CONTAGION
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Have we been sick since our inception?
Doomed to our own willing suicide?
And as we watch it spread
The living become dead
But never stop to question why
(Contagion!)
(Contagion!)
Sickness in disguise
(Our contagion!)
Open up our eyes
(Our contagion!)
Up in gnarled branches, a vast sea of dying blossoms expand on the horizon.
The whispers of death blow through the sparse foliage, leaving behind pestilence and rot. The tainted tree limbs shake uneasily in the wind, clearly on the precipice of collapse.
Honey should not be here.
She should be anywhere rather than these dying orchards. It's not as if she'll make a difference in the grand scheme of things. A blight is taking over the land and there is nothing she can do about it. After all, it's only her first day in the peach groves. The only saving grace is that she's a fifteen-minute walk from home. Some of her classmates were assigned to the near-tropical borderlands near Four, attending to the coffee and cacao and citrus and sugarcane. Still, she's annoyed.
However, when the PKs come knocking on your door, you can't exactly refuse orders. It's apparent that the district overlords are desperate for fieldhands if they're forcing the Amity Grove kids to labor away after school. Normally, Honey would be helping around her Pa's general store. Instead, she's being ordered to fill a daily quota in this extreme heat. Those in charge could care less about who they use to plow the fields. As long as crops are harvested and supply chain schedules are met, it doesn't matter what happens to their laborers.
Honey is above desperation and squalor. She is not made for these conditions. Sure, her family may not be the richest, but they live in the district's central hub for a reason. An elite she is not, but Honey refuses to be known as a starving child working overtime in the croplands. She should be home, not bumming it with some sniveling children too scared of their own shadows. This is not the life she is supposed to live. Even at such a young age, Honey knows she is destined for more than the dirt beneath her nails.
"Girl, stop fuckin' around up there! Unless you want scraps for lunch, I recommend you quicken the pace!"
Laughter echoes from below. A group of peacekeepers gather in the wispy grass, trading obnoxious banter. Even twenty feet in the air, she knows they're ugly and harebrained. Honey wants to scream back at the idiot soldier, telling him to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. She would love to see how he fares up in the trees.
Honey glances down at her pouch and takes stock of her pickings. For every salvageable peach, there were at least six more covered in mold and disease. She might not make her daily quota, but Honey could care less. It would be unbecoming of her to exert any more sweat for these fools.
As she readies herself to descend, Honey sees it. Soft yet glowing, delicate, and blushing. Hanging from one of the higher branches, a perfect peach sways delicately in the breeze. It is a light tone that reminds Honey of peace and calm. In this moribund orchard, it's as fierce as the sunset. Honey is sure a find like this would be worth at minimum ten peaches. Having this plump treasure will ensure her launch into the good graces of the shift manager.
She hesitates at the trunk of the tree, arm balancing herself on the rough bark. Tempted, Honey's fingertips leave safety as she balances on the limb underfoot. She is still a novice climber, but it takes mere seconds to reach the fruit overhead. Just like its appearance, the fruit is soft to the touch. The skin is like the fuzz on a newborn's cheeks. The peach reminds Honey of her favorite suede cushion back in her parent's bedroom. It has no sharp edges, just the lumps of nature. As she holds salvation in the palm of her hand, a loud cracking sound pierces the air.
Before she can realize what is happening, the branch beneath her feet splinters in half.
A shrill scream reverberates through the orchard.
A small body plummets through the air.
A snap of bone rings out, sending songbirds fleeing into the overcast clouds.
A once-perfect peach lays squished at the base of a tree.
Honey's ankle aches with the continuous march over the cobblestone streets. Even after years of supposed healing and mending, her uneven bones tire easily.
No matter. Pain is insignificant at the moment. One crack in her façade would put the whole day in jeopardy, and that will absolutely not do. Honey's "friends" might be daft, but they can recognize genuine weakness.
Honey is not weak.
If anything, Honey considers herself to be guileful. Amelia, Delia, Macy, and the other simpletons that follow her around would say otherwise, she's certain. All idiots, yet loyal. To think they were the kids in school that ignored her existence once upon a time. Funny what a bit of patience and power will do.
As the group's obnoxious cackles bounce around the town square, Honey tries not to roll her eyes. She finds most of these people annoying, though, easy to pull gossip from. All she had to do was offer an eager smile and willing ear. Honey lets her judging eyes flit between the bodies in front of her, clothed in their finest silks and linens. She still remembers when she used to play dress up with the potato sacks in the backroom of Pa's shop, pretending to be the pretty rich girls swathed in bows and pastel dresses.
Now they beg at her feet.
In front of Honey, the twins, Delia and Amelia, bicker back and forth as they wait in the check-in line. Back when she was still new to her social standing, Honey idolized the Crawford sisters. After finding out their secrets, Honey pities them. Not only in constant competition over Wren's affections, but their parent's as well. How pathetic. Girls wishing on dying stars, hoping that crushes that will never go anywhere will one day come true. Too bad the object of their desire has eyes for another.
Honey is flattered by Wren's feelings. She doesn't blame him. Irritating, sure, but useful to keep in her back pocket. If she's learned anything these past few years, it's that secrets are contagion. They multiply and never stop spreading.
(Honey is more than okay with that.)
With the right information, it's easy to craft the perfect mask. Her careful façade has won her valuable friends and allies in the district. Honey's put in the time and effort to make sure the people that matter see her as the friendly, well-meaning daughter of two men that were able to work their way up the ranks.
(Little do they know what lies beneath the surface.)
Little do they know that her family is the reason so many in leadership positions have gone missing.
So, Honey must attend the reaping like an obedient girl, lead her pack of snotty brats to the center of Amity Grove, and stay on the good side of the peacekeepers. Every move she makes is critical to her family's success. Important to her eventual rise to the top. After all, her father taught her a thing or two about making friends in high places. The Haywood's know the importance of an influential alliance.
She can already feel the itch of her mask while listening to the others complain about having to get their fingers pricked. "Why bother? Everyone in Eleven knows who we are!" groans Macy. She wishes. Her family is just another chess piece on the board.
Honey refuses to show her nastier side to these imbeciles, it would destroy all her careful work. She isn't afraid to verbally destroy a random classmate, but these people matter - their families still control most of the district. So Honey has to play nice and make them think she actually cares about what they have to say. It's for the best; these children would keel over if they knew what went on in her mind.
At the back of the line, Honey takes a deep breath and reminds herself to take it one step at a time. She raises her chin and plasters on her signature pearly smile. The smooth fabric of her blouse flutters in the wind, anchoring her back to the reason they're gathering here; the Reaping. Today is a good opportunity to harvest information. Like her Pa always says:
Eyes bright and ears open.
With the things Honey learned about the mayor's son last week, she will finally bear the fruits of her labor.
(Father like daughter.)
Already, she can't wait to get home and plot her next move. In time, her dreams will become reality. She is Eleven's next leader, after all. Mayor Beaufort told her as much after their meeting.
This is not how things were supposed to go.
Honey feels like that little girl all those years ago, helpless as the PKs watched her sob over a broken ankle. How did this happen? As her fingernails dig into the soft velvet of the comforter, Honey rattles her mind for an answer.
