look like he has a weapon, but Noemma has no idea. Anyone who's made it this far is a threat, including herself. She can't be too careful.
However, when the tribute starts to back away Noemma doesn't follow. Maybe she should have, but all she does is keep the beam of her flashlight fixed on him until he fades between the trees. A hushed voice in her mind tells her that she should chase after him. That hushed voice sounds too much like Evi for Noemma to even consider listening.
– District 6 –
The front door creaks as Carina Truist pushes her way inside. She places the bag of groceries on the messy counter, dampening the sleeve of her dress as it glances a foul-smelling puddle. The house is quiet but that's become more comforting than the alternative. Without her sister around, any noise makes Carina's skin crawl. She knows it won't be Chiara's loud sighs tumbling across the floorboards.
Carina peers into the living room and can barely see her father's head above the couch. She didn't expect him to have left, but it's still disheartening to see him blocking their screen. A gift from the Capitol, her mother had whispered as the men installed it. For the first few days, much like her mother, Carina had wanted nothing to do with it. The Hunger Games are too violent for her to stomach, even if she desperately wants to know that Chiara is alright.
The ill feeling in Carina's stomach has not gone away, but her apprehension has. Every spare moment she can gather is spent in front of the screen hoping for a glimpse of her sister. That is, when her father's not around. They're not actually able to turn the screen off, but the volume is always as low as it goes when he's home as he doesn't like the noise. Carina is trying not to hate him for that.
"Has she been on?" Carina asks softly, stepping lightly onto the ragged carpet. She can smell his greasy hair from a distance, but she says nothing about it. Just like her mother, Carina has always been too afraid to make waves. Chiara has always been the brave one, but now she's gone.
"Hm?" Her father groans, squinting open his eyes but turning away when he sees her. Grime isn't all she smells, and Carina can see that the beer he'd been sipping when she left has gained a couple of friends.
"Chiara," she whispers. Her voice is timid and practiced, unthreatening by design because that's simply easier than making a fuss. Still, she has to ask. Crushing the panic that swells in her chest is worth any harsh words. "Have they showed her?"
"I don't know," he shrugs. It's clear that he hasn't been watching, as the volume is still turned down. His head rests against the back of the chair so Carina tiptoes over and plants herself in front of the screen. If she leans in close, she can almost hear what the announcers are saying.
Images of the five remaining tributes fill the screen, each with a number hovering on top. Carina's stomach turns when she sees Chiara at the end of the lineup. The number five sends panic bubbling up into her throat but the pounding in her ears makes it impossible to hear the announcers. Did something happen while she was gone? Is she alright? A hundred questions flash through her mind before Carina can even make sense of one.
She can't stop herself as her fingers clench around the volume dial and voices fill the room around her. "-a race for third place as votes continue to pour in. Jordan and Ashara can rest assured, however, as their leads don't seem to be doing anywhere."
It's only rankings. Carina can finally breathe again as the announcer's words swirl in her mind. Chiara's okay, she's still alive, nothing happened. She still feels dizzy, but the tears pulling at her eyelids start to recede.
"Turn it down!"
The voice from behind Carina is loud enough to drown out the screen, and she cowers against the wall without facing him. "I just wanted to hear the announcements."
"Did that screen break your ears too?" He snarls, but the fact that he hasn't risen from his chair makes Carina feel just that little bit braver.
"The announcements-"
"Are too loud," her father interrupts, uncrossing his legs until both feet are firmly on the ground. Carina can manage to hold his gaze for only a moment before her eyes return to the carpet and she turns the dial back.
He's dead.
Chiara isn't sure if that revelation pushes the knife in deeper or eases it out. She had almost missed the anthem completely, stomping around the outskirts of the Cornucopia like maybe that would put her back together again. Then, in the single second she decided to look up, she saw his soft smile staring down at her. Doran. He didn't leave her at all, one of those cannons earlier had been for him and she didn't even realize.
