Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games

The Finale

Satisfied by the resulting explosion, Solomon lowers his bow and watches as the dust settles. Boom. Boom. Boom. Three cannons fire as a result and Solomon is the happiest he's been since he raided the cornucopia for the bow he currently wields.

He knows that miles away in every direction, Panemians across the nation are slack jawed at what he just did. Let them be, he thinks, notching another bow as he slowly progresses towards the site of the explosion. It just goes to show them that they shouldn't put all their eggs in one basket and to expect the unexpected. This reminds him of the Career training refresher he took before he was even considered the male tribute. Dozens of men, some older, plenty younger all vying to get a second chance at the lifestyle they so desperately craved. Solomon knows that he wasn't the best of the best among that group and that there were plenty of them. But where were they and where am I? As the selection slugged on, those 'alpha-tier' men slowly whittled away until he was considered the best one for the task. It wasn't sheer muscle or the ability to make Capitolites swoon on demand - but a level-head that got him through that training and would get him through these Games right now. If Sarissa had the same mantra like him, maybe she would be the one standing here and not him.

Hmph. Sol pauses, peering down the way to observe the area proper. Even with the flames that continue to burn around him, the arena had retained its greenery - had. After bombing it with his bow, the area was marred with a black scorch mark, bodies strewn everywhere. Sol suddenly worries about the Gamemakers sending something in to knock him out of the running for killing their heir-apparent. He can imagine that the mentors and Two at-large are pissed off. He doesn't want to even think about the Capitol's reaction. It was either me or her and I obviously chose me. The Capitol gets their safe choice and Two gets another victor under their belt. My life will have renewed meaning again and my family will never struggle for anything ever again. What's there not to like? Goodbye odd-jobs, goodbye feeling sorry for myself, goodbye sitting on a cliff and wondering about my mundane future.

For Sol there would be no more worries. All he had to do now was clean up the trash and claim the crown he dreamt about for years.

But still, it ain't over till it's over. Anything could go to shit. Solomon tries to calm himself, taking deep breaths, moving at a snail's pace, but everything seems amplified because of his nerves running on overdrive. The cackling of the flames from the firestorm the Gamemakers kicked up around them, the scrunching of the pine needles under his boot...He doesn't hear Maia Clear shuffling up above, but feels her collide into him as she drops down slams him onto the ground. He's quick to fight the offender off of him, rolling onto his knees with his kukri drawn.

When Maia commits to something, she commits. She charges forward with her axe.

The first thing Tuesday notices is her blurred vision.

Realizing where she was and how she got there and how being like this was a big no-no, she rolls onto her back with a gasp, shaking her head in an attempt to clear the black and gray edges that dominated her eyesight. The fogginess recedes on the left side but remains on the right side. Next it's the stinging sensation she notices next - concentrated solely on the right side of her face. This was also coupled with what Tuesday thought to be a horrendous smell. The type of smell that would accompany...burned electricians...She raises a hand towards the area in question and immediately regrets it, hissing at its tenderness and scowling that the liquid soils her fingers after the fact. Tuesday immediately recalls the Two woman pressing her foot into her head against the burning tree. She wishes she had kept her mirror, wondering what her disaster of a face looks like. No one truly leaves the arena whole...Focus Tuesday. The Career, where is she? Her eyes snap from the embers that float down from the burning trees above onto the scene behind her as she maneuvers her body. Tuesday is astonished when she lays eyes on the charred, disfigured body of the Two woman that continues to smoke. If it weren't for her hair being somewhat intact and her dark skin exposed by her arms and partially her face, she wouldn't be able to properly identify her.

Its then that she remembers drifting in and out of consciousness after the Career finished burning her face off. Just before she drifted off, there was a loud explosion. She instantly remembers how an explosion could come to be, recalling the Two man firing a multitude of flammable arrows into the trees to flush her and the others out during that night. He must've been saving an explosive one to kill them all in one fell swoop.

Tuesday spies the Sixes next. She sees Theilan sprawled out against the charred ground - his unfocused eyes gazing toward her - while Zahira is at his side, babbling like a madwoman. Or, at least what Tuesday thinks is babbling. Her frantic, bulging eyes and rapidly moving mouth make it look that way. She can't hear anything because her ears feel like they're submerged underwater. The Six woman tries to resuscitate but Tuesday knows that Theilan was a lost cause. His uniform is charred and tattered. His face is bloody, pocked with lacerations and the only movement he makes is his head bobbing upward and downward each time Zahira pumps his chest.

Tuesday feels someone grab her, maneuvering her so that she was sitting on her bottom. It was Veradisia, her albino skin marred with a plethora of cuts and grime.

"Dr. Suetos, you need to get up!" Vera yearns, gripping Tuesday by the collar. The Five woman is barely responsive, quirking a brow at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. She groans in response, peering down the way to see that Maia was still battling Solomon and holding her own. She just needs to get the doctors back into the Game so they can go over and end this - so she can end this. The explosion has all but made her desperate to put a stop to these wasteful Games. She cups her hands around Tuesday's cheeks in an attempt to snap her out of her daze and immediately regrets it, noticing the blistery, raw skin on the right side of her face. Vera can't help but be shocked at the wound. The surgeon was rather demure in her eyes - fairly attractive. Growing in pain, Tuesday squeezes her wrists, causing her to remove her hands.

"What..." Tuesday begins, heaving as she fights off a wave of nausea. "...happened to Kaviraya?"

She whips her head over to where her district partner lies, in-between Sarissa and the Sixes, his battered body contorted in an awkward position - his leg bending in a crooked position while one arm was angled awkwardly behind his back. She checked his pulse. Kaviraya was gone. Vera stops gawking at Tuesday's face, focusing squarely on her eyes as she shakes her head. "He's gone."

Tuesday glances off elsewhere, downcast. "Right..."

Vera tugs her along, towards the Sixes. "Solomon is coming and I'm not sure if he has more bows like the one he just fired." Clutching her reopened sword wound, Veradisia rushes over to Zahira's side and jostles her shoulder. She's thankful that Zahira seems passed the 'inconsolable' phase and now seems at ease with the thought that Theilan was gone. Zahira seems tired even, as she cranes her head to meet Vera's eyes. I don't blame her. We're all tired of this. You'd think that after seventy-five years people would be angry enough to stop them then and there. Here we are now, a century later...

"He's gone..." she breathes, sighing deeply. "I was onto something, he had I tried, but-"

Vera would want nothing more than to mourn with her, but there was absolutely no time. The three women flinch when a nearby burning branch crashes to the ground. A chorus of screams and shouts cause Zahira to whip her head upward, over to where Maia and Solomon continue to battle it out. She barely catches Maia limping away behind a tree as Sol stalks after her. Vera wanted to help. "We need to act now, or none of us has a chance."

Tuesday is already on her feet as Vera helps Zahira upward and the three begin hobbling toward Sol and Maia.

Even though she was fighting for her life, Maia Clear couldn't be more surprised at how 'well' she was holding up against someone like Solomon Kohli. She's seen plenty of Games where Careers would massacre a non-Career within seconds

Maia's years of regimenting her cardio means very little when it comes to standing her ground amid the firestorm that continues to blaze around them. With what limited space she's got, Maia stumbles as quickly as she can through the scorched trees, huffing and puffing all the while. Panic is the only thing that's front and center in her brain, that and getting away from Solomon Kohli as fast as she could. She thought she could take him, her weight alone should've stunned him long enough for her to scoop up a kill, but the Career got up just as fast as he went done and was on her like a mutt to meat. A few minutes of fighting - more like defending, bobbing and weaving in her case - alongside the various cuts and stabs she has on her body have made her beat. She only has Solomon's leg injury to thank, alongside the abundance of trees or else she would've been shot down or cut up a long time ago. Her chest, thanks to all the smoke in the air feels like it's about to explode, but she'd rather feel this way than be dead. She knows that there are some surviving tributes left from Solomon's bombing. All she had to do was get over there and distribute some of the stress, then maybe she'll get by and eek something out.

Just feet away, Solomon is growing increasingly tired of chasing the Three girl around. If it weren't the end he'd have half a mind to just stop and take her out another day. He's got to give credit where credit is due, Three was a crafty one - not wanting to give up by any means necessary. He opts to quickly sheathe his kukri and withdraw his bow, notching an arrow. He has a Games to win and Three was a obstacle in the way of the crown. Three is running alongside the fire wall now curving leftward, so he shuffles, drawing his bow backward as she sees this and pushes her body to go faster. He times himself, shuffling from tree to tree with her, waiting for the right moment to fire. When Three passes through a clearing devoid of obstruction, he fires, watching the bolt streak through the air and connect with her side - skewing through the portion of her body where her heart and lung were housed. Still, like a doe being chased by a predator, as soon as she hits the ground she springs up again with an evident hobble only to crash onto the ground once more. He knows what he has to do, but it still doesn't take away the twinge of sadness he has for her. I can't knock her, she tries hard. Shame.

Sol draws another arrow and preps to fire.

Before he could line up his reticule, His forearm explodes in pain as a silver knife sinks into it from one end to the other, peppering his vision with blood. He bellows out a cuss, and although he still remains calm and collected on the outside, inside, his body grows hot and his heart races as he turns to meet his assailant - Tuesday, flanked by Veradisia and Zahira.

Tuesday is seldom a woman for theatrics, like finales usually go with their witty monologues and one minute stare downs. So when her knife connects into his arm, she slings another one Solomon's way, only for him to dodge it by diving to the ground. She, along with Vera and Zahira, skid to a halt and she withdraws two more knives from her bandolier. She watches Veradisia rush over to Maia's side, whose agonal gasps for breath already labels her a lost cause in her eyes. I mean, how naïve must you be, rushing to a fallen tribute's side during the finale of all occasions? Tuesday thinks the two shared brief words before Vera eases Maia to the ground and a cannon goes off signaling her death.

Vera doesn't turn her head around to face her or Zahira, but instead keeps her gaze squarely on Solomon, who struggles onto his feet. "Dr. Kazimirova, you take the left while I take the right," she says, unsheathing her rapier. "Dr. Suetos, you take the center."

No one complains. Tuesday definitely wasn't as slowly but surely, the three of them begin to surround the lone Career. None of the three non Careers were expecting this ending, especially with him being the last of the pack. Zahira for example was expecting the One man and Sarissa to make it this far. Oh my gods imagine if they did. I wouldn't be breathing right now and I almost wasn't. For all intents and purposes, Solomon was a smooth operator. Even now as he could easily be rushed if Zahira and her ragtag alliance weren't inwardly scared themselves, the Two man puts up a good front. Her eyes focus on him and him alone, staring as he shifts his eyes from her, to Tuesday and to Vera all while inching backwards. Zahira constantly thinks to herself about who would be the one to start things off. It wasn't going to be her, that's for sure. She needed to go about things the right way, District 6 was counting on her now - her babies were counting on her now. She whips her head over to Vera, who's movement becomes more frantic as her eyes shift upward.

Vera points a finger upward. "Tree...TREE!"

Zahira's head snaps upwards and ignoring the shooting pain in her leg, she hobbles out of the way as a burning tree comes toppling down, dividing the four of them. Just as soon as she shields her eyes from the flying embers, Solomon clambers over the burning log and charges towards her. Zahira doesn't shy way, but instead meets him halfway and slashes out with Theilan's sickle. When it collides against his curved machete she presses the attack, sickle cutting through the air towards his chest, his neck - anywhere in an attempt to score a hit.

"He's over here!" she cries out, concerned and annoyed that none of them have rushed to her aide yet. Solomon beats her back, hacking and thrusting towards her until she has her back against a tree. He thrusts his blade towards her head and she barely avoids being skewered, instead the steel wedges itself inside the tree as she dips low, her thigh flaring up in agony while swiping her sickle across Solomon's midsection. She stumbles to her left as the Two man cries out, padding down the wound with his hand and glaring incredulously at the bloody result. He tugs his blade from out of the bark and begins stalking towards her. Zahira keeps her lips tight, stifling a grin as she sees Vera in her peripherals as she rushes over and strikes Solomon down the length of his back. He yelps in response, lashing out towards her, lashing out towards Zahira as she tries to get another hit in only to dip down as Tuesday lobs another knife his way. As he spins around to keep track of his three assailants Zahira notices that his back was wounded quite badly with a wide, open gash cutting through the fabric and through the skin - turning his red blouson one shade darker than it was already. His blouson dangles each time Zahira or her allies would feint attacks towards him. Zahira figures with all the blood that was soaking his back and his front that he was running on pure adrenaline and fear alone.

They continue to box Solomon in, inching him ever so closer to the wall of fire that contains them. Zahira watches as the closer he gets to the wall, the harder Solomon cringes as the flames lick at his back. Solomon knows that he if doesn't make a move, they'll just watch him burn. So he flails out toward Zahira again, swinging his machete in a downward arc. Zahira swings upward just as hard, connecting with Solomon's blade and causing the Two man to recoil backward. The recoil causes pain from the wound on his side and across his back to combine and create an agony that leaves Solomon completely exposed. The women take full advantage.

Tuesday lobs a knife, and it sinks into his chest. Solomon yells, blood dribbling out of his mouth as he staggers backward. He doesn't fall yet.

He doesn't fall when Veradisia thrusts her sword into his side, retreating only when he chops back in retaliation. He's reeling now, wheezing heavily while lurching to and fro.

Zahira closes the distance, dodging his weak upward swing as she lunges, slamming her sickle into his chest and following him as he collapses onto the ground. His cannon must have fired but Zahira didn't hear it, instead choosing to continue hacking away at his lifeless body. It was his fault that Neha and her kids will never see their father again, so he didn't deserve to fade away peacefully.

...

Hopped up on the motions, Veradisia takes full advantage, grabbing a fistful of Zahira's hard and thrusting her rapier through the Six woman's back through to her front.

She retracts her sword, watching as Zahira rolls off of the prone body of Solomon and onto her back. Her face etched with shock, Zahira cradles the wound on her chest, her head resting on the ground while sucking in one last gasp of breath before her cannon fires immediately after. That was my first kill, Zahira thinks to herself, eyeing the bloody length of her rapier. Sarissa and Solomon were assists at best, but she was my first. While she felt for the deaths of the Careers, she knows that they knew what they were signing up for - brainwashed and willing participants in the senseless blood sport that was the Hunger Games. Zahira was not a willing participant and she had kids at home, which made her immediately regret her decision to do what she just did. Don't worry, Doctor, it'll be rectified soon I assure you. She turns to face Tuesday, gasping the silver knife that flies into her vision and whimpering as it tears into and bounces off her skull. Her blood dribbles down onto the left side of her face, blurring her vision.

Seeing Veradisia do what she did made her laugh out loud. It seems that Veradisia too at the end of the day did not care as much about people as she let on. Tuesday dares to think that she is in some ways, like her. Still, she wasn't going to be a victim to Veradisia's well played scheme to have meat shields do the dirty work so she could expose of them once it was all said and done.

Tuesday withdraws two of her larger knives to better counter the reach of Veradisia's rapier and begins her charge over to where the young Twelve woman stands stunned from her attack. Like the past thirty-odd years be it high school, university or her career, her pragmatism and persistence have seen her though yet again. Truth be told, she was quite angry when her name was called during the reaping, sad even. But by the time the visitations were over, she was already morphing herself into the tribute she needed to be in order to get out and return back to her practice. She had a leg up, as years of vivisecting and patching up the walking hunks of meat we call 'human beings' and informing their irate loved ones of their prognosis - and being the grownup in the room - translates well into dispatching other tributes without 'feelings' getting in the way. Two weeks ago she often brooded to herself about 'feeling' and why it was so hard to 'feel'. Well now, she praises that aspect of her character to the sun and back. If she were like any of these other tributes - the feeble-minded woman from Eleven, overly moralistic Theilan or a caretaker like Zahira - she would be dead.

It wasn't that she didn't care about wanting to feel - to be wholly human instead of just existing alongside 'normal' people. She wanted that, yes, but she needs to just 'not care' for a few more moments. One it was all said and done, she would leave this chapter of her life behind and return back to her district and attempt to life a renewed life. Perhaps she would do this with Dr. Kanton Jaxter.

Vera lashes out at Tuesday before she could close the distance, thrusting out with her rapier and when Tuesday evades that, swipes toward her mid section. She manages to get a thrust in, a shallow stab on the abdomen that gets Tuesday to hiss out in annoyance and pain. Vera narrowly dodges another knife to the head as Tuesday flings one, only for her to duck and stagger back as Tuesday stabs out at her.

Vera on the other hand does not want to return to her district and 'try to live' a normal life. Nothing about this farce society was normal. Her Mother and Father tried and failed to make Panem a better place twenty-five years ago at no fault of their own. Now it was her turn to try.

Vera's heart is in her throat now, thrusting outward each time Tuesday would press the attack, only for the Five woman to maneuver backward and come back for more like a predator trying to wear down its prey. Vera thinks it's as if Tuesday isn't afraid of being cut, the doctor's steely look of determination only confirms this theory. Tuesday is bold, too bold now as she closes the distance between them.

Vera chops her blade downward, cutting into Tuesday's shoulder just as she feels her abdomen explode in a pain so great she shrieks in agony, her sword all but forgotten on the charred forest floor as the knife enters her a second time - Tuesday gripping onto her back the only reason she remains upward. She feels the blood leave her and no matter how much she tries to keep it in it was like trying to hold in a full bladder - it just keeps coming out. Vera vomits blood, spilling it onto Tuesday's chest but she doesn't seem to care, leaning her lips towards her ear anyway. Vera dips down to her knees, her hands dangling listlessly by her sides.

"That was your aortal artery," Tuesday whispers into her ear, simply with no malice, as if this were casual secret - as if she were slipping confidential medicine to her patient. "It won't be long no-"

Much to Tuesday's surprise, blood erupts from out of her mouth. She can't breathe. No, no, no, no, NO! HELP! She drops Veradisia and finds herself staggering frantically about, trying to stem the bleeding but she knows better. She still does it anyway, covering the wound with her hands and going as far as to try and pinch the wound. But like a colander, the blood seeps through her hands. Delirious, Tuesday grips onto a tree for dear life losing consciousness before sliding down to its base.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the Victor of the One Hundredth Hunger Games - Veradisia Annora Smith."

Veradisia gawks as the flames that engulf the arena are immediately doused by a roaring wind, casting her and the bodies surrounding her in a shroud of smoke before dissipating within seconds. She guffaws, droplets of blood spewing from her mouth. It worked. Vera couldn't believe it worked! They tried to belittle her in the press. She fought them off with her charm and wit. They cornered her against two Careers, look where they are now. They tried siccing mutts on her and they failed at that too. You see, she thinks, glancing up the sky with a slight grin. I knew I was onto something extraordinary with this. I knew it! With a little boldness and determination, anything is possible.

Inwardly, she revels at the thought of President DeWynter and her lackeys holed up somewhere in some ornate backroom cussing up a storm and slamming their fists in protest that their victor was a so-called black sheep from District 12.

Her elation washes away immediately as pain continues to ravage her body. She looks at her grimy, albino skin and wonders if she could get anymore whiter than this. She won't be around much longer, if Dr. Suetos cut her right like she said she did. She takes off her blouson, fingers trembling as she wraps it tightly around her stomach, causing her moan in agony. She could still feel the blood seeping through the tight knot she formed. She ignores the national anthem and the cheering of the crowds as she clings to a nearby tree and forces herself up, panting as the sensation in her legs makes it feel as if she were walking on needles or as if she has never stood in her life at all.

"I guess we were wrong. Maybe Ms. Smith can make a difference in the way she intends to." Pax says through her communicuff.

"Not entirely, my dear colleague. I believe she'll find her aspirations to be quite limited." Vi replies.

She snickers weakly, shaking her head. Stupid, stupid holograms, she thinks to herself. They were wrong across the board, they'll figure out soon enough. Vera is actually quite glad she would be the one to prove them wrong for once.

Her body cold and jittery, Vera pushes from off of the tree, staggering a few steps before crashing to her knees. Oh gods, I'm so, so tired. She shakes off the urge to collapse entirely, watching as a hovercraft quickly descends towards her position. She ignores this, deciding to take in her fellow fallen tributes that litter the space around her. She did her homework on all of them - as much as the media divulged.

What, we had two heirs, two second chancers, a coquettish bus driver and a rightful deserter, a rising star and a witty grifter, a humble sailor and a Career in over his head, a cold surgeon and a sensible explorer, a shrewd doctor and a selfless shrink, a boisterous lumberjack and a passionate caregiver, a renowned author and a mindful factoryhand, a determined jailbird and an attentive proprietor a meek, affable citizen and a protective hunter, a trapped husband and a reluctant scientist, and lastly a rigid aide and a determined young woman.

All Veradisia Annora Smith sees are dead husbands, wives, sons, daughters and so on who meant something to their communities only to be torn away because dead minds in higher places don't like the word 'change'.

President Kane dared to dream of a Panem bent on change...he got riddled with bullets for his troubles, yet no one seems to care. Who does he get replaced by? His Vice President, Viondra DeWynter - member of 'Panem's most dutiful family', serving alongside men like Ravinstill and Snow. When Kane's own son runs to unseat her, a crisis arises and DeWynter lands on her feet. Kane is 'exiled' - i.e. killed. Yet no one bats an eye.

Ricardo explained himself nationwide like a rational person and got his tongue ripped out in return.

Veradisia shakes her head. What an absolute waste. But the ball was in her court now, there would be no more waste. Veradisia was a firm believer in getting one's point across. In Panem's case, change doesn't start until you make it in an overt fashion.

When the hovercraft activates its tractor beam, she doesn't make a move to head to it. She thinks back a minute prior to Maia's final words.

"You...up to...something..." Maia gasped as she laid dying in Veradisia's arms. "...Do it..."

"No thanks!" she says aloud, a wet cough erupting from her throat. She collects a lone knife on the ground before her, making it level with her left breast. "Let it end with me! This is for the twenty-eight HUNDRED tributes who have given their lives for nothing and the hundreds of thousands more who died to make a difference!"

She plunges the knife into her chest. The pain is immediate. She canters sideways before toppling to the ground, dead.