What happened to her Dad's network of contacts? They were supposed to keep her safe, protected in exchange for loyalty! Granted, her father did sell a few of them out to the peacekeepers over the years, but water under the bridge, right? It's not like he double-crossed anyone innocent. Pa, the bleeding heart of the family, made sure of that when Dad initially accepted the position.
The Haywood's have power and influence.
(Apparently, not as much as Honey once thought.)
How could the daughter of Eleven's premier information broker be reaped?
It's not like Honey made a mistake. She plans every step methodically, taking every variant into account. Truthfully, getting reaped today was never even a remote possibility. Maybe one of her minions, but never herself.
Something must've gone sideways for an outcome like this.
No matter. Honey will persevere. Failure is a foreign concept to her. The Games may be her biggest challenge yet, but the outcome will remain the same. Honey has to do what she does best:
Win.
As she leaves behind the opulence of her room, Honey continues to sort through all the different possibilities. There is no doubt in her mind that she'll figure it out eventually. And when she does, there will be hell to pay. Standing before the entrance of the dining cabin, Honey takes a moment to collect herself. The Games have already begun; she cannot allow herself to lose focus of what is rightfully hers. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, Honey transforms back into her congenial façade.
Her next steps are critical.
Cardamine quirks a brow when the door slides shut behind her. "Feeling better?"
She pretends to perk up. "Yes, thank you! I just needed a minute to collect myself."
Sitting next to her mentor, Phlox Singleton nods sympathetically. Tall and strong, the other boy has not said much since they boarded the train. She doesn't blame him, considering the fact that they're hurtling towards certain death.
Or well, he is. Honey, not so much.
Walking over to claim a chair next to Cardamine, Honey is struck by the last time she saw Phlox. He was younger, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and crying into his father's arms. Honey sat next to her parents as they watched Azalea Singleton's feet drift in the wind, neck bent and hands tied intricately behind her back. Bathed in yellow, the woman looked like a wilting sunflower.
Guilt would be an appropriate response after seeing Phlox again. But she feels nothing of the sort. Dad was just doing his job, and Phlox's mother was obviously not doing hers. Selling black market paraphernalia is punishable by death, especially if doing so in the back office of the Justice Building.
Law is law for a reason.
"So," Cardamine starts. "Are we ready to talk about strategy?"
Honey gestures eagerly. Now is the time to put in the work; if she can fool her district partner and mentor, then the rest of her time in the Capitol will be a cake walk.
At the head of the table, Cardamine appraises them both. "Good. Before we begin, I would like to know if you would like to have these discussions in private."
Honey shifts her gaze to Phlox, feigning awkwardness. As soon as Phlox was reaped, Honey knew what would be her answer. Her counterpart is quiet and unassuming, yes, but his physique telegraphs years of working out in the sugar cane fields. After his mother's demise, the Singleton clan had to relocate for obvious reasons. As Phlox rubs at the back of his neck and averts her gaze, Honey smiles despite herself.
(She has the perfect shield.)
"Well…if it's okay with Phlox," she pauses to blush. "I would like it if we had these conversations jointly."
Phlox can't hide his surprise. Score. His deep voice stutters a bit as he responds. "I would very much like that, Honey."
Step one: accomplished. As the conversation continues and she pretends to listen, Honey feels as light as air. Despite the circumstances, she can't help but feel pleased with herself. Dad would be proud.
Eventually, the trio decides to take a break from the discussions before the Reaping recap begins on the holoscreen. When she moves to follow Phlox into the sleeping cabin, Cardamine calls out to her. "Honey, if you don't mind staying back for a moment."
Honey turns with a good-natured smile already primed on her face. What else could he want? They already went through the dangers of exposure and how important it is to attend the survival stations. Everything else is trivial.
"Yes?"
His hazel eyes bear into her own. Shades of vibrant green speed by outside, creating flashes of color through the expansive windows. Honey holds her breath.
"I can see your brain running a mile a millisecond."
She tries not to let her mask drop. What exactly is he asking?
Honey tries to remain calm. She can't show any signs of concern, it's too early for that. "Consider this a courtesy warning. Snooping around in places you don't belong in the Capitol will guarantee you a quick meeting with a casket."
It feels like all the air in the cabin has been sucked out. Cardamine continues, not allowing Honey to cut in with an amenable response.
"It might be the reason why you're here now."
Honey can only find herself nodding in thanks as Cardamine moves past her and exits the room. All sound becomes white noise as Honey begins to put the pieces together. Even the escort's screeching in the next cabin over can't pierce her mind.
Finally, Honey understands why she was reaped. The answer was right in front of her this whole time, clear as the crystalline glasses on the liquor cart to her left. Subconsciously, she knew. Honey didn't want to admit her own misstep.
Mayor Beaufort double-crossed her.
As he took in the information about the sugardust his son was selling, he was already planning to tie up any loose ends. In his decadent office, Honey was just wasting her time. Of course, he knew about his heir's shady dealings. If Honey has to hazard a guess, it was probably his stash anyway. All this to protect Braxton, the no-good bastard. Rigging a teenage girl into a blood sport so she couldn't spill any of the Beaufort secrets.
Hm. Mayor Beaufort wants to play games, huh? Well, he just made a fatal mistake:
Honey is a master at playing games.
Underneath the shoddy fluorescent lights, her flowers dazzle with a captivating glow. Woven intricately through the sheer fabric of her gown, a range of wildflowers radiate hues of mauveine, lavender, pink-violet, magenta, and silky white. Delicate petals artfully cover the puffy sleeves and tulle skirt, complimenting her luxurious complexion. Honey loves how they highlight her striking features, making her look like royalty. The sweet-smelling flower crown and jewels woven into her midnight hair create the picture of perfection.
It feels right.
As Honey floats around the stables, she can't help but notice the stark difference between her costume and some of the others. Dreary cypress trees for Seven. Black water lilies adorn the Four's bodies near the front of the loading area. Honey even notices the One girl exit the elevator swathed in crimson and onyx, a far cry from the usual glitz and glam. Honey would be lying if she said she wasn't pleased with her stylist.
Truth be told, she immediately wrote Asina off as a complete buffoon. Making small talk and faking earnestness with the woman was exhausting. Though, once the neon-haired designer pulled out her costume, Honey found a genuine smile gracing her lips.
Between the chariots, chatter makes the expansive room feel oddly intimate. Most stick to their district partners and mentors, finalizing sponsorship strategies. Others, mainly the Careers, make first introductions. Honey flashes a smile here and there, but she's in no mood to socialize. She'll need to perfect her mask before getting close to the others.
If she started today, her bitchier side might come out. Honey already had to hold her tongue as her beautification team poked and prodded in the remake center, so her patience is already worn thin.
Now is the time to survey the others and home in on the perfect puppets.
Already, Honey is cataloguing every conversation she's overheard. District One looks strong, but clearly at odds judging by their bickering. Dressed as statues one might find in a cemetery, Two is united but their eyes betray instability. District Three is weak. Five always calculating. Halfway down the line, Six seems older but browbeaten. The rest of the outliers are forgettable, destined to become bloodstains on the ground.