Somehow it makes her feel both better and worse to know. Is that selfish- to be glad that he didn't actually abandon her like she thought? It has to be, right? She's cried less over the knowledge that he's dead than she did when she realized that she was alone. If she had the capability to hate herself anymore right now, she just might. Too bad her mind is long past rational thought at this point. Everything hurts and it's hard to know what direction the pain is even flowing anymore.
Chiara is exhausted by the time she sinks down against the tree trunk. She puts both hands up to catch her escaping tears, but too many still manage to reach the night air. It doesn't feel like there should be any more emotions left to feel, but they just keep bubbling to the surface one after the other. It had been easier when she was angry, hating Doran when she thought he left her. Guilt is a hell of a lot harder to deal with.
She slams her fist down on the ground beside her, but it barely makes a dent. Instead, Chiara just feels the tears grow cold against her cheeks. Sadness is a useless emotion, not like anger that she could do something with. Sadness just makes her wants to curl up and forget that she's even still alive. Sadness isn't going to help her win.
Lungs that breath and a heart that beats- it feels like that's all that's left of her right now. At the darkest points in her life, that has had to be enough. Why, then, does it feel like so little right now? Chiara is no stranger to survival, to shutting off her thoughts and just being thankful to be alive. How many nights has she had to hold the bedroom door closed and pretend that she didn't care? Too many to count and all it's taught Chiara is that feeling sorry for herself won't get her anywhere.
Feelings have no purpose in protection except anger. Thankfully, Chiara has plenty of that. Yet, for some reason she can't turn the sadness off or dissolve the guilt as it eats away at her stomach. No matter how much she berates herself for it, she just wants to lay here and forget she exists. She's not giving up. That's not something Chiara could even fathom no matter how much easier it would be. She just needs time, but that's quickly running out.
– District 7 –
If Aviva Mirani could have it her way, nothing inside the storage shed would ever change again. She hugs her knees tight to her chest as she looks around, hating the fact that her father had worked in here that morning. As the days neared to two weeks without Levi, he said that they couldn't wait any longer. The log stacks are down to their bases and they have orders to fill. Aviva can't say that she understands.
It's not like their house is any quieter without him, Levi has always been content in the background just like Aviva. Still, she wants things to feel different because she feels completely changed. She can't remember a day since her father took the lumberyard that they haven't spent together. He's her best friend, and now he's just gone. The world shouldn't just get to move on without him, not when she's still stuck in the storage shed hoping he'll walk in.
The only reminder that anything has changed is the screen. Aviva didn't think it was possible to hate an object so much, yet still be so drawn to it. The recaps are by far the worst part. They show him pointing his gun to that girl's head beside an image of the girl from the week prior. They show him sobbing over his district partner's dead body as a doctor posits her undiagnosed head injury. They show him rolling down the hill and immersing himself in a dirty stream to get away from a nightmare cloud of spiders.
Yet, Aviva has only seen the clip of him talking to the District 12 boy once. Every other image she's had to watch looks staged, like an actor is wearing his face and committing these horrible acts just to hurt her. That moment is the only one that feels like Levi, and they refuse to let her see it again.
It's not fair.
"Aviva!" She can only pretend not to hear her parents for so long. Aviva wipes at her eyes and brushes the sawdust from her clothes, but she suspects that does little to fix her appearance. The days of worrying have taken their toll and Aviva is more tired than she's ever felt in her life. She won't be the same until she knows that he's coming home.
"Aviva!" The door opens quickly in front of her, just narrowly missing Aviva as she makes her way to it. Her father ushers her inside, shaking his hand off after touching her shoulder. Most days that would have upset her, but lately she's been too tired to care. "Dinner's ready."
Aviva nods, but she doesn't follow him into the dining room. As they always do, Aviva's steps take her directly to the screen. Her entire life revolves around this 'gift' and that might be one of the reasons why she hates it so much. She can't stay away for more than an hour without checking in. It will be a blessing when it's finally gone.
The colours are still strange from the night vision technology as they flip between tributes. It's hard to get more than a glimpse of each one, but Aviva can't peel her eyes away. It's impossible not to feel helpless as she wonders which one might stop her cousin from coming home. There's nothing she can do and that's just how things are.
Aviva is about to walk away when the screen focuses on someone walking. It's not hard to tell who it is, even from behind. Her heart reaches for Levi through the screen, but of course he can't feel her. Her parents call for her from the other room, but she ignores them. Aviva waits for the image to flip to the next, reasoning that dinner can wait a couple of seconds.
By the time she counts down from ten, the screen is still focused on Levi. "Dinner's getting cold!"
Aviva can't come up with a response, in fact she barely hears her father at all. Her eyes search Levi's surroundings, but it doesn't take very long to place him. She's seen the rock wall clip at least a hundred times, but this isn't a replay.
"Stop," she whispers, gripping the sides of the screen until her knuckles turn white. "Please, stop."
Levi's hands ache as he catches himself from falling once again. The rocks are colder than he remembers, but just as slick. In the darkness, it's almost impossible to know where he's going. The spiderwebs don't go this far, and Levi's beginning to think he shouldn't either.
He can see a faint glow where the top must be, though he doesn't recall it being so high up. One foot slips again and sends him chin-first into a rock, but at this point it's easy not to focus on the pain. Levi's entire body feels like it's been through a woodchipper twice. He's more shocked that there's room left for more bruises.
Levi feels blood run down his knee the next time a rock slashes against it. For some reason, picking himself back up is the easiest thing he's done since leaving home. Just like the first time he ventured this far, it feels good to have a direction. Everything below looks the same, sounds the same, and that would normally be so comforting to Levi. Every time things have changed for him it's for the worse, yet he desperately wants something different right now.
If everything stays the same, Levi knows he's going to die. He can fight reality until the life drains from his body, but that's simply the truth of the matter. There are people in here that are willing to do so much more than he. The constant sound of cannon fire proves that.
He's not sure what he's expecting when he reaches the top. Maybe some colourful light display, a purpose that called him up here in the first place, but it's exactly as disenchanting as Levi remembers. He has to squint to see where his feet meet the ground. The fog is as thick up here as the last time, maybe thicker if that's even possible.
Levi glances behind him, but the rocky slope has already been swallowed by the fog. His next steps are disorienting as the cloud moves along with him. He reaches a hand out and the air swirls around his fingertips, only just missing his skin. This all feels so familiar, and Levi can't stop his heart from picking up speed. He has the sudden, heavy feeling that he shouldn't be here right now.
He doesn't care.
Levi's hand shakes as he raises it up again, causing the fog to shiver alongside it. He can't help but worry that he was wrong about coming up here; that maybe he wasn't remembering correctly after everything that happened. Levi wills himself another step forward, praying that there will be something there. He's not sure what he will do if there's not.
His hand flattens out against a warm wall. Levi's second hand joins the first, and he presses his body closer to the barrier. He was right. There is something here. The relief is so palpable that Levi can almost forget that he doesn't know what to do from here. Everything was focused on going back, on once again finding the place where the arena ended.
Levi's hand slides down it as he crouches down further into the fog. He's never felt more trapped in his life; not in the storage shed chopping an endless number of logs, not in the Capitol when every door was locked behind him. Not even in the arena up until this exact moment. The warmth spreading through his fingertips isn't a mirage, but it's just as unreachable.
He can almost feel the outside- nothing in the arena has been this warm- but he'll never touch it again. They've trapped Levi in this place to die yet allow him to get this close to freedom that will never be his. They know that he's powerless, just like he's always been.
Bitter tears sting Levi's eyes as he stares through the barrier at the mirrored fog. It's not fair. They shouldn't get to trap him or anyone else here to make this impossible choice. No one should have to play along for a shot at freedom or give up for a certain death. All of this is wrong.
His fingertips graze the cold metal in his pocket. Levi hasn't so much as looked at the weapons since he got them, and fear is definitely the reason for that. They both carry blood in their barrels, blood that he can't help but claim. Still, when the gun touches his skin, Levi pulls them both out in front of him.
Something else. A third option. As the thought crosses his mind, Levi doesn't allow time for logic to overrule him. No, he simply grasps both handles, points the barrels in front of him, and pulls the triggers.
The Gamemaker Control Room
Rajiv's nails digging into her shoulder is not the awakening that Zuri would have preferred, but it does the job. She barely manages to stay in her chair and has to grab onto the table as she opens her eyes. There are no windows in the control room, but Zuri knows that it's late simply by the blurriness she's attempting to blink away.
"What?" She groans, swatting Rajiv's hand away.
The two of them have had a pretty good deal with these night shifts. Zuri had been skeptical as to why anyone would need to be here when nothing was happening, but she's since warmed up to the idea. The two of them take turns dozing off until the others trickle in for the morning shift and the pay isn't half-bad. Life is great as far as she's concerned.
Her mood changes instantly as she follows Rajiv's gaze up to the projection screen. The pair can only stare with mouths agape as the tribute aims the gun and fires directly into the forcefield. Within seconds, alarms start sounding and blinding lights are flashing across their faces.
"Oh shit." Neither knows who spoke, all they know is they need to get Claude and they need to do it now.
"I'll go," Rajiv says quickly, his cheeks flushed even against the strobing lights. Claude's apartment is just down the hallway, it'll only take a few seconds to run over. However, that plan is quickly forgotten when Rajiv looks up to see cracks spidering along the forcefield's surface.
"There's no time!" Zuri shouts, tossing a chair out of her path towards the door. Claude has always told them all that the button was only for emergencies. If this isn't one, well, Zuri is willing to take the chance at a scolding just to make the alarms stop.
"Wait!" Rajiv yells, but it's too late. Zuri hasn't even taken her hand off the button before the screens around the room begin to flicker to life. Groggy faces, most of them still in bed and covered by the artificial light of their home tablets. Rajiv's heart nearly stops in his chest when he realizes it's all the Department Heads.
Zuri and Rajiv stand frozen in the room as Claude begins shouting orders. "Dinah, cut the cameras. Abel, back up the forcefield. Chaya, block the remaining guns and activate the failsafe. Where's Yulia? We need the mutts back there. Get him away from the forcefield!"
"He's severed the connections to that area, sir!"
"I'll send out the replays to cover the camera outages."
"Guns have been overridden. Working on the failsafe now."
"It'll take me a minute to spawn then mutts up there, it's not a coded site."
Rajiv only understands what Abel is talking about, having worked in terrains for the past two Hunger Games. The forcefield is weak by design with millions of microscopic holes poked into the wall to save them from monitoring oxygen levels. Still, that's never been a major concern in the past. Camouflage technology hides the barrier from view, the only way anyone can know it's there is by touching it. Even that's only happened a handful of times that Rajiv can recall. Nothing like this has ever happened.
Zuri's hand still hovers over the emergency button as the Department Heads argue above them. Rajiv catches her gaze and the fear in them is like looking in a mirror. He tells himself that there is nothing else they could have done, but he's not sure if he believes it. More importantly, though, he doubts that Claude will believe it.
Levi can't see the cracks form through his tears, but he certainly hears them. The remains of gunfire still burn in his ears, but there's no mistaking it. Levi reaches out and finds splintering where the wall had just been smooth. The invisible barrier is breaking. He's never wanted so desperately for something to crumble in his hands.
He lifts both guns to fire again but finds himself unable to even push down the trigger. Levi tries again and again, but nothing happens. He uses the damp sleeve of his uniform to wipe at his eyes and presses closer to the barrier. He can see it, and the cracks spread across the surface only heighten his resolve.
It has to break.
The barrel of the gun smashes against the middle of the webbing and a few more slivers appear. He can almost see the outside, it's just so close. Once the first piece of glass cuts his fist, any remaining rationality leaves him. He's not even certain he's breathing, the only things that matter are the glass shards raining down around him.
Everything stops when the warm air hits his face. His hands are shaking and blood drips steadily from them, but all Levi can do is stare. Nothing looks all that different, there is no light streaming in or people waiting to take him away. There are only shattered glass edges and the wind that whispers through it.
A shooting pain up his arm is the thing that breaks his trance. He clenches his teeth together to keep from crying out as his wrist tenses down to his fingertips. Levi's first thought is of the spiders but looking down all he sees are streams of dripping blood. Then, as he looks up again, even those don't matter.
He's going to get out.
The jagged hole isn't big enough, but he slashes at the edges until he is able to pull himself through. Heavy footsteps creep into his ears, but when he turns all he can see is the same dense fog. He's nearly through when he sees the doggish silhouettes leaping out towards him.
Levi gasps as glass rips through the muscle of his arm. Sharp pain radiates across his bicep as he pushes himself the rest of the way through the broken barrier. By then, the first silhouette is already at the breach. All Levi can do is bring his good arm up to protect his head as it leaps towards him.
Glass shatters from the impact of the large creature. Levi's eyes are already shut in anticipation, but when no new pain appears he dares himself to open them again. When he does he sees is the final creature, its teeth bared towards him as it disintegrates into the night air. Not a single matted hair is left behind. It's like it was never there in the first place, which is fine with him. That thing has no right to exist outside of arena walls.
Levi sinks to his knees and the blood from his fingertips mixes with the tears on his cheeks. He doesn't know where he is, but just knowing it isn't the arena is good enough. He didn't think it was actually possible, but here he is. The giant moon isn't staring down at him anymore, no, the sky holds the same faded moon as District 7. It's like he's already home even though he couldn't be farther away.
When Levi tries to stand, he finds the movement impossible. A stitch runs all the way down his left side and the tense cramping has burrowed deep into his leg as well. When he looks down, the skin of his stiff arm is mottled with white. He reaches up with his opposite hand to stretch his neck, but the muscles there refuse to relax either. He needs to get going but his body refuses to listen.
A moment later, it's too difficult to even sit up and Levi flattens reluctantly onto his back. Even the muscles of his chest feel tight as they clench around his lungs. Before long, the only thing he can move are his eyes, which desperately search his body for the cause of his paralysis. The first thing that stands out is a pulsing light in the middle of his forearm.
It's at that moment that Levi understands that he won't be getting any further.
Levi isn't able to turn his head as the hovercraft descends towards him. His every muscle burns like he'd been set alight but his jaw is too tight to cry out. He's afraid, no one could watch that door slide open without a pounding heartbeat, but no more so than when he was inside. It's calming to realize that they can't do anything worse to him than they already have.
A tear slides down his cheek as they get closer, but he doesn't beg the guard that approaches. He knows that there would be no point. He looks up at the moon, his moon, before allowing his eyes to slip closed. Then, all Levi can feel is the warm air on his face and the barrel of the gun against his forehead.
No tribute hears the gunfire, but each one raises their eyes to the sky when the cannon sounds. As the echo fades, the arena delves into strained silence as the creatures quiet. Even the wind falls into stillness around the trees, and the tattered leaves droop on their branches. For a moment, the only movement comes from the slow breaths of the remaining tributes.
A blanket of thick fog begins to seep around the shattered barrier, coating the cracked glass and the warm air behind it. It descends slowly down the rock wall, coating the eerie glow of the webs and plunging the arena into arrant darkness once again.
5th: Levi Mirani, District 7
A/N: Hello, hello. A bit of a different arena chapter but I wanted to check in with the families as they're watching the final five fighting it out. These got way more emotional than I expected but I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. Hope you enjoyed.
This chapter was pretty nerve-wracking, as I've had this last scene sketched out since I received this particular tribute. They've always had a special place in my heart, even as I knew early on how they would die. I generally connect well with my tributes, but the strength of this connection was honestly a rare breed. When I say they'll be missed, I really mean it.
Congratulations to our final four- Ashara, Noemma, Jordan, & Chiara! Next chapter we'll be crowning our Victor and leaving the arena behind. Anyone that knows me will already know that I haven't chosen my Victor yet, so this is your chance to convince me. Tell me why your favourite deserves the crown over the other three if you have the time. Otherwise, I'll see y'all at the finale.
~ Olive