II. PRAESENS

current times. the present.

Future sat patiently on the sofa in District Two's level, eyes unwavering from the television. Both on the screen and just beyond through the large, crystalline windows, the tributes were being recapped. He saw how Thyone gushed over Dior from One; the golden boy of the Career pack, as he had been labelled. Then there was Stellar, the beauty with a beast inside. Future had no way of knowing, but Thyone mentioned that she had intel that Stellar had intimidated the Gamemakers during her private session. He allowed himself to shudder, mind wandering briefly to the way she had decimated the dummies in an attempt to scare the outer district kids.

He and Amazon were introduced next, their district the traditional powerhouse of the Careers. Future listened, chewing his lip, as he heard the Hunger Games historian that accompanied Thyone on her show call him 'half-baked' and 'miles above his own league.' He frowned, annoyed that the man's words reminded him of how doubtful Dior had been in his ability.

"You sure he can do... anything?" The boy from one, Dior, asked with a sceptic eyebrow raised. He glanced over at his partner - a twin, if Future hadn't known the stereotype of Ones - and smirked. Future bit back his tongue - he had enough sense not to let the overbearing pride that came as a complimentary gift of citizenship in District Two get the better of him. Besides, Dior hadn't spared him the thought, speaking only to Amazon.

"Uh... yeah?" Amazon blinked. Future considered it some Keeper bestowed serendipity that he had a district partner that hadn't considered him a dead weight; Amazon had told him as much as she commended (and conflated) his crossbow skills. "Don't your Academies tell you anything?"

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" Alder, the boy from Seven, quipped. He, like Dior and Magellan from Four, seemed annoyed his dreams of a trio of menacing Career guys had been ruined by an escort who sought drama.

"We begin training at eight?" Amazon spoke with deliberateness, stressing each syllable as if the other six came from the Career Districts labelled as 'meatheads' and not them. "By twelve? Keepers... I think we've learnt about fi - is it six? Ways to kill someone."

"Six," Future said, impulse projecting his voice much louder than he would've liked. "We learn a seventh after the Games season."

Future let himself smile as Amazon wrapped an arm around him, pulling his body closer to hers as she smiled smugly at the boy from One. "See? I'd say that's something."

Future blinked, hard. The memory of his first meeting with Dior wasn't one he liked paying too much attention to. He knew some would call him an impertinent child, underestimating all over maturity he showed, but he scarcely cared. Dior was like the eighteen-year-old boys who were far too confident in their own abilities, if only a little less intimidating. His mood was perked up a little when Thyone and her co-host agreed that Amazon was something to watch out for. Fear, nestled deep in the back of his mind, reminded him that she would turn on him if she needed to but he ignored it. That was future Future's problem - in the future.

Maybe he'd be so lucky that he wouldn't need to be the one to kill her - or she, him.

"You ready kid?" Even in his last moments with Future, Kirkor's voice sounded dejected of any hope that his tribute would survive.

Part of Future, a rational and mature part, recognised that from a mentor's perspective the odds had no other way to present themselves but bleakly. The other part, the childish and easily emotional part of himself that Future knew couldn't be shown when he assumed the name Kairos, was upset. Angry, even. Whilst the other Careers likely got nothing but enthusiastic affirmations that they could do it, an extension of their district's support to them, he got the mentor that wanted the year's Games to be over with so he could go back to mentoring the older trainees.

His stylist, Nariala, fussed over the finer details of the arena outfit; tucking some looser buckles in after securing them, attaching some sort of filter around the rudimentary necklace that made up a focal part of the ensemble and, in general, trying to make him look presentable. For a second, Future wondered what the other tributes were thinking about. Were the other Careers excited? Were the two from Four rehearsing swimming techniques like Thyone had joked about that morning? Were they nervous about some of the stronger outliers? Were the tributes from the outer Districts aware that, for most of them, it would be their last few minutes of life? 'Keepers, what was Nariala thinking about? Would his potential death affect her in any way? He pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to indulge in such questions when he needed to be the Career everyone doubted he could be.

Future bit his lip as he felt Nariala secure his hourglass in a small pocket hidden in the arena jacket. Not only had it been a source of nostalgia, easily-accessible comfort when he needed it the most, but it also signalled that the Games were nearly upon him. Though part of him urged him to stay calm - he had made a name for himself, after all, scoring a respectable nine - he could feel his emotions bubbling. Emotions swarmed to him, ones he had repressed to try and seem like an older Career. Fear of the unknown that he couldn't question, the deeply embodied separation from his parents that became all too apparent and, no matter how much he wanted to deny it, the very real possibility of his death.