Through an overhead speaker, a crackling voice calls out. "Attention! Tributes, please take your place at your District's chariot. You have three minutes."
Honey glides to the very back of the stables, immensely grateful her stylist opted for a more "natural" look by forgoing any footwear. Her ankle would be throbbing if she had to wear the heels half the other tributes are sporting. The freezing concrete is a reprieve from the humidity in the air. Behind the Tens and their dark leather costumes, Phlox awaits her return. Like the perfect ally, he easily accepted her shy comment of wanting to get some fresh air to decompress after the stress of remake.
In a matching floral costume, he looks elegant and refined. Honey offers him a nervous grin as he takes her hand while mounting the chariot. A true gentleman. After their alliance was made official on the train, Phlox has been nothing but considerate and kind. Clearly, he's dedicated to their companionship.
Like one of the serpents found in the fields, Honey has him in a chokehold. When push comes to shove, she knows Phlox won't hesitate in throwing himself in front of harm's way. Too bad she won't return the favor.
The energy from the crowd outside is palpable as the gates slowly open and the announcer introduces this year's sacrifices. Like lambs to the slaughter.
(Good thing Honey is a wolf in disguise.)
Two chariots in front of their own, the girl from Nine looks behind her shoulder. Honey catches her gaze and waves timidly. Enveloped in dying stalks of wheat, the smaller brunette seems taken aback by her veiled kindness. She eventually offers her own bashful wave and turns back to face the entrance to the promenade.
Honey smirks.
Nobody is prepared for what she's going to bring to the table.
She's already three moves ahead.
Honey might not have training, but she feels prepared for what's to come.
Staring out at the eternal city through her window last night, Honey took the time to compose herself. As the light pollution shone through the pane of glass separating her quarters from the rest of the world, Honey perfected her plans. At the end of the day, she's used to dealing with naïve kids that get attached to anyone willing to lend a smile.
The Haywood name might not hold any weight here in the Capitol, but her parents taught her all she needs to know:
Information is power.
Pa tried to instill a sense of right and wrong in Honey after telling her about the true family business, but now is not the time for morality. In the Games, she has to be the viper she was always meant to be. Most would call her manipulative and vile for what she's about to do. Evil, even. Honey cares little about what they think.
All she cares about is setting herself up to take the throne.
Pretending to pay attention to the trainer's instructions on how to tie a knot, Honey regards her competitors. Outfitted in the same green-black uniforms, bodies meander around the sizable training room. Some hover around survival stations, while others try to show off with weapons that mirror their too-large egos. Fools. Wasting their time on such petty matters, acting as if a few days of half-assed lessons will help them survive. And that's if they even make it past the bloodbath.
For the past two days, Honey has been biding her time.
As training has gone by, she's become rich with knowledge. Hidden behind weapon racks or joining in on idle conversation, Honey found herself in possession of secrets galore. Even the trainers are eager to blather to each other about this year's field of scandals.
Felix, did you hear that the Two girl killed the chosen volunteer? Yeah - my cousin is stationed near Padria and that's all everyone is talking about. Why the Careers care about some stupid tournament is lost on Honey, but clearly it is worth murder. The blonde boy from One was more than happy to gloat about his connection to some pre-war victor. Puh-lease! Thanks for the little heads-up Eleven, but I'm not worried about Melaena. That crazy gravel-muncher can talk all she wants, but my grandmother won the Thirtieth. Gold runs through my veins. Too bad he won't be following in her footsteps. What do you want, princess? I already know that my airhead of a district partner is plotting something, so you can fuck right off. Clearly, it won't take much to cause a Career split this year. Judging by the One girl's response yesterday, one off-hand mention of betrayal will have them turning on each other in no time. Once blood is shed and they find themselves half-mad and alone, Honey will step out from the shadows and deliver the final blow.
While eating lunch with some of the irrelevant urban kids, Honey discovered that the shifty kid from Five is a spy for one of the elite families in the district. Sad eyes from Six watched his family die in a fire. Even the little girl from Eight was all too eager to make a friend and gossip about her partner's drug dealings. Afterwards, at the plant identification station, she listened to the Ten girl tell her allies all about her partner's volatile history with the PKs.
Without anyone realizing, Honey has become the most influential person in the room. Dropping little seeds of gossip in each conversation has turned the atmosphere of the training center into a thing of heated whispering and intense glares. Did anybody ever tell these unnoteworthy children about the dangers of rumors?
Honestly, she didn't think it would be this easy. It's been amusing to watch her competitors point fingers and plot each other's demise from the sidelines. The history books will speak of this moment, when she laid the groundwork for her victory.
Out of all the potential puppets she's cataloged during her time in the Capitol, Honey has narrowed down the perfect pawns. Pliant and amenable, yet not clingy enough to become grating in the future. A pair of bodies willing to listen and ask for little in return.
Honey excuses herself after Phlox finishes his inquiries with the knot instructor, ready to enact the next phase of her stratagem. Like the good underlying that he is, her ally follows close behind.
When she nears the fire-making station, Honey catches the boy trying to subtly cue his ally to their new guests. Ever since the chariots, Honey has been assessing the Nines. Keeping to themselves, the dark-haired duo has steered away from the drama. She likes their camaraderie, a perfect parallel to her relationship with Phlox. Or, semi-perfect. The only difference is that their friendship is genuine.
Honey extends a warm smile. "Hello! Do you mind if we join y'all?"
The petite girl seems shocked that someone would approach the pair. The boy seems a bit more dubious, but he nervously ducks his head to the concrete when Honey's gaze sweeps over him. Picking at her nails, the girl attempts to collect herself before answering. How cute.
"Sure! We've just been trying to figure out how to get the fire started," she sheepishly gestures to the abysmal tinder bundle laying in between herself and the boy. "I'm Rhiannon, by the way."
"Doesn't look so bad to me! My name's Honey," she extends, replicating Rhiannon's awkward yet well-meaning demeanor. "This is my district partner Phlox."
Phlox smiles timidly and waves as he kneels besides the boy. Taking that as his cue, he finally meets Honey's stare. "Korrion," he says softly.
"Well, it's lovely to meet y'all. And don't worry, I made a complete fool of myself trying to figure out which tinder to use earlier, so you're doing much better than I did," Honey replies humorously.
Already, Honey is thrilled with how things are going. It seems like the right dose of self-depreciation, cheeriness, and warmth will do the job. Nervousness is expected, especially when an older duo approaches, but the Nine's acquiescence is a good sign. The last thing Honey wants to do is scare them off.
"I can offer a few pointers if you don't mind?" Phlox asks, trying his best to do his part in being welcoming. His eyes shift to Honey quickly, clearly looking for approval.
(Good boy.)
The conversation continues easily from that point. Honey plays up her charm and down-to-earth persona. She offers little jokes here and there as the group tries their best to get a blaze started. Her Dad always told her to make them feel comfortable enough to spill all their secrets.
Quickly, Honey gathers that Rhiannon comes from a tight-knight hamlet stationed near the northern granaries. They trade stories about their families and friends, finding common ground. Hearing about Rhiannon's pet dog Sunny makes her chest ache for a reunion with her own dog, Sawyer. Perhaps she'll adopt Sunny so that he can have a friend when she returns. There will be more than enough room in her new manse.
Korrion is a bit more reserved, but Phlox manages to get him to open up slowly. By the time the Head Trainer announces the end of the day, there is a twinkle in the Nine boy's eye.
As the foursome dust off their hands and stretch out their aching muscles, Honey awaits the inevitable.
"Um," Rhiannon begins. "I really enjoyed our time together today." Korrion nods along as she speaks, offering a sign for his ally to continue. "We were wondering if you would like to do this again tomorrow?"
Honey fakes surprise, raising her hand over her heart. "Oh, wow," she takes a slight pause, wanting to appear at a loss for words. "That would be amazing! Phlox and I would be honored."
With a grateful smile, Honey brings Rhiannon in for a tender embrace. As the other girl wraps her arms around Honey's body, laughing as the boys high-five to their right, the final piece of the puzzle is complete.
Like bees to honey.
Echo is already drunk off their ass.
For some reason, they believe this year to be a complete wash. Honey tries not to take offense to her escort's foolish judgements, as she is above the opinion of a drunkard, but being considered an automatic bloodbath irritates her for some reason. True, it's the role Honey has chosen for herself, but she still needs sponsors to survive.
Swirling a vibrant fuchsia beverage in their elegant glass, Echo complains about being stuck with "backwards-ass Eleven" for the fifth year in a row.
With a beaming smile, Honey lifts her chin as Cardamine joins them on the soft cushions. "I thought someone so well-versed in fashion trends would know stripes are so last year."
Cardamine smirks as he perches himself on the sofa. Echo stumbles over their words but Honey pays them no mind; they are bigger things to focus on right now. Namely, the fact that her mentor can see so easily through her act.
Most people are too ignorant to recognize her deceitful nature. Her neighbors and peers back home know Honey as the bubbly girl next door. Some have labeled her as a spoiled brat intruding on a social class she does not belong in, but they are few and far between. Besides, it's not like they can voice their opinions aloud. Her father's position makes sure of that.
Either way, Cardamine is a victor at the end of the day; a smart one at that. Honey remembers watching him poison his year's only water supply, claiming four deaths in one day. If anyone would realize her true intentions, it would be him. Honey is appreciative of his tight lips. It seems her own secrets will be well-kept.
Phlox and her allies are oblivious to Honey's true nature. Even when sharing gossip during their last day of training, they took it as good-natured fun. The Games are anything but fun. Sure, Honey has found it amusing to sow distrust in the others, but she would never claim to be having a good time. It is a death match, after all. Her only priority is laying the groundwork for success.
Honey returns her attention to the television, where a booming voice introduces tonight's broadcast. The holoscreen sparks to life in front of the District Eleven team, revealing Curio Valdosta's desk. Echo throws their near-empty goblet at the holoscreen, cursing about how that should be their job. The glass fazes through the projection, crashing into the emerald tiles on the floor. Honey rolls her eyes.
"Good evening, Panem! Welcome to this year's training score reveal. I've just been told that the Gamemakers have finalized their reports. To start off the night, we will begin with the crown jewel of Panem, District One!"
The face of the One girl materializes behind Curio, intense gaze peering through the screen. No matter the score, Honey has no plans running into her once the gong sounds.
"Tulya Revelis…has received a score of eleven."
A golden number twirls beneath her face, illuminating her fake features. Phlox sighs heavily to Honey's left, shoulders tense.
The remaining scores pass rapidly after that. Per usual, the other Careers score high. Nothing surprising. The spy from Five nets an eight. District Six manages matching fives. The drug dealer from Eight receives an eight, while their younger district partner gets a three. Rhiannon and Korrion both receive a four and five, respectively. The guy with supposed anger-issues from Ten is awarded a seven.
"Now last but certainly not least, we have District Eleven," the announcer exclaims. "We have Phlox Singleton with a score of six!"
Perfect. Not too high, but if anyone is to be targeted from their group, he would take the brunt of attacks. "Finally, we end the night with Miss Honey Haywood, who receives a score of five!"
Echo hiccup-laughs as Cardamine shuts off the broadcast with the controller. For appearance's sake, Honey feigns disappointment when Phlox pats her back. Even if she displayed her true toolset to the Gamemakers during her private session, she wouldn't have managed that much higher of a score. Plus, where would be the fun in spoiling her schemes?
Aiming for a low score was the right move. Now, Honey can truly fly under the radar. Let the others think her weak.
It'll be their doom.
"Tell us, what was it like when you heard your name called at the Reaping?"
Under the intense spotlights and scrutiny of the crowd, Honey straightens her spine and offers a twinkling smile. While her eyesight is blinded by the cameras and effulgent stage production, she acts as if the audience are old friends. Tonight is paramount to winning favor in the Capitol. Honey is ready to make her final move.
During the early morning hours of interview prep, Cardamine offered only one piece of advice:
Plea loyalty.
As if she was ever going to do anything else. Rebels don't win the Games, not since the Catalan regime took over. After the Mockingjay's wings were clipped, the other birds of war were caged away. Thanks to her parents, she knows to bow to the Capitol and appease them. In their servitude, though, the Haywood's would never forget where they came from, and to never, ever trust those in power. Along the way, it seems she forgot that last part.
(Never again.)
So, tonight, Honey wears a mask of innocence and charm. For the last minute or so, Curio has been asking simple questions. How do you like the Capitol? Pray tell, have you found any allies? What are your plans for the Games? Care to let us in on some of your secrets? Sitting across from the flamboyant Master of Ceremonies, Honey batted her lashes and answered sweetly.
It's wonderful, everyone is so dazzling and opulent.
Friends, Mx. Valdosta. I found friends here!
I plan to try my best and show that I'm worthy of victory.
Secrets? I couldn't possibly know what you're talking about.
With even more flora and fauna decorating her body tonight, she looks as inviting as any fertile rose. But make no mistake, her thorns are just as sharp.
Honey takes a few seconds to prepare her response, furrowing her brow to feign emotion. "Truthfully, it was devastating. I'm honored to be chosen for this distinguished pageant, but knowing the true cause of why I'm sitting before you—"
She cuts herself off quickly, forcing tears to well up in the corners of her eyes. Her plush lips quiver as she holds the curious stare of her interviewer. Tonight is truly putting her acting chops to the test. Curio is quite literally on the edge of their seat, easily entrapped by Honey's mysterious answer. One can always rely on Capitolites and their thirst for gossip.
The audience seems to hold its breath too, as a hush takes over the room. "What do you mean by that, Honey? Are you calling into question the fairness of the reaping process?"
"I would never imply the Capitol doesn't value the sanctity of the Reaping," she pauses, letting her earnest answer wash over the crowd. "But I do know there are those in the districts that have their own agendas."
Curio looks ready to continue their line of questioning, but Honey turns to the kaleidoscope of patrons. Since arriving here, she's been eagerly awaiting this moment.
"For those of you that don't know, a horrible blight rampaged District Eleven several years ago. I was still a child, but every corner of the district was impacted by the devastation. Entire crops were wiped out in mere hours. Quotas were missed. Children starved in the streets. I was fortunate enough to have parents that owned a business, so we didn't suffer as much. Still, even the elite of our district felt the pressure of pestilence. By the end of the onslaught, we lost thousands of acres and hundreds of hard-working citizens. Can you imagine walking to school each day, avoiding corpses lining the streets?"
Honey lets her words dance around the auditorium, weaving a story of despair and loss. In the front row, she can see a woman brush away mascara tears. She may be elaborating a bit, considering her fathers never let Honey leave the sanctuary of their home after she returned from the dying orchards with a broken ankle, but a point must be made. What she needs to do is ensure that the Capitol knows about the reality of life in the districts; how powerful men and women capitalize on the suffering of those less fortunate.
"Thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, the blight was officially put to an end several months later. Like all things, nature healed. Wildflowers were in full bloom again. Crops grew back. The air was no longer tainted with death. However, a silent but deadly disease still remained. Our Mayor, Arabis Beaufort, used the scourge to his advantage. With the support of his inner circle, the longer labor hours remained in place. Larger cuts of profit were stolen. Workers were used as scapegoats and money was made from the agony of others."
It is not lost on Honey that the Capitol does the exact same thing. At the end of the day, they are truly in charge of the inner workings of what occurs in the districts. Mayors, liaisons, and other positions of power are simply dutiful messengers carrying out the tasks laid out for them. Puppets all the same, despite their delusional ideas of independence.
"Nepotism and corruption has its claws hooked in my district thanks to Mayor Beaufort and his advisors. Recently, I found myself in possession of some information pertaining to his son Braxton. In the back alleys of Amity Grove, he is selling sugardust to our classmates. My parents taught me to always do the right thing and report a crime that could impact the greater good. So, a week before the Reaping, I met with Mayor Beaufort and told him about his son's abhorrent misuse of power. Unknowingly, I was speaking to Braxton's supplier."
Gasps sound throughout the hall, shouts of outrage ring through the rafters. Honey has them eating out the palm of her hand.
"I hope you can excuse my naivety. I was just trying to do the right thing, after all. Could you blame me for wanting to help my district get rid of another poison? My family has always been dedicated to weeding out the malversation in Eleven. Considering I find myself sitting before you, it seems as though it's worse than we originally thought."
Honey bows her head once she finishes her tale, letting the butterflies in her hair reflect the glaring rays of light in various shades of pastel. In front of the stage, a sea of Capitolites demand retribution for the transgressions against her. Curio hushes the crowd, trying to take control of the interview again. If there is one thing to know about the Master of Ceremonies, it's that they love being in control of the narrative. Too bad Honey beat them to the punch.
"Honey, I think I speak for all of us when I say that we appreciate your bravery tonight. I can't imagine what it's been like grappling with the knowledge of this betrayal. Thank you for being a champion of truth and justice back home, it's awe-inspiring!" Curio exclaims, their voice carrying over the thunderous cheers. "Let this be a reminder to Panem that we must work together to create a better future for tomorrow. We must dig deep and consider all sides to a story, no matter who is telling it."
Honey takes in the rumbles of assent, pleased with how the night has transpired. She is the master of her fate, pulling the strings that will lead to fortune. If the interview is anything to go by, Honey has launched herself into the foreground. No longer is she the pleasant yet doomed girl from the agricultural district. Now, she is a crowd favorite. Someone that has the country's sympathy and adoration.
Curio turns back to Honey, grin wide. "Any last words before you go, Miss Haywood?"
"If I'm lucky enough to make it out of the arena, I promise to cure the plague ravishing District Eleven."
As soon as the curtains close, muffling the resounding applause, Honey's counterfeit smile drops like a rock.
Victory is hers.
Things are not going to plan.
At the sound of the gong, all hell broke loose. As screams pierce the air, Honey lies in wait. Hidden deep within overgrown foliage, she awaits the arrival of her dutiful servants. On the outskirts of the claustrophobic courtyard they were launched in, Honey observes the ensuing chaos. The girl from Four uses a half-broken spear to stab the curly-haired boy from Three. Clarabelle from Ten is being strangled by her district partner, who curses her for telling everyone about his past crimes. To her right, the sneaky kid from Five disappears into the night with two backpacks. Mere moments later, their counterpart is run through with a machete by the guy from Two.
Logically, she should be scared; alone and with limited eyesight, Honey could be considered an easy target. Instead, she feels anything but fear. Confidence courses through her veins with the knowledge that any one of her puppets will jump on the sword for her. Or well, she'll throw them on the sword. Either way, she feels secure at the moment.
Although, it would be amazing if her allies could quicken the pace, but beggars can't be choosers. Patience is a virtue for a reason.
With each passing second, Honey acclimates more and more to her surroundings. About thirty paces in front of her, a rusted version of the cornucopia rests at the base of a cypress tree covered in moss. Beyond the corroded structure, golden light pours out through various windows of a large house. Faded shutters frame the glass panels, calling attention to the ominosity of what's inside. A porch wraps around the base of the building, supported by massive columns. On the second level, a balcony hangs overhead. The white siding is streaked in dirt and what appears to be mold, branches growing out of various cracks and fissures. A single, wooden door stands directly in the middle of the façade. Despite the lack of light, Honey can tell it's seen better days.
Beyond the buzzing of insects and continuous bloodshed, the gentle lapping of water reaches her ears. Chancing a look over her shoulder, Honey makes out a variety of pathways that cut through the surrounding vegetation. Beyond a worn-down gate that encapsulates the immediate clearing, the reflection of moonlight hints at an accessible body of water. Honey files that information away in the back of her brain.
In her dark denim overalls and tall waterproof boots, droplets of sweat bead along her forehead. It's due to the mugginess in the air of course. Why would she be nervous?
So much for the breathable undershirt Asina claimed would help with humidity. Honey tries to calm her racing heart. She planned for this moment. There is nothing to worry about. The blur of bodies in the night makes it difficult to distinguish who is who. Even at her zenith, the moon offers little light.
The darkness that surrounds her person contains a sense of foreboding. Honey could attribute that to the bodies that litter the clearing, but she is no halfwit; something is off about this place. Upon rising into the arena, Honey knew the Gamemakers had some malevolent tricks up their collective sleeve. Even more of a good reason why she launched herself into the undergrowth when the countdown hit zero.
Finally adjusted to the night, Honey has an easier time focusing on the fighting. Between the messy duels and desperate grab for supplies, locating her allies is still a difficult task. No matter, they each have their part to play. Rhiannon and Korrion should be joining her any minute, hands full of valuable treasures. They're fine, most likely playing it safe as the others hack away at anything that moves. Phlox on the other hand…
Where is he?
They were supposed to find each other after the mines were deactivated. Within seconds of the bloodbath, Honey would have her meat shield and all would be okay. Instead, he is nowhere to be found. The only conclusion Honey thinks of is that he was launched on the other side of the courtyard, obscured by the cornucopia. But it's already been five minutes and Phlox is absent. Did he abandon Honey? Leave her to rot?
No.
He is loyal. Steadfast. There is no way he pieced together her true intentions. Her lap dog must be held up somewhere, finding the right opportunity to charge into battle to sniff out his owner.
Theoretically, Honey could leave the safety of the thicket and try to find Phlox, but why risk her life trying to brave the mayhem? She has faith her puppets will find their way to their master.
Near the mouth of the cornucopia, Honey watches as the One girl clashes with her district partner. Apparently, Honey's lies about the pretentious boy plotting his companion's demise got under her skin. The girl already seemed halfway ready to cut him down in training, but Honey thought she would at least wait a bit. Though, who is she to judge? A divided Career pack is a great distraction, making it easier for Honey to snatch the crown from under their noses. And to think she planted the seed that led to their downfall. Instead of immense satisfaction at this new development, Honey feels on edge. The fighting is dying down and blood is cooling, and yet there is still no sign of the Nines or Phlox.
As her feet shift in the mud, Honey contemplates cutting her losses. She refuses to just sit here any longer, exposing herself to any more hazard. Slowly crouching closer and closer to her left, she finds herself near the porch of the building. To her side, the dilapidated iron gate continues out of view. Just before weighing the pros and cons of leaping from the shadows, a blur of activity speeds past her vision.
On instinct, Honey breaks through the brush and snatches a delicate wrist.
Rhiannon cries out in surprise, reeling backwards from the touch. "Korrion, help!"
Before anything drastic happens, Honey pulls the girl closer and clamps her mouth shut. With shaking breaths and wide eyes, her smaller ally struggles against her grip. "It's me! Rhiannon! Stop! Please be quiet, you'll get us killed," Honey whispers fiercely.
Korrion steps out from Rhiannon's side, obviously dazed and anxious. He holds a backpack in his left hand and a wicked-looking hacksaw in his right. At least someone did their job.
Honey removes her fingers from the Nine girl's lips. Near the steps of the porch, the trio is prone to attacks. She opens her mouth to voice her concerns, but Rhiannon cuts in quickly. "Where were you? We were so scared, Honey! Wait, where's Phlox? He should be with you - we can't just leave him behind! He needs us. No, we need him!"
Speaking at warp speed, Rhiannon is obviously on the verge of a mental breakdown. That will certainly not do. At the end of the day, a liability is a lost cause. The brat could get them all killed if she doesn't come back to her senses. "Rhiannon - Rhiannon! Listen to me. Everything is going to be alright. Take a deep breath," Honey pauses as Korrion puts his hand on his partner's shoulder, willing her to calm down.
"I was searching for Phlox this whole time, but I couldn't find him either! I'm scared too, but we need to get out of here now. Phlox can catch up with us later," Honey lies easily.
Rhiannon whimpers, glazed-over eyes unfocused. Fucking hell, does she have to do everything around here?
"Korrion, give me the supplies and take Rhiannon's hand," Honey makes sure the coast is clear before she directs them to safety, bag slung over her shoulders. There seems to be a standoff between the remaining Careers, moonbeams bouncing off their shoddy weapons. Among the bodies of the dead, something slithers between the grass and debris. Honey was too preoccupied to notice that a network of inky, moldering tendrils pulsate and move across the ground. She's not planning to stick around long enough to find out if those things are dangerous or not.
Honey interlaces her slim fingers with Rhiannon's other hand, guiding the trio the last few steps towards escape. Shouts permeate the courtyard, but she has no time to pay attention to a new fight. The anthem tonight will tell Honey all she needs to know. The only thing that matters right now is getting the hell up the porch and into the house. With one foot firmly planted on the rotted floorboards at the top of the staircase, a terrified screech makes Honey jump. Quickly turning her body to face the noise, the sight that meets her is horrifying.
Korrion's bottom half is covered in the mold-like substance. Wrapped around his legs, one of the tendrils climbs up his floundering form. Behind him, more and more of the courtyard becomes overrun with the putrescent vines. The handful of remaining tributes fight off the writhing mass, running off into separate directions. The message is loud and clear:
The Bloodbath is over. Leave or die.
"Help! Rhiannon, Honey, save me! Get them off!" the Nine boy cries out, trying to peel the ligaments away. His struggling seems to make the creepers latch on even tighter, restricting Korrion's movements.
At the bottom step, Rhiannon sobs uselessly, clearly in shock at the sight of her friend covered in the slimy, festering matter. More writhing tendrils clamor towards them, forming a horde of acrid-smelling accretion. "Do something, Honey! We have to help!"
Honey is going to do something alright.
With all her might, Honey tries to pull Rhiannon up the stairs and away from Korrion's half-submerged body. The girl dumbly trips over her feet, mouth agape at the sight. "Come on, let's go!" Honey shouts, desperately trying to snap Rhiannon out of her stupor.
It's too late.
The tendrils crawl up the girl from the grain district's legs, tripping her in the process. Rhiannon screams and screams and screams as she is dragged back down the steps. Unfortunately for Honey, the girl still has an ironclad grip on her wrist. Suddenly, she is being pulled downwards too. Caught in the middle of a tug-of-war, Rhiannon cries out as she is pulled in both directions.
No! It isn't supposed to end like this! Honey is destined for more than going down with her pathetic puppets. She was never supposed to become trapped in the strings she pulled.
Losing her strength, Honey makes one last desperate act. Reaching behind her, she yanks the hacksaw free from the side of her backpack. Honey does not hesitate in bringing down the razor-toothed blade on Rhiannon's arm. Blood sprays everywhere. She wretches free the weapon and brings it down again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Honey doesn't stop until she cuts through the sinewy muscle and tissue, striking bone. Rhiannon's lost to shock by now, her screams becoming white noise. Honey refuses to look at her once-ally's face. If she does, she might remember that Sunny is awaiting her return. Poor pup will never see his savior again. Steeling herself one last time, Honey saws the blade through the exposed cartilage, gore splattering all over her front.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the metal cuts through. With the loss of an anchor, Rhiannon is hauled backwards into the awaiting mass. Due to gravity, Honey goes flying back and lands on her ass. She ignores the pain and scrambles until she finds the handle of the wooden door.
The last thing Honey sees before she slips inside the building and slams the door shut behind her, is the sight of Rhiannon's broken hand lying on the porch.
A half-eaten feast of worms, maggots, and other bugs lay forgotten on the dining room table.
It seems they aren't alone. Inspecting the grimy kitchen cabinets nearby, she grabs a bottle of murky liquid from one of the top shelves. Unscrewing the top, Honey holds the opening beneath her nose. A strong scent immediately floods her nostrils, causing her to recoil.
At least the Gamemakers are supplying them with alcohol to drink away the pain. How considerate.
Honey has no plans to get drunk, though, the chemical fermentation inside could be useful. Securing the top, she stores the dirty glass in her backpack and moves out of the room.
While exploring the interior of the house, there has been a suffocating sense of unease. About an hour ago, another cannon sounded. With ten deaths already and the first day not even gone, Honey foresees a quick and messy Games. As long as she makes it out unscathed, Honey could care less how things conclude.
Besides, it's not like she has any sway on how the rest of the Games will go. All her perfectly laid plans are out the window.
In the background of her mind, neurons fire back and forth in rapid succession. New plans are being drafted only to be stored away mere seconds later. Panic claws at the edges of her brain. How is she going to make it out alive now? Honey has no allies. No safety in numbers. Her pawns have been wiped off the chessboard, never to be seen again.
(She's fine. Everything will be fine.)
Phlox will turn up somewhere and save the day. The Nines were collateral, who needs to babysit some snot-nose sniveling kids anyways? She was doing them a favor, befriending them in their last days. The other tributes should thank Honey for getting rid of those weaklings. They would have just gotten in the way sooner or later. Still, Honey's pissed that she couldn't utilize them longer.
Wiggling locked door knobs and searching dusty rooms, she tries to ignore the fact that Korrion's favorite color was orange and that Rhiannon's little sister's name is Amaryllis. They were too trusting and that led to their downfall. She shouldn't feel guilty for prioritizing herself. Yet, there is an ache in her chest.
(The ghost of Rhiannon's screams linger in her eardrums.)
Against one of the back hallways near a soiled living room, a deteriorating set of stairs climb into the darkness. Honey briefly considers exploring upstairs, but she knows the only way down would be back the way she came or a two-story window. Why chance being trapped?
Continuing down the dimly lit corridor, peeling wallpaper rolls off the walls. Crooked paintings and half-exposed light fixtures lead Honey towards a dead end. Luminescence pours through the broken window at the end of the hall, bouncing off the hacksaw Honey clutches in her hand. Dried blood coats the bent blade.
Honey squeezes her eyes shut to drown out the image of bone and viscera and tissue.
Perpendicular to the aperture, one last door remains unopened. Her crimson-covered hand reaches out and tries the tarnished gold handle; the door gives way and Honey steps inside the concealed space. Smudged concrete and missing areas of drywall stretches across the area. Few people own cars in Eleven besides the armored vehicles the PKs ride around in, but Honey immediately recognizes the room as a garage. A large metal door takes up the opposite side of the wall, tiny windows the only source of light. Various tool kits and supplies pepper metal shelving that stretches to the ceiling.
Locking the door behind her, Honey tires out her arms by barricading the heavy entrance with one of the nearby racks. Satisfied with her hideout, Honey slides to the floor, the metal shelving offering a cool relief against her back.
Through the tiny windows of the dented garage door, the anthem blares to life. One boy, both the Threes, Five girl, Six girl, both the Sevens, Korrion, Rhiannon, and Clarabelle. Nothing surprising, they were all corpses anyway.
Digging out a water bottle from her pack as the faces dissolve into the stars, she quenches her thirst. Catching her breath and taking in the silence of the garage, a gleam catches Honey's periphery. Slowly crawling over to one of the hooks mounted on the nearby wall, Honey deftly lifts her new prize.
Inspecting the object, the iron feels cool between her fingertips. The intricate bow, notches, and bits of the key promises reclamation.
What happened earlier in the day was meaningless. Unimportant. A new plan awaits.
Honey is still in the driver's seat.
Bloodcurdling screaming shatters Honey's dreams.
Through the windows, a blanket of constellations shine down on the arena. Honey predicts that the night will never end, unleashing new horrors every hour, slowly driving the remaining tributes insane.
Banging on the barricaded door startles Honey into the furthest corner of the garage. But make no mistake, she is not cowering in fear. The shadows are her friend, a place where she collects information. A safe haven where Honey can bide her time. If someone, or something, breaks down the door, she'll be waiting to make her move.
"No! Please, someone! Anyone?! Let me in!"
The pleas of a teenage girl sounds through the door, viciously shaking against the continuous pounding against the wood. Judging by those that remain, Honey would bet that it's the tiny one from Eight.
Watching the barricade sway against the desperation on the other side, Honey knows no real danger is imminent. The Gamemakers would not dare dismantle their star player so quickly. It's not practical.
Crying turns into wracking sobs as the creaking of floorboards outside signals the arrival of another person. The predator finally found their prey.
Suddenly, the blade of a machete cuts through the old yet sturdy wood of the door. At once, the wailing stops and a cannon fires overhead. The steel is slick with fresh blood, dripping along the edge of the blade and falling to the floor in fat droplets.
Whoever is on the other side is struggling with pulling the weapon free as the machete is wriggled all about. After what feels like years, the weapon is finally pulled back. Honey observes in morbid curiosity. She hears muffled talking behind the door before the wooden floor of the hallway groans as the murders leave the vicinity.
Honey cautiously pokes her head out the entryway once she sees enough time has passed. Scarlet pools between every crevice of the planks, creating an intricate pattern as the liquid flows through the various wood grain. The exterior of the door now hangs open, allowing Homey a clear view of the marks left behind. Bloody handprints swath the entirety of the natural stain.
Whoever killed the tribute could still be lingering around any dark corner, so it is best to leave while she still can. Besides, Honey is determined to find out what that key unlocks.
Even with her ankle throbbing from exhaustion, Honey carefully moves through the hallways. The mansion feels much larger on the inside than she initially thought; new passageways and side rooms are discovered with every step she takes. Nonetheless, cobwebs and dirt create a uniform look no matter where Honey looks.
Eventually, Honey finds herself standing before a large set of impressive oak doors. She pulls but the hinges do not budge, firmly staying in place. Below the elegant door handles, a keyhole entices Honey forward. With a click, the door unlocks.
Bingo.
As the massive doors swing open, a grand hall invites Honey to explore the newly discovered area of the building. Judging from the faded grandeur, it must be the main foyer of the house. A flaxen glow shines from a chandelier above. A double staircase leads up to the second level, where a mezzanine overlooks the main atrium. Doors line the walls, hiding the unknown.
For entrance to the house of decay, a towering double-paneled door sits to her left, opposite the stairs. Ornate wooden designs are carved into the trim work, telling a story of death and corrosion. There is no mistaking the sculpted tendrils that crawl up the frame. If this is the front door, then the courtyard must be on the backside of the mansion. Honey cranes her neck to further inspect every inch of the room.
Plush fibers squish beneath her boots as she strides over to the middle of the foyer. Clearly untouched by the other tributes, Honey has this wing of the manse to herself. She's free to investigate to her heart's content; anything she finds will put her one more step ahead of the competition.
Anyone that counted her as good as dead after the Bloodbath look like imbeciles now. Honey feels on top of the world. She twirls a little, knowing that she holds power over this new domain.
Of course, that is until the front door splinters apart. The hinges squeal against the sudden violence, the force of the onslaught driving the wood to crack against the wall. Bits of drywall and dust shakes loose from the weight.
Honey's ears ring as she staggers to the right, catching herself on the banister of the staircase. Blinking rapidly, she catches sight of a silhouette emerging from the tenebrosity.
"Honey, I'm home!"
Under the weak light, the girl from One steps forward. She smirks lazily, dark hair tied up in a loose bun. Curls fall across her face, sticking to chiseled features with sweat. Honey recalls her name quickly: Tulya.
Honey stays quiet as the unwanted guest trudges further into the main hall. Gesturing to her left hand, the girl speaks again. "You know, it would've been easier if I had that key."
"Finders keepers, bitch," Honey shrugs, trying to remain nonchalant. This beast of a girl will not get a rise out of her. She is far better than that. Haywood's do not bend to the will of peasants; One can put on an act all she wants, but Honey is a master of disguise. She can see through the bullshit. Even if her now-dead district partner didn't blab about her tough upbringing in training, Honey knows the telltale signs of poverty.
(She's tasted hunger herself, once upon a time.)
The smaller yet more defined girl tuts, shaking her head. "Doesn't matter much now, you'll be dead soon."
With a devious grin, she launches herself at Honey.
Throwing her body to the left, Honey manages to barely dodge the first blow. A deafening CRACK! echoes through the vast room as Tulya's axe splits apart the banister. Wood chips fly every which way, raining down on the stained rug. Honey balances herself on the armoire she crashed into, trying to find an escape route. Behind the furniture piece, she catches sight of something attached to the discolored paint. There's a door right next to her, mere feet away. Timing will be essential.
Tulya rights herself, yanking the axe free from the staircase. She whips around to face Honey, jaw set and eyes furious. "Let's just get this over with, Eleven. Try to stay still, will you?"
As the One tribute nears, Honey waits. Not yet, she tells herself. Stay calm. She thinks back to one of her Dad's lessons, their family gathered around the dinner table. Honeybee, remember, the first one to make a move, loses.
(Honey will never lose.)
In a few seconds Tulya is on her, raising the axe far above her head. She must look pathetic, frozen in the face of death. If only that was the case. Honey pulls the chain from a hook hidden behind the heavy repository, leaping backwards. A sudden chain of reactions transpires.
The armoire, caught in the chain's furious path, is catapulted off balance. Tulya is clipped by the large wardrobe, shouting in pain as she is thrown to the floor. Unfortunately for the Career, the once-hanging chandelier comes crashing down on top of her. Free from its hidden anchor, the decorative fixture is now a death sentence. Electric flame blurs in the air, casting the hall in a blazing flash.
Miraculously, Tulya rolls over to avoid the behemoth centerpiece composed of iron spikes and sharp glass. The resounding CRASH disorients the room. As the dust settles, Honey crawls to the edge of the exit. Pulling herself up and opening the door, white-hot pain spreads from her ankle.
Looking down, the edge of Tulya's axe is buried in the meat of her leg. Honey cannot help the grunt that erupts from her mouth. Tulya cackles behind her, her own leg pinned beneath the fallen chandelier. Apparently, the One girl was close enough to land one last hit.
She jerks the axe free, throwing the weapon far across the room. Enjoy being trapped and defenseless, asshole. Agonizing pain shoots up Honey's leg as she slams the door shut and stumbles into the dark. Lifting her foot to take a step, the ground drops out from underneath her.
A gasp permeates the blackness as Honey falls into the abyss.
It feels like her head is going to explode.
Deep in the bowels of the basement, Honey has been camped out for a few hours, recuperating from her injuries. When she woke up at the base of a broken staircase, blood seeping beneath her limbs, Honey thought things couldn't get much worse.
Oh, how wrong she was.
Delirious and unstable, Honey quietly shuffled through the unfolding passageways until she found an unlocked room. The flickering lights and damp walls are less than ideal, especially since her entire body aches. After settling behind an ancient desk in her new hiding spot, Honey used what little medical supplies she found in her backpack to wrap her still bleeding ankle, abandoning her boots in the process. The bandages do little to quell the pain.
Honey never planned on being alone in the Games this soon. She was supposed to be protected by her army of fodder, not suffering by herself in a shitty basement. For the first time since the Reaping, Honey is scared. She feels pathetic and weak. Having no control is a foreign concept to her; it's been years since Honey was low woman on the totem pole.
Her back is on fire, uncomfortable against the metal pipes lining the walls. Amongst the thrumming of the waterlines, Honey has been hearing monstrous noises. The grotesque groans grew louder and louder as she wove her way through the labyrinth earlier.
Surrounded by cinder block walls, Honey fiddles with the silver ring on her left ring finger, now caked with muck. The metal is a reminder of home, a gift from her fathers for her sixteenth birthday. Honey remembers being so happy unboxing the velvet box, another symbol of her newfound wealth. All she wants to do is chuck the ring into the incinerator with the rest of her disillusioned dreams.
She hopes her parents aren't upset by her fall from grace. That's if they're even alive.
Did Mayor Beaufort betray them too? Lock them away under the Justice Building? Hang them in the town square like Phlox's mother?
Before, Honey would simply shut off her brain. Now, all she has to keep her company are the troublesome thoughts racing through her mind. Shifting about, Honey's ankle burns. She's lucky that the axe didn't sink all the way to the bone; there would be no coming back from that fate. Honey finds it ironic that her family's rise through the ranks in Eleven can be attributed to the very same ankle. The broken bones were the catalyst for success. After coming home sobbing, her father did some digging of his own. The next week, the peacekeepers that made her work on a broken foot were sentenced to the firing squad. The rest is history.
(Was it worth it? Should she have stopped him? Would it have saved herself from her own wretchedness?)
Honey refuses to give up and let the Gamemakers think they have her cornered. She will treat this as just one more annoying obstacle that she has to hurdle.
(It seems she's done a lot of hurdling while in the arena.)
Honey will not show a loss of composure, because that will be admitting defeat. A cannon booms, shaking the walls as she continues to wallow in agony. Even though she's removed from the action, at least she can count on the others to wipe each other out. Everything is still going according to plan. She just has to take it one step at a time.
What is annoying her the most, though, is that she has been cut off from any sources of information. Honey had no clue what is going on around the rest of the swampland. Down here, there is no sense of time. Did a new day begin? How many cannons blasted while she was unconscious? Is Phlox still alive?
Her main priority is to get up to the surface. She'll find out what happened to the rest of the field during her victory interview.
Honey can feel the isolation creeping in, similar to the itch she feels when one of her masks grows tiresome. While searching for a place to rest, she thought she saw a person around the corner one too many times. Panem will not see her become the crazy tribute this year, the One girl has that role already.
Just when Honey begins to feel comfortable against the stinging concrete, freakish shrieks and sickening moans begin outside the door to the incinerator room. Honey can't help but sink closer to the corner, edging away from the noise.
She finds a camera hidden in the water-stained ceiling, rolling her eyes. "Really, you can't give a girl a break?"
Slowly, she stands and readies her hacksaw. Honey is grateful that her only weapon was not lost in the fall. The door begins violently shaking, the doorknob vibrating back and forth. Honey buries her fear deep down, but the shaking of the serrated blade and tear pricks betray her.
All of a sudden, the noises stop at once.
Did she imagine it? Is she that far gone already?
The silence is all-encompassing.
The incinerator door bang opens and a slimy creature tumbles to the concrete. As it stands to full height, Honey is struck by its figure. The mutation is humanoid, body covered in, if not totally composed of, a slimy, black, moss-like substance. It reