XXXIII. Stolen Innocence

Amply to thee is opened now the cavern
Which has concealed from thee the living justice
Of which thou mad'st such frequent questioning.

CW: The forth P.O.V. of this chapter contains gory depiction of torture-esque violence. Please proceed with caution.

They never thought they'd once again be subject to such intense self-doubt. As far as Mal has previously been concerned, they left such diffidence back in Six, the moment that Peacekeeper dragged them away from Orsino. As soon as their former lover ratted them out, Mal's sworn that they'll never get so attached to somebody that they start to question their sanity ever again, but clearly they're not the best at keeping promises considering their relationship with Mozi. At first, Malin didn't think much of it. It was nice being appreciated by somebody else and nice to have company as the days go on in this cesspool, but lately their bond with Mozi has proven itself to be a problem.

Mainly, they're worried that their District partner doesn't feel that same level of closeness. Mal took comfort in the fact that Mozi oh-so-clearly trusted them more than they'd ever trust Judas, but after the events of yesterday, they can no longer be so sure. The Seven boy may have said that they saw him during their walk with Mozi, but Mal swears to— fuck, whatever it is that I have to swear to— they never fuckin' saw him. Besides, if Mal did see Judas hiding out on the roof, they would've instinctively produced whatever meager whimper their throat could muster, but they did not see him, and therefore they were perfectly quiet.

(There's only been a few instances where Malin has been upset over the fact that they can no longer speak. The first was right when their tongue was cut from their mouth and they were still adjusting to their mutism. At the time, they could do sixty-eight different things with their lips, and properly articulating what they wanted to say was one of them. It was something that they had to learn, especially once the prison warden took away the pencil they'd been using to write notes because "pokey objects are dangerous" or some other bullshit, but to the surprise of everyone, Mal actually persevered.)

Now, they're upset once more that they can't communicate the same was they used to, but for a different set of reasons. No matter how good somebody is at reading lips, hearing somebody speak with their voice will always be a dozen times easier to interpret. And so, when situations come up where it's Malin's words against somebody else's, the opposition is always going to win, just because of convenience. In prison, they'd often get into verbal (or in their case, non-verbal) spats with the other jailbirds, but Mal didn't mind as much because it wasn't like their life was at risk. Sure, they're the one who put their own life on the line just for the thrill of it, but that doesn't mean they want to die just because of the fact they can't talk.

Or, more specifically, they don't want to die to Judas' hands, or lord-forbid Mozi's because of the fact they can't talk. The Hunger Games are a lot of fucked-up things, but Mal would prefer if they aren't also ableist.

Who are they kidding? Of-fucking-course the Games are ableist. They've never seen a kid with any sort of major impediment get that far, but then again, they also have never previously cared about the Games that much. They've always felt trivial when they were busy running off stealing shit just so they could survive. Everything in life is trivial compared to survival.

Mal shouldn't need to suddenly feel like they have to be this high and mighty disability rights activist, but after Judas' stupid little gimmick, their relationship with Mozi has been slightly ajar, and if they could just fucking speak, there would literally be no problem.

There wouldn't be a problem if Mal hadn't fucked around and gotten attached to Mozi either. That was again, something that never should've happened. They swore off people and closeness after Orisno sent them down the river. They limited connections to minor mischief with their fellow prisoners and the occasional hookup when they were pathetically desperate to feel something. Mal planned their Games as a solo force, their own source of turbulence which would slowly destroy everything in front of them, but instead they're playing second-fiddle to a fucked-up doctor-lady who is for some fuckin' reason, incredibly fond of them.

Either that, or Mozi's a damn good actress. It was kind of her to help them speak to their stylist right before the chariot parade, but they never thought that their first real conversation with her would somehow lead to something that Mal can only define as friendship.

Not that they're complaining. Or… at least they weren't complaining at first. They admire Mozi for a lot of reasons. Like Mal, she's chaotic, clearly broken down, and unhinged to the point where she doesn't care about her clear lack of mental fortitude. She's shockingly strategic and loyal, and shit; she's like Orsino without the sex, isn't she?

(As rarely as Malin admits it, Orsino's companionship always meant more than kissing in alleyways and running away when Peacekeepers got near. Being with Orsino meant that Mal didn't have to feel lonely, and lord how they loathe feeling lonely.)

This degree of attachment would matter a whole lot less if Mal wasn't suddenly so worried that her trust of them is wavering.

The two of them haven't spoken in a few hours now. They'd gone off earlier in the morning to ransack some of the other shops in the city for food, but they were without their typical banter. Mal knows that Mozi's always described their alliance as a "business arrangement," but this is the first time it's actually felt like one.

As they crush their granola bar in between their teeth, thanking the heavens for their impeccable gag reflex, Mozi looks at them with slight annoyance. They're used to Mozi seeming annoyed with them, but until now, it's never actually felt genuine. Malin is more than aware that they can be a lot to handle, even without their obnoxiously loud voice, but they had thought that Mozi didn't mind.

They swallow their bite then walk core to her with their typical jaunty smile. They're expecting Mozi to give them one of her usual greetings, but instead she's silent, forcing Mal to initiate the conversation. They stretch their jaw then move their lips to say, "Hiya Mozi! Mind if I skip the pleasantries and ask 'ya a question?"

"What is it?" The hostile tone in her voice just confirms the fact that she's mad at them.

"Now, this sounds a bit cliché, I'm realizing," they mouth. "But I was wondering if by any chance you're mad at me?"

"I have no fucking clue." She puts her head into her hands and sighs. "I want to believe you and not Judas when you said you didn't see him, but for some damn reason, my brain is making it real hard for me."

"My brain's been hard on me too," Mal admits. "You got any idea why yours is acting up?"

Mozi stares into a space for her moment, pondering her thoughts before she speaks once more. "Mainly, I think it's telling me that I should be afraid."

"Of what?"

"Getting attached to you," she continues. "I know, it's fucking ridiculous, but I've been burned in the past, and now I'm afraid of letting people in. You've done nothing wrong, I swear. I'm just afraid. There's so many good places to meet people you can cherish, but lord the Hunger Games sure are not one of them."

So she feels the same way? That's… somewhat reassuring. Scary, but somewhat reassuring. Mal hums to themself as they figure out a response. "Would you call me a copycat if I said, well… not-said that I feel the exact same way? I told you 'bout Orsino, and well truth be told, I'm worried that you'll do me dirty the same way he did. It's ridiculous but y'know, we're—"

"Here," Mozi finishes their sentence. "And neither of us intended on making friends."

"Yet there you were," they mouth. "For some fucking reason, I was drawn to you. I hate to say it, but I don't see that changing anytime soon."

"There you were," she echoes them. "I can't explain why, but I was also drawn to you. It's weird, like, if I met you anywhere else, I think I'd dismiss you as a rat."

"Well, I sorta am a rat." Mal move their lips and laughs.

"But you're my rat," Mozi enthuses. "Fuck, that sounds so weird. Look, I'm sorry for letting my feelings get in the middle of things."

"I forgive you," they respond. It's silent for a few moments, so Mal takes that as an opportunity to add more to the conversation. "And I wanted to say, that like… I mean this completely as a friend but—"

"I love you too." Mozi smiles, standing up to wrap them in a hug. "You're family to me, and family doesn't let family get hurt."

"What if I was going to say that I really want to pee on you?" They giggle through the awkward silence that follows. "Nah, I love you, Mozi. You're also my family."

She's the first family that Mal's ever had. Their parents left them and Orsino was hardly a friend. But Mozi's different, and even if the clock is slowly ticking down, Malin Mardari is going to wrap the world in their fury with her at their side before it hits zero.

Maybe he underestimated Hedy. Yes, the Judas Nazario underestimating somebody, absolutely fucking ridiculous. Anyway, he didn't think much of the girl at first, she reminded him of just another prep at the Raven's Club who needed to get knocked off her high horse with a game of cards, but now it's clear, Hedy is so much more. If he saw her sleep, he's sure it would be with one eye open.

At first, Judas was somewhat sympathetic to her mission to take out her former ally, but now he questions which one of them is the bigger threat. He's tried prying Hedy for details regarding the whole incident with Eight's death, because the thought of a gun in the arena doesn't seem true, but alas, she hasn't budged. Instead, she keeps asking him details about Malin and Mozi, like she's convinced he left them for reasons besides the fact that they're fucking annoying. It's like she can't believe it's really that simple.

The two of them seem to have a mutual understanding though. Judas doubts that Hedy trusts him much either, and honestly… good for her! Even if she is lying about Eight and the gun, at least she's smart enough to be somewhat cognizant of the fact he's full of shit. Though, he is a bit surprised she hasn't done anything to act on it yet. Perhaps her schemes are grandeur enough that they'll eventually be her downfall. That's something Judas often fears for himself, so he understands her hesitation.

"Where is that little brat?" Hedy says, stomping her feet on the ground. They've been walking over the top of the ice caverns for the past hour and a half or so, careful with every step so they don't slip and fall as they search for Verdigris. Spending almost an entire day on top of the bar taught Judas to be patient, but that's a trait Hedy seems to seriously be lacking. "Verdigris! It's not fucking funny; reveal yourself!"

"No offense, but why would they do that?" Judas snickers. "You've established that you're bloody pissed at them; I wouldn't reveal myself if I were them. You don't even know if they're nearby."

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, ignoring what he said and continuing with her own hysterics. "If you're nearby, you better fucking come out of where you're hiding, Verdigris. I'm getting impatient, you know."

"What ever happened to the element of surprise?" He grabs onto Hedy's shoulder to prevent her from walking farther. "You're getting so worked up, and for what?"

"I have trauma, Judas," she fires back, twisting her torso to remove his hand from her. "This kid… they fucking ruined me."

The way Hedy talks about Verdigris is another reason Judas is starting to feel like she's full of shit. Admittedly, he never paid direct attention to them during training, he was wrapped up in his own nonsense, but he does remember hearing their interview. They seemed like… well… a sweet kid, and not the vicious tyrant that Hedy made them out to be. They definitely didn't come off as a senseless child murderer, meanwhile Hedy seemed rather… hostile during her interview.

(Judas can't really fault her for killing her own father. When he lit up all of Julian's belongings, he was hoping he'd take out the old man at the same time. Hell, Judas was hoping he'd take out Julius too. Every other member of the Nazario clan deserves to fall more than he does, so maybe that's yet another reason the Games have proven themselves to be an annoyance more than anything. Well… Julia didn't deserve to die. His mother should've been the one who lived long enough to spoil him into eternity, but she's dead when everybody else in the family should be instead. Hell, Judas would give his own life away if it meant his mother could be around longer.)

During his own interview, Judas wasn't nearly as haughty as Hedy was. Sure, he made a joke or two about how he's the obvious victor, but at least he didn't fucking confess to murder. He gave her the benefit of the doubt at first, but now Judas realizes that Hedy was fucking insane for that.

"I'm so sorry to hear about that," he admonishes her in response to her complaining. "But… consider this. Walking around and complaining that you're pissed at them out loud isn't going to do much, my friend. Just… take it down a couple notches, and once we see them, then you can let out all of your feral energy."

"I thought you were going to kill them for me." She raises an eyebrow. "Are you not doing that anymore or—"

"Apologies, apologies," Judas cuts her off and smirks. "We will both let out all of our feral energy, together. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like you're fucking annoying," Hedy groans. "You're so lucky that I can't kill you right now."

"As if you'd even try." He laughs. "I'm much bigger than you, and you've said a million times in the past two hours that you're––"

"That I'm not a fucking idiot, Judas!" She snaps. "But that being said, once Verdigris is gone, I swear if you don't leave me alone..."

"I'll do what I want," Judas responds. "But I can't kill them if we don't find them, you know?"

"Trust me, I'm trying," she says.

"Well then try harder!"

Truthfully, Judas does have the slightest bit of apprehension towards killing Five. Sure, he's killed people before, but at least that was with fire and not directly with a knife. He didn't have to see the people scream, didn't have to see their blood drain as the life left their eyes, but killing Verdigris would be different.

(He does remember sitting by his mother's hospital bed when she finally went to the other side after so many months sick and coughing. By the time she died, Julia Nazario was clearly exhausted, not just from being sick but from life itself. When Judas' time does eventually come, he just hopes that it's quick, and that he doesn't have to struggle the same way she did. He also remembers the last thing she said to him, "Don't you go acting off and turning into your father; remember that you have magic in you." When push comes to shove, he hopes that he's made her proud.)

They reach the end of the cavern and are forced to hop climb down the side, onto a platform that Judas is unfamiliar with. There's a tent set up, and an area for setting a fire that hasn't been lit. A shame, because Judas has always loved fire. It would've been nice if it were here and he'd be able to feel at home.

"Well fuck, we're here again." Hedy walks over to the tent and sighs. "Before you ask questions, this was Verdigris and I's camp before we went off to the caverns to find some water, and then obviously we ran into Eight and shit hit the fan. But! We did leave some food and what not inside the tent, so that's good at least."

Naturally, Judas still has questions. Mainly, he wonders how they'd have an excess of food and no water, and how wandering in a cave literally full of ice in order to get water took long enough that they found themselves in harm's way. Hedy's starting to sound inconsistent.

"What the fuck!" He hears her scream. He looks up to see that she's now inside the tent. "That little shit got in here before us and took all the fucking food. What a little whore!"

He laughs to himself at her sheer dramatic nature. It's almost entertaining seeing how wound up she's gotten all by herself. Emphasis on almost though, because it's still a bit unsettling. Judas follows Hedy into the tent and notes that she's right; there's no food to be found, and no weapons either. "Well, good thing I've got food then!"

"I don't need food; I need you to fucking kill them!" Hedy scowls at him. "Coming here was never about fucking food, you fucking idiot."

"I'm not an idiot," he replies. "You're the one getting so worked up over somebody, not me. It's almost gay of you…"

"Shut the fuck up!" She tries to slap Judas in the face, but she misses. "Maybe I don't need you to kill them."

"So then you'll use your shitty arm," he points out. "Yeah! That sounds great to me!"

"Fine."

Part of Judas somewhat applauds Verdigris for outsmarting the two of them like this, even if it's purely luck. There's something admirable about it still, and it almost makes Judas want to switch up on Hedy and take her out with the help of her former friend.

But alas… He's spent his whole life meddling in things that shouldn't be his, and maybe for once, Judas should just be content without being treacherous. It's a struggle though, and deep down he knows that Hedy's wrong and she needs to go.

It's like her allies think that she's fucking stupid. Vancouver Easton's a lot of things, that's true. She's traitorous and cunning and caustic and occasionally obnoxious, but for the love of all things holy, she is not stupid. It's cute that Lethia and Beowulf think that they can just magically become best friends and put an end to her, she'll give them that. It's just unfortunate… well, unfortunate for them at least, that they won't be very successful in their little quest to take her down.

She's never been the sort of person who's needed much sleep. Running the kingdom has taught her to be alert and aware whenever possible. Vancouver has had to be perfectly vigilant in order to maximize her profits, and while it was tiring at first, her body is now beyond rest. Much like how she's above the two of them and their pathetic scheming.

If they're going to go and betray her, she can play that game as well. Granted, she always had plans to betray them at the first possible convenience, but she thought it would come later than merely the top twelve. Vancouver thought that she had a bit of time to spare before she attacked like a dog in the night, but it seems she'll have to improvise. Any good business owner is skilled in making things up on the fly though, and she is of course, no different.

The two of them are in a huddle when she announces, "It's time for us to go hunting. We've been sitting geese for the past four days, and it's time to actually be productive. If one of us actually wants to win, we've got to do something besides sitting and waiting for Lethia's hand injury to heal."

"So me and you can go!" Beowulf suggests. "And then Lethia can stay here and rest?"

Nice try. She snickers under her breath. There's no way in hell she'd be stupid enough to go off on her own with him. Sure, Vancouver is a decent enough fighter, but Beowulf is trained to kill, and there's nothing stopping him from killing her when it's just the two of them. The same goes for a situation where it's all three of them and their weapons. In fact, it's a smidge alarming that the two of them haven't attacked her yet. Maybe they're also waiting for the perfect moment to strike. She can't fault them, but she can exploit them.

Vancouver looks around at the room, her eyes locking on the iron maiden the same way they do every day. Perhaps it's finally time to put the thing to use. She'd be lying if she said that didn't absolutely thrill and excite her. It's just a matter of finding a victim, and finding one while Lethia and Beowulf are out of sight so they don't see her. Because then, well… everybody loves a surprise.

"If we're splitting up, then perhaps the two of you can go off then." She replies to Beowulf's bullshit. "And I can either stay here and guard our supplies, or I can go off on my own, but separately, so we cover more ground."

Either way, I just need to cover a small enough chunk of ground on my own, she thinks. I just need to get away from them long enough that I can just… do it.

"Technically you're still on house arrest," Lethia says, prompting Vancouver to roll her eyes. "I'm not sure how I feel leaving you all alone with our supplies, I hate to say it."

"I won't run away and take your supplies, if that's what you're worried about," Vancouver pleads. "I can just stay here and keep watch and what not. If the supplies are gone, I give you full permission to kill me. You can trust me, I promise."

Lethia and Beowulf exchange glances. The boy sighs and mouths something to her which Vancouver is unable to make out. He then faces her and says, "Fine. We'll go hunting while you watch the supplies. But I swear, if something moves."

"You have nothing to worry about," she assures him. She's not lying… the supplies will be perfectly fine, it's true. They just may have a new addition, so to speak.

Lethia seems less convinced than he does. "Are you sure? Vancouver, I do agree that we should probably be productive, but just… don't disappoint me."

"I won't," she responds. Seeing Lethia in such an exaggerated state of anxiety is oddly comforting to her. Vancouver was admittedly a bit nervous these past few days, but luckily that's soon to change. She's soon to reclaim the arena as her grand territory, soon to prove that nobody in this world could ever possibly stop her.

"We'll see you then," Beowulf says, grabbing his spear and walking with Lethia towards the mausoleum's door. "Don't do anything you'll regret."

She simply nods, then waves at her allies as they leave. She sits at her table and waits. A minute turns to two, and then five and then ten before Vancouver decides the coast is clear. She picks up a knife from their supply box and sighs. I may be further damning myself to hell with this, but soon it's going to be worth it. Soon, Twelve is going to cheer for me as I come back on a throne, and then it will be clear that unleashing the devil within me was the right thing to do.

Vancouver Easton is a monster, and keeping that part of herself hidden isn't going to do her any good. It's time that she lets the gruesome person she is shine through the cracks of her sanity, for the sake of Twelve, and more importantly, the sake of herself.

She stands up and walks outside, taking in the fresh air and enjoying the fact that she's alone and outside for the first time in forever. Now's just a matter of finding somebody to take. She'll give them a surprise that'll ultimately be worse for Lethia and Beowulf. Because as soon as they realize what she's done, they'll know that she's a serious contender, and hopefully they'll be too afraid to confront her. Beowulf is a coward and Lethia is injured; they're in perfect shape to finally bend their knees towards her.

Her eyes dart side to side as she wanders around the perimeter of the mausoleum's island. It's rather small, so she can see most of it, and after five minutes, she hears a rustle in one of the trees. Vancouver glances up and whispers, "Whoever's up there best come down."

She knows that whoever it is, she's going to have to be brutal to them so they prove a worthy sacrifice on her path to queendom. Chances are, she'll deeply hate herself once the deed is done, but now's not the time for her to be so fretful. She'll deal with her inner demons later; for now she must execute her vicious desires.

There's no response to her call, so she shakes the side of the tree. She hears a faint yelping noise, so she looks upwards to investigate her its source. What she sees isn't exactly ideal, but it'll have to make do. A small boy, the young one from Nine, is hunched over and wrapped around a branch. Vancouver is somewhat shocked that he doesn't look afraid, but rather oddly complicit. It's almost like he's already dead, and her act of actually killing him will merely be icing on the cake. She grabs ahold of the branch below him and uses the back of the tree to hoist herself upwards.

The boy slides himself away from her, still perfectly calm, so Vancouver is forced to climb even higher. With a vigorous push, she's able to position herself besides him, so she wraps her arm over his mouth and tugs downwards. She jumps down, dragging the boy with her and flashing him a cynical smile. He tries to scream, but Vancouver doesn't allow him to. She squeezes at his throat while he kicks her, but not enough that he loses consciousness or chokes, exactly as planned.

She lifts him and slumps him over her shoulder, then whispers a threat in his ear. "I'm sorry-not-sorry for what I'm about to do to you. Just know, you've died for a valiant cause, young one."

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he just lays motionlessly in defeat. As Vancouver begins to walk towards the mausoleum once more, she doesn't feel nearly as victorious as she thought she would feel. Just like the boy, she feels somewhat numb, but hopefully his misery will bring her back to life.

After all, something has to.

Bud Bancroft is a bad person.

He knows this for a fact, because he somewhat recently killed somebody, and good people don't kill people. Even if Ten was a bad person, he was still a person, and no people deserve to die. Not even Mr. Avion deserves to die, much less somebody who looks similar to him.

The boy from Ten did not deserve to die an awful death at Bud's hands, even if he killed the girl from Eight and so many other people back home.

Bud is a bad person for killing him.

He tried to be a revolution. Maybe he's still a revolution if he killed a person who has done things similar to Mr. Avion, but he sure doesn't feel like one. Instead, he just feels numb. That's a feeling that Bud is used to, but it's not one he particularly likes.

Oftentimes, he's numb to repress all the horrible things he's been through, but now he's numb in order to repress his guilt for killing somebody. If he doesn't feel anything, he doesn't have to feel like he's a bad person. He knows that his numbness is temporary though. Bud knows that soon he's going to be subjected to all of his feelings as they hit him at once, but by anticipating it, he hopes it won't be as bad.

As the girl from Twelve carries her, Bud does his best to stay numb. He knows that she's a bad person, the same way Ten and Mr. Avion were bad people, but he can't kill her. If he does, he's just proving that he's beyond bad. He doesn't want to be bad. Bud Bancroft was born to be good, and he's disobeyed his father by being bad.

He doesn't want to imagine how his father felt when he watched his good son become bad by killing somebody. He doesn't deserve a father that caring if he was always destined to be a bad person in the end. Bud may have tried to run, but he doesn't deserve to stay hidden. He deserves to suffer for all the suffering he's caused.

He got his revenge against the world, and now it's time for the world to get its revenge on him.

Twelve swings open the door to the large marble building they were approaching and sets Bud down on a table. He tries to move, but his feet cement themselves and his body refuses to help him. He's stuck, and because he's now a bad person, he deserves to be stuck. He also deserves to die. He doesn't want to die, but he deserves it.

She digs her nails into his wrist and provokes him. "Are you just going to sit there and not say anything? You're not making this very fun for me, you know."

"Killing isn't fun," Bud deadpans. "I've killed, and it wasn't very fun."

"You probably weren't very good at it then," Twelve says with a smirk. "I'll have you know, killing is something that I'm very good at."

He sighs. "People shouldn't be good at killing other people."

"That's what they all say…" Her voice trails off as she plays with the knife in her hand.

Bud's a bit afraid of what she'll do. If she just stabs him in the throat, then he'll easily be dead, but he gets the feeling that Twelve doesn't want to keep this simple. There's still time for him to leave, but his body once again refuses him. It's like every part of Bud knows that it deserves to feel pain, so therefore there's no point in stopping it.

I don't deserve pain. I deserve good things; I deserved a good life… I deserved a good life until I turned into the villain I swore I'd never be. I no longer deserve good things. All I deserve is death.

Maybe he'll get to be back with his mother when he dies. Maybe he'll get to be back with Wheeler. Maybe death isn't so bad when being alive has treated Bud so poorly. Maybe death is his revolution.

Twelve presses the blade into his wrist and watches as rivulets of blood form. It stings, but Bud grits his teeth together so he doesn't cry or scream. He's been so strong throughout his entire life, and even now, Bud will be strong.

She coughs, then uses a rag to wipe the blood off of him, whispering, "This isn't going to work, fuck."

What isn't going to work? Bud wonders. Is he still going to die now? Is he still going to die at all?

She lifts him off the table and again slumps him over her shoulder. He wipes his bloodied arm against her shirt which makes her grunt and squeal, so Bud decides to wipe his arm against his own clothing. Twelve approaches a tall black chamber and opens the door to reveal an array of spikes. He braces for impact and closes his eyes, preparing for her to throw him.

But instead, she sets him on the ground and closes the chamber's door. Suddenly, Bud isn't so sure he's comfortable with death.

It's dark. He can't see because it's dark. Because he can't see, the only thing that Bud can do is feel, and good lord does Bud Bancroft feel so much.

There's a spike digging into his back and he feels his own blood dripping down the side of his shirt. It's warn as it travels down the side of his leg and onto the ground, but Bud doesn't like it.

It's dark. He can't see, and it reminds him of when he was buried alive. It's like the world is closing in on him. Actually, it's not like the world is closing in on him. It actually is.

Bud screams, jolting his body to the side, but that only leads to another spike piecing through his flesh. This time, it goes through his stomach, and bile bubbles in his throat as he recoils in pain. Again, he feels his own lifeblood dripping onto the ground. Again, Bud slowly feels himself fading.

He jolts again, and another spike punctures his chest. One and two, one and two. He takes deep breaths and tries to pull himself backwards so that his lungs won't pop, but instead he feels a smaller spike perforate his scalp. Bud tilts his head forwards, blood dripping onto his cheeks and into his mouth. He's familiar with the mercurial taste, but he doesn't particularly like it.

His head shakes and it's dark so he doesn't see the spike that pierces the skin by his temple. He just feels dizzy and like the world isn't real, and he hopes the world isn't real either. He hopes that he actually did die when the noose was around his throat, and everything since then has just been a dream. He wishes it was just a dream; he wishes his entire life never happened.

The spike further impales Bud's chest, gore dripping down his chest and touching his toes. He screams, but instead of his voice leaving his mouth, there's just a rough hissing sound. He coughs the bile out of his mouth, but more forms immediately.

He feels so dizzy and unreal. He can't breathe, so he tries to put his hand on his chest, hoping that'll do something. It doesn't, because a spike goes through the hand and blood pools in his palm as the metal cuts through to his bone.

Bud's in so much pain that he feels everything and nothing at the same time. He knows he's so close to death, yet he still feels somewhat alive. In fact, he feels more alive than ever before. He feels nothing and everything and dead and alive and happy and sad but mainly afraid because he's slipping, slipping, sinking… dripping away. Fading away like his life was nothing even if he convinced himself that it was something.

The pain in his chest intensifies and he jerks back towards the ground but one of his lungs still attached to the spike so it rips free from his skin and leaves an open wound in its place. He's covered in his blood and he feels his body being smushed to a pulp. He feels his bones crush and his vessels bleed. He feels the world ending and being born at the same time.

Bud feels the fluid congeal in his brain as he hunches over, vomit and bile coating the ground. He squeezes his hands together, hoping to hold on, but the more he moves the more everything hurts and the harder and harder it gets to bleed. He jerks to the side and feels one of his ribs shatter beneath his skin before protruding itself out of his body.

Another rib snaps and he feels a sharp pain in his other lung, and then in his heart. He cocks his head back in pain, only to be met with a jab in his voice box and blood trickling down his neck.

He can't move or else it hurts. He can't move or else he bleeds. He can't do anything or the world feels like it's ending and he feels like he's somehow drowning in his own blood.

Damn the girl from Twelve, I never deserved to die, Bud finally realizes.

He shakes again and feels a spike stick into his eye, the ligaments which hold it in its socket beginning to tear.

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't make a noise and he can't breathe. The walls are getting closer, the walls are getting closer, thewallsaregettingcloser thewallsaregettingcloser.

He's drowning and drowning and choking anddrowningandchoking and dyingdyingdyingdyingdyingdying

White lights flash and he sees his mother reaching out to him with open arms. He sees Wheelan besides her with a devious grin. "I told you we'd get away!"

He wraps himself in his mother's embrace and Bud Bancroft is finally home.

12th Place: Bud Bancroft, District Nine - killed by Vancouver Easton

Okay yeah… that hurt me too. So sorry about that besties. Bud was very important to me… and yeah that sucked. I'm so sorry everybody. As you can now tell, things have gotten very real. They will um… only get more intense both mentally and physically. I'm a nasty slut, so sorry about that. I'm also on a writing rampage so expect more soon. I'll get to Simeon and Bud's eulogies soon, I promise. Yeah… this was fucked of me. I don't have much else to say.

Fuck this shit, I'm out,
Linds

The Leaderboard:
Lethia Aphelion: I
Icarus St. Augustine: I
Beowulf Haleot: I
Atlantis Seasbane: I
Calsin Verrillo: II
Verdigris Ahane-Volcain: I
Mozi Hongqi: II
Malin Mardari: I
Bud Bancroft: I
Vancouver Easton: III