"All tributes must be inside their designated tubes within ten seconds." The robotic voice of some faceless Gamemaker did little to quell Future's growing nerves. Had it been Mnemsoyne Tanana's voice herself, he may have felt some ease. He at least knew her face.

The voice, however, was just some enigmatic overseer.

"C'mon Kairos, let's get you in the tubes," Nariala said, nudging Future towards the open glass column. The name Lycente had adorned him still felt ever foreign, as if his stylist wasn't talking to him. Really, she hadn't. Nobody in the Capitol had acknowledged Future Chronovich, only his other self, Kairos.

Future still failed to decide how he felt about it, no matter how many hours he had spent questioning it.

He wondered, as he stepped into the tube, if Kairos would fare better in the arena. He remembered what Kirkor had told him; to use the name as a way to separate what happened in the arena and his true self. The Victors scarcely talked about any negatives of victory in the Academy, so all Future could do was hold onto the piece of information as if it were something special. He treasured it, taking it to heart. Anything he had done in the Capitol from that point forward had been justified in his mind as being of Kairos' doing, not Future's. It helped, somewhat, though Future would be lying if he thought that Future was more confident than how Kairos acted.

No sooner had he stepped into the tube did the glass doors close, sealing him and his fate tightly. He must've looked shocked or recoiled at the harshness of the motion, for Nariala's features softened. She offered him a smile, though all attention was ripped from it as the countdown began.

Future held his breath, trying his best to smile awkwardly back to his stylist and allowing himself to wonder if he'd see her again as he began to ascend.

The first thing Future noticed as the lift came to a stop was how cold the arena was. It wasn't a tundra arena - that had been last year's theme - yet the air still had an icy bite. Even as the sun made the golden Cornucopia gleam with a brilliant shine, nothing about his surroundings felt warm. Tall, densely leaved pine trees stretched high into the sky, spaced just far apart from one another to entice chases to the death. Beyond the Cornucopia, a wispy mist lingered around the clearing's edge. The masked filter felt heavier around Future's neck, prompting him to pick it up and put it on. He had no clue if it would hinder his ability to make it to the Cornucopia itself, but the mist looked menacing enough to risk it.

He glanced around at the other tributes. To his left was Traverse, the boy from Six who had been so confident that he could Future and live to see victory. Even as he stood on the podium, taught instincts emerging from his mind, Future shuddered. It was remembering moments like that where he felt the full meaning of being the youngest tribute in the arena.

"Career or not, you're a twelvie - and twelvie's die." Traverse had been so matter of fact about it, his eyes hazing slightly as if he were already imagining the ways he could kill Future.

Future blinked hard, gaze averting quickly when he caught Traverse's eyes. To his left was the girl from Ten. Vivian, he remembered her name being. She, the girl from Five Thermaine and himself were the only twelve-year-olds in the arena, a small percentage compared to the older tributes. Future remembered how he had tried to talk to the two of them, wondering if they would be viable allies if Dior forced him out of the Careers during the Games. Unsurprisingly - but hurtful nonetheless - both Vivian and Thermaine distanced themselves from him every chance they got. He supposed then he was still a Career after all; Amazon had told him as much, imploring him not to take too much notice.

He noticed Amazon just further along the right from him. Sandwiched between the two boys from Twelve, she looked poised as ever to get started. Silent relief flooded to Future when he saw that she too had put on the mask. He was sure it was the first of many times that he was grateful the mask covered the bottom half of his face; the childlike smile he bore would be too jarring for anyone to take seriously. He could tell as their eyes met that she was smiling too, though he was unsure if it'd be prideful, affection or just finding him amusing.

Future hoped it was a mixture of the two.

Glancing back to the Cornucopia itself, the young Career took note of how the horn itself was on a hill. The incline scarcely held a flame to the natural highs and lows of District Two but it was respectable. No doubt it demanded determination and strength, two things Future had found himself to have an abundance of as he masqueraded as a more dedicated Career. He smiled again, but this time to himself. Few in the arena would be able to traverse a hill like he and Amazon could, giving them a much needed advantage.

I just need a weapon, Future thought to himself, willingly letting the training from the Academy regiment itself in place of his usual demeanour. Then I can show them all that I'm just as powerful...

He was grateful too for the advantageous positive it gave him as the resident ranged Career. Although rock-loaded crossbows had become a favourite of his since they had been introduced last year to the trainees back in Two, Future could still navigate his way around a bow and arrow if needed. Amazon had reassured him that it wouldn't come to that, before Athena had all but told him that there'd be some sort of bow there because of his training session. He had gotten a good score too - nine was respectable at just twelve. Future held desperately onto that thought, yearning to find some solace of strength within it, as Thyone's voice boomed across the arena.

"Welcome all to the One-Hundredth and Twentieth Annual Hunger Games! Tributes, we wish you a happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour!"

No sooner had the echo of Thyone's voice teemed off the edges of the arena, a monotonous voice began to count down from sixty. Future's gut wretched, the all too familiar countdown of the Bloodbath no longer being a source of enjoyment. Before, as in before he had sought to make his dream a reality, Future spent the Bloodbath days in the Academy with the others in his class. Oftentimes, as a result of being so immersed with the fleeting energy that could only come from Career trainees, Future had found himself counting down joyously until the gong ran and the carnage began. His mind fluttered home for a second, wondering if there was excitement at the countdown. Or, like some of the Victors who averted their eyes when he reached the stage, were they trying to pretend it all wasn't happening?

10. Maybe he could convince himself it wasn't happening, as the regimented training in his head continued to try and push feelings of anxiety away.

9. What would his parents be thinking? Would there be any pride in anticipating what he was about to achieve? He had told them to expect it, but even in the Justice Building, they seemed doubtful. Future hoped not.

8. Were his friends at the Academy cheering him on? Hoping that he'd come home?

7. He couldn't see a crossbow - would there be one?

6. Would there be mutts? How many? When would they come out?

5. What would happen after the Bloodbath? Throughout the rest of the Games?

4. Was Lycente watching eagerly? Hoping he'd either die in an entertaining way or prevail and be the youngest Victor in history?

3. He wondered if the other young tributes regretted not allying with him.

2. Would Aeternum, his pet turtle, remember this moment long after Future himself at passed?

1. Future's mind had ran blank of questions to ask, questions to decipher to distract himself.

The gong had already rang, and his legs moved on instinct.

The sensation of his legs burning was the first thing he truly noticed, not the incline beginning nor the exhilaration that the Bloodbath imposed on all the tributes. Even though his body was supplemented with likely unhealthy doses of adrenaline coursing through him, Future scorned himself for not stretching first. He could make it up the hill - a lifetime in Two was in need of thanks for that - but his legs burned. Quick glances to his left and right confirmed some hopeful suspicions; some of the tributes from the outer districts were slowing their paces down, allowing only the Careers and some of the more capable tributes to make their way up the hill.

No sooner than he reached the flatter hilltop where the Cornucopia stood, Amazon tossed a crossbow at him, complete with six arrows. If they had been at the Academy, Future might've pulled a small look of dismay before resolving to learn something new but he wasn't in the Academy anymore. He was in the arena, where the adaptability his trainers commended him on at home would be a lifeline. Without thinking - something he'd maybe call in later interviews 'Kairos taking over' - Future loaded an arrow into the chamber.

The crossbow was far sleeker than anything Future had worked with in the past; neither District Two's Capitol hand me downs or the ones used in the Training Center facilities came close to matching the aesthetic of the bow.

"Make sure you look good as you kill. Especially you kid, you're gonna need it." Kirkor's voice rang in his head momentarily, remembering another instance on the train rides to the Capitol where his mentor gave near all of his attention to Amazon. Though he had understood why, all it served to do was make Future want a kill in the Bloodbath.

Still thankful that the filter covered his smile, lest his parents see him as bloodthirsty at only twelve, He noticed the girl from Thirteen, Clara, struggling to make her way up the hill. Future remembered with a growing unabashed excitement that she mentioned in the interviews that she had barely ever walked up more than three flights of stairs before coming to the Capitol, remarking that she was less equipped for the metropolis that District Thirteen had become than her district partner. Such was true now; she struggled to pull her legs up the hill as she tried desperately to keep some momentum going.

Without a second thought - which was a good thing, thinking meant he had time to regret it in the moment - Future aimed down his sights and fired the first arrow of six.

Instead of crumpling down in pain like Future had hoped, Clara continued her climb upwards. Judging from the snickers behind him - Dior, he had learnt, had a very distinct laugh - the arrow had missed her entirely. Gritting his teeth, the fear of being seen as the expendable Career becoming a more tangible reality, Future turned and aimed his crossbow at a different target. An easier one. His version of Traverse targeting him.

Thermaine had no chance to register she had been pierced with an arrow as two more lodged themselves into her body. Even her screams of pain were cut short with an arrow through her temple. At twelve, she had become the youngest casualty of the Games so far - all at the hands of another twelve-year-old.

"The difference is," A voice inside Future's head said, a manifestation of all the training he had done at home. "We're Careers, she's not."

Future supposed that was meant to make him feel better later on.

The Bloodbath always seemed to be so fast-paced from the side of the television screen and Future could vouch that it was even quicker in person; tributes scrambled up the hill, dodging projectiles and doing everything they could to acquire some sort of supply to help them in the week or so coming. He found even himself looking for valuable supplies, as if he wasn't one of the Careers who stood at the hill's peak, reigning terror on the other tributes.

He was quick to render his look futile, unable to see anything that would be of use. After all, he had seen the other Careers scoop up the heavier packs and throw them into the mouth of the Cornucopia. The lighter, smaller packs that the outer district kids tried desperately to steal away would be of little value - he had been taught as much in the Academy. It was as he turned to run back to the top of the hill that he noticed a gleam in the light. Eyes narrowing somewhat, Future saw the unmistakable shine of the silver chromed crossbow. Sleek as it had been in the Training Center, the crossbow came with a small sack of rocks attached. Future bit his lips, chewing at the inside of his cheeks as he weighed up his options. Perhaps impulsively, a mistake he knew was the downfall of many a Career, he ran to the weapon, eager to scoop it up into his hands and feel more comfortable in the arena.

Future hadn't expected there to be competition over his beloved weapon, lest at the hands of the boy from Thirteen, Marcus, who had shown no talent for it during the training days. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make himself seem sterner than he actually was. During time in the Academy, Future had studied how the older trainees held themselves - how they used their faces as a means of intimidation. He remembered the ways their noses and mouths crinkled in snarls, their eyebrows purposefully cast downwards to elicit fear. He tried to recreate it, ignoring inner tidings that he looked like a little kid trying to be something they weren't.

Perhaps it'd be true, if he wasn't from Two.

Future's arms moved with precision, muscle memory taking over whatever thoughts he had. He snatched the rock out of Marcus' hand, using his foot to kick at the leg that held the boy up. His body lurched with a toxic mix of adrenaline and excitement as Marcus fell to the floor, knees hitting the hard ground with a satisfying thud. Surprise and bubbling fear was painted across Marcus' face, almost reminding Future of the times he looked in the mirror in the days before the Games, wondering if he could really see his dream through.

Almost.

As he had been trained to do, Future begun to kill. It was a messy affair; bludgeoning someone to death with a rock tended to lend itself to a difficult mess and gore. Had the aura of the Bloodbath not consumed him, Future would've gagged and averted his eyes, looking only when it was done. Knowing what the stakes were - feeling the eyes of the other Careers on his back - he carried on, forgoing precision for brutality. Future was sure the sound of rock hitting bone as it split the boy's skull would haunt him, kept neatly hidden in his brain for the express purpose of tormenting him later. Or, maybe, someone at the Capitol could help with that - he didn't know.

What he did know, however, was that the boy from Thirteen laid crumpled at his feet, head unrecognisable from the mess of unruly ginger curls that had dazzled the Capitol with his boyish smile.

"Good shit Future! I told y'all he had it in him!"

Amazon's voice full of jovial praise brought Future back to reality, only slightly muffled by the filter. So lost in his mechanised movements, he hadn't noticed that the Bloodbath was nearly at a close with many bodies littered on the hill and the sounds of people running echoing through the trees. His staggered, panting breath seemed louder too, as did the blood on his hands feel wetter.

Leaning back on his heels, he turned and offered Amazon a wiry smile. "I think Kirkor might have an issue with it - s'not a clean kill."

That, of course, was completely hypothetical. Future liked to think that the mentor would be paying a closer eye on him, now that he had two kills to his name.

"Oh definitely." Amazon's reply came coolly as she played along with the little game they had jokingly rehearsed in the Tributes' Tower. "Killed the girl from Thirteen messy too - he's probably apologising to their mentor right now."

Future didn't miss the way the other Careers exchanged glances with one another. Perhaps they were wondering if they were wrong to doubt the usual ferocity that came with District Two. Or, in an even better case, they were regretting not taking him seriously.

"Yeah, whatever kid," Dior said, voice gruff as he rolled his eyes and motioned to the bodies. "Count 'em up before the hovercrafts come - we gotta do some planning."

Day Three

Future had a bad feeling about going to the derelict building; he and Amazon had said as much. Dior, however, ignored them and led the Careers eagerly to what he had called 'a new base of operations.' The other Careers seemed to be in a similar boat as the pair from Two; Stellar had seemed to be over Dior's attitude the moment the Bloodbath had ended but had kept her mouth shut in his presence to avoid a headache, both Magellan and Saylor much preferred the Cornucopia as it had an easy route to the only lake in the arena and both Alder and Chloris had commented that the trees seemed more volatile in the area the building was. Whatever that meant.

Still, they all followed the boy from One all the same. They were instructed - barked at, really - to make as much noise as they could; with all eight Careers still alive, nobody even dared to go near them. Future found himself talking to Stellar about some crossbow techniques, neither one truly invested in the conversation they were having to make it sound convincing. Instead, at Stellar's suggestion, they spoke utter nonsense instead - bursting out in laughter when Dior flashed them quizzical looks from time to time.

The walk to the building was shorter than any of them had anticipated and, by the time they reached there, nerves had began to creep into their minds. Surely such an inviting location was home to some sort of tribute and the alliance had decided early on that anyone who survived the Bloodbath was a threat of some kind. That narrative had been driven by Dior, but Future believed in it somehow; there was enough rationale to follow it.

Future himself had grown increasingly nervous when he saw scraps of an arena jacket hanging from the lower branches, even more so when he noticed that they donned the blue that had been allocated to District Six. He hadn't thought much of Traverse nor the threats the other boy had made about killing him, too preoccupied with proving to the other Careers that he was one of them. Yet, as they walked closer to somewhere the tribute had been, Future found himself becoming more jittery at even the slightest sound. The way the fabric had been torn suggested that there had been a fight, their placement outside the building suggested that attacker or victim was likely using the building as shelter.

The entrance of the building was unassuming; it was an open plan with little in the way but a small flight of stairs. No sooner had the Careers walk in, did Magellan speak up.

"Those stairs look like they hold up the main infrastructure - and they're shitty at that," He said, the small wish to be an architecture resurfacing after being mentioned once during training. "Looks like loose bricks - we need to be careful."

There was an apprehension in his voice, as if he were scared of offending Dior. It was clear for the rest of them to see that the structure held little value. Future reasoned in his head that it provided shelter and a good vantage point, but the logical side argued that both were done well enough by the Cornucopia.

Even as Magellan made his thoughts known, the eight of them walked into structure.

"Then we be careful," Dior said with a shrug, rolling his eyes again. Future nearly missed his glance towards the stares, as if he were contemplating Magellan's advice. "Holy shit there's a reason I'm the leader and y'all aren't. We're the Careers, why are we trying to act like some pissbaby outer kid alliance?" His voice was raised, letting all in a close vicinity that the perceived harmony of the Career alliance was waning thin.

"So we're pissbabies for not wanting to make a dangerous structure our base?" Amazon's voice was louder than Future had been expecting, if only because she had been so soft when it came to him. He had forgotten that she was one of the eighteen-year-olds that ran the Academy and, for the past half a year, had been the golden girl. Even more so when her volunteer partner and his backup both rescinded their desires. "Also, when did we have that discussion? Certainly wasn't during training."

The other Careers looked between Dior and Amazon, the two biggest personalities of the group fighting at odds. Instinctively, Future moved discreetly towards his district partner, wanting to support her in any way he could, just as she had done for him.

"When I was the best one of us and we didn't need a conversation! Nobody got more kills than me in the Bloodbath."

The Careers were aware of Dior's Bloodbath kills for he had boasted about them more than Future cared to remember. He mentioned it so much so that Future had even asked Amazon questions if the eighteen-year-olds in their district were as insufferable after the mock games their Academy ran. Amazon had told him no, but alluded to the vanity of One.

"Futu-"

Amazon's rebuttal was cut short by the sound of Saylor making sounds of discomfort, followed by choked pain. The Careers cleared from the structure, standing at it's entrance to see Traverse holding a knife against the girl from Four's throat. From the uncomfortable way he contorted her arm behind her back, even Future could tell that Saylor was at his mercy more than she would've liked to admit.

"I was aiming for the little runt, but she'll do nicely." Future shuddered as he locked eyes with the boy from Six, knowing that his target was him.

The Careers froze, unsure of what to do. Despite it all, they looked to Dior for some sort of guidance, but the boy from One simply looked and stared, face emotionless.

"Saylor..." Magellan's voice was full of despair, knowing that any move would compromise her life.

Traverse smiled mirthfully as he pressed the blade into Saylor's throat, it turning into a twisted grin when he saw drops of her blood on his other hand.

"Just fuckin' do it kid." Dior's voice was no less than an absolute command as he handed Future a large enough rock to knock the stairs into oblivion. Future could hear the tiniest amount of urgency in his voice too; any longer and Traverse could pose to be a bigger problem than he was. "Nobody cares about Saylor, just do it."

The command was simple - knock the stairs over and kill Traverse and Saylor in one go. The young Career glanced at Magellan, noting the unmistakable grimace of pain etched across his features.

Future held his breath, hands shaking enough to make him worried about how the rock would fly. He exhaled, closing his eyes and saying a silent apology to Saylor as he let the rock loose.

Magellan was right - the whole thing came tumbling down as the stairs were compromised.

Day Five

Future knew being happy that the boy from Nine, Reuben, was still with them two days after Saylor had died was a forewarning of bad things to come. When had the Careers ever invited an outer district kid into their ranks if not to betray them when needed? He wondered if Reuben had that suspicion too - perhaps he was just waiting for the time that they all use him as a means to an end, a way to save themselves from danger.

...

"Wh... What?" Future glanced at Amazon, eyes pleading with her to intervene. She might've too - had she not looked at Dior and seen how uncompromising he was. "I... I have four kills - that's the most any of us have!"

"Saylor and the kid from Six don't count," Dior quipped back, not hiding the acidity of his words. He thrusted a dagger in Future's hands before grabbing his wrist, his grip tight and full of warning. "You're going to go over to Reuben and you're going to kill him. You're going to prove to us that you're a Career, not some future reject. Got it?"

"I..."

"- Going to go and slit Reuben's throat. Glad you got it so quick - maybe you're not a waste of space." Dior picked Future up by the collar, making him aware of just how outmatched he was compared to the other boy, and thrusted him towards the lake where Reuben was filling the water bottles.

Future looked behind him, only to see Amazon roll her eyes at Dior's back and nod to the lake.

The command, as it had been at the structure, would be fulfilled.

Day Seven: The Feast

The Feast should've been free, at least that was what Dior had said. Again and again since it had been announced the day before, the boy from One boasted that it was meant for them to get even stronger. Eight tributes remaining on the seventh day, five of which being the Career alliance. He called it a golden opportunity, sounding like he came from One where he expected such things to be given to him. From what Future had seen, he could only assume that belief was deeply ingrained into District One life.

In retrospect, as in when he hoped he'd watch the Games back as Victor, Future was sure the words 'should've' would be a forewarning to all. Whenever Dior had perceived something to pose little problem to the Career alliance, they had suffered massively. Saylor had been their first casualty, followed only a day later with Alder being convinced by the boy from One to remove his filter mask for a click too long. They had all listened to his choked splutters as he was poisoned from the inside out, clutching onto Chloris' hand like it might've held an antidote.

When they arrived at the Cornucopia from their new base around the lake, the Careers found that Sputnik, Dior's main focus had already received his item and had left promptly. As they had done before, the Careers broke out into an argument about if it was worth their time - if all five of them needed to make their way to the Cornucopia and risk being killed. Unlike before when fears of Dior ran higher, some joined Future in rallying behind Amazon.

Even Stellar, who had been loyal enough to Dior since the first day of training, turned her back on him.

It was of little surprise to anyone that, as soon as Dior saw the girl from Eleven, Marion, aim her bow, that he pushed Amazon in the way. Sadistically, he had even angled her so the arrow would pierce her heart. None of the Careers had seen it, each too engrossed on the threat that Marion posed, all too ready to quip that her presence had proved Amazon's perspective correct.

Seeing the way Amazon's bodied turned limp, her cannon sounding off in the distance, flipped a switch inside Future. Since he had volunteered, Amazon had been the only person to consistently believe in him, to inflate his ego when everyone dragged it down; she was a slice of home that made being in the Capitol a little easier but, most importantly to him, she had been a friend. Someone he enjoyed talking to and could be relaxed around. She, unlike the District Two team, had rejected Lycente's stage name for him, firmly calling him Future where others called him Kairos.

Having her snatched from him, taken without the opportunity to say goodbye, enraged the young Career. It hit his feelings too - tears threatened to bubble over his threshold. Had it not been for the internal calls of revenge - no doubt encouraged by the Academy's training - Future likely would've reacted with tears upon tears, mourning his friend. Instead, he held her spare sword in one hand and closed the gap between himself and Marion with an unexpected speed, even for him. The girl from Eleven had little time to react as he tackled her, eagerly pinning her to the ground.

With each stab and slash, Future felt the anger seep out of him. By the time he was done, when he felt like Amazon and the impact she had made had been avenged, he stopped.

All in time to hear another cannon in his favour, marking his sixth (technically fourth, if you asked Dior) kill in the arena.

The most of any of them.

Day Thirteen

BOOM!

The sound of the cannon woke Future up from his sleep, no matter how short it had been. He had found it a miracle that he had been able to persuade his body to relax and loosen the tightly-woven armour it wore. Since the Careers had formally disbanded, Future had once again become aware of his age in relation to the other competitors. Both Dior and the boy from Three, Sputnik, were all eighteen. He, still only twelve, knew the odds were pyramided against him. He had, at various points over the days since the alliance, tried to remind himself that he had two kills up on Dior, the only other Career left. That meant something to the sponsors, so it had to mean something to him, right?

Three days since, and Future was beginning to doubt if his mind knew what to think to reassure him or calm him down. Especially when the cannon meant that Dior was out hunting.

Future had learnt a lot about the boy from One during the tenure of the Games, so much so that he needn't even consider the option that Sputnik had killed the mastermind of the Careers. He knew that, Bloodbath aside, Dior never killed without an explicit purpose. Whether that was to eliminate a strong competitor or to secure some more kills to keep the rain of sponsorships flowing nicely, The boy from One was almost meticulous with it.

Keepers, Future had even seen him kill Magellan in the night when he thought nobody was watching, firing a shoddy arrow into his chest to make it look like one of the other tributes had done it.

...

Future found Dior quicker than he would've liked. His body still ached from the crumpled position he slept in the night before, nestled in some burrow that just scarcely accommodated him. His legs moved lethargically, protesting each and every movement. He needed water, the cracking of his lips overnight had indicated as much, less the dry sensation in his mouth told him. There, swinging his sword as if he had anticipated Future's arrival, stood Dior.

Past him, still marring the water, was blood that Future could only guess belonged to Sputnik. He glanced at the sinister grin that Dior bore, intimidating as the day the two had met at the Career evening meal on the first day in the Capitol.

"I'm surprised you made it this far, runt," Dior said, angling and sizing his sword in the air, as if he were figuring out how best to butcher him up. "But I suppose it's all the more satisfying when I win."

Future opened his mouth to retort something, eager to finally bite back after being patient and obedient for so long. The dry thirst, still clinging in his throat, prevented him and he instead had to throw his best glare at the older boy.

"Nothing to say?" Dior laughed, readying his sword with particular eagerness. "No worries, I'll make sure your screams are heard, 'm nice like that."

...

Not knowing what options he had left, Future raised the rock he had used to kill Marcus, the boy's crusted blood still staining most of it. He had kept it as some sort of keepsake; a newfound source of strength whenever someone, or even himself, doubted his abilities. That, and it could be his victor memento. Every Victor of District Two brought back something from the arena to remind them of their glory. Most chose their weapons and Future supposed he was no different - except that he wanted the rock, not the crossbow.

Adrenaline pumped through Future's body at a faster rate than he knew was capable; he found himself resisting what pressure Dior placed on his arms to swing wildly at his head. The first impact - a particularly nasty one, at that - was to the boy's temple. Blood began to flow instantly at too fast of a pace that Dior could fix. Future could see the conflict flicker over the boy's green eyes; raise a hand to stop some of the blood flow and risk losing any sense of superiority in the fight or push through and finish it.

Future silently thanked the Keepers above that Dior chose the first, letting blood obscure vision of his right eye as he tried to pin his arm back down. As he had done before during the fights in the Academy, Future resisted. He channelled whatever energy his lethargic body had left in it to swing his arm again, this time aiming for Dior's filter. A large number of the tributes in the arena had died to whatever poison was in the mist, unable to withstand it beyond a few minutes. The Careers had heard many of them coughing and spluttering, begging someone to finish them off.

Even as he got a successful hit on Dior's filter mask, watching as the plastic shattered to a state beyond repair, Future shuddered at what he had heard.

Dior let out a low growl; the impact on his mask had forced him to take his hands off Future to try and clasp at the hole in his filter. There was still a chance for him to win - Future knew that. Even as the boy from One smeared the blood across his forehead in a desperate attempt to stop it from flowing into his eye, Future knew he needed to act quickly. He had seen the boy from Eight, Kersey, kill Alder as he spluttered away. If an untrained tribute from Eight could pull it off, Future could only begin to guess what Dior could do.

Future scrambled over to where his crossbow lay, ignoring how his beaten palms screamed at him as he pushed himself up; neglecting how his legs burned with each step he took. The crossbow was beyond repair, truly. Dior had bent the barrel as if it were nothing, rendering it useless to most. Future let himself smile as he saw the mechanisation was still in tact, enough for him to use it once more. Like he had done throughout the Games, he had proved he was not like most.

The rock was slick as he loaded it into the chamber, Dior's blood unceremoniously painting the weapon a crimson colour that shined in the wafts of sunlight that fell through the leaves. He could almost hear Thyone gawk at how beautiful of a finale shot it was. Maybe she'd be right - Future just hoped he would be the one to discuss it.

Kairos'll make sure it's me, He thought, as he fired the rock and let the sound echo against the trees. We've done it together.

The rock hit Dior in the head just as he turned to make a last stand against Future. The intensity it held behind it crushed Dior's skull enough to be a quick, easy death.

Future knew that Kirkor would call it merciful but, then again, the Victor had one of the bloodiest Games known in recent history. The young Career was sure anything that didn't include a loss of a limb would be seen as too soft.

He didn't care though, not as Dior's spluttering came to an end and the boom of the cannon resonated across the arena. He held his own wound - the graze across his eyebrow - and was all the more thankful that he hadn't suffered as much as Dior did.

The silence that settled across the arena was jarring, if not because it was the first pure silence Future had heard since being in the training center. Only the sound of his jagged breaths broke the respite he had grown to miss. Thinking - and being the budding philosopher his mother always said he was - was easier when it was quiet. Future had come to develop a better appreciation for it, for it was where his patience and discipline shone the most when not in the heat of battle.

He was happy he took Kirkor's advice; Future still felt he could be playful and silly, just as someone his age should be. Kairos felt the brunt of what the victory actually meant. Future, of course, knew there was no distinction, it was only a coping mechanism used to detach himself from the guilt. He wondered, for a second, how he could exist as both but was stopped by the familiar voice he felt ashamed to say he had missed.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The Victor of the One-Hundredth and Twentieth Annual Hunger Games! Kairos - I mean - Future Chronovich of District Two!"

Thyone sounded undoubtedly elated, fuelled by, Future was certain, the crowning of the youngest Victor in the history of the Hunger Games. He himself was happy too - his dream had been fulfilled. He was the youngest Victor and did what so many said he could not. Future knew the excitement would hit him later, when the entire gravity and weight of his success hit him.

In that moment, however, he wanted to let his body rest. He knew his mind would have to deal with so many questions - so many instances of being called a foreign name - in the next few days.

He could allow himself to rest, for his dream had been achieved.

Well I had planned to do a third part titled FUTURUM to round things off, but I guess I got too excited!

Maybe in the future (lmao) I'll add a sneaky update. For now, though, I'm content with this being the story's end.

A massive thanks to Plat for submitting Future! He was such an interesting character to write and incorporate into my world. The conflict between the regimented Academy training and the way Future is was something fun to explore. It honestly lent itself to the conversation of how the Capitol views a Victor and how the Victors themselves view their own identity following the Games.

It was with that in mind that a stage name became perfectly applicable. I like to think the only reason Future kept it up was because it meant he could ask double the amount of questions.

Future, mostly, has made me wish I did Tier 3! I had so much more I wanted to include but cut for clarity/word count. In any case, Future was a joy to write and I'm honoured he's the youngest Victor in history in my verse.

(I did try to proof-read this for mistakes but, alas, I am/was tired just before submitting it so I'll go through in the next few days and clear anything up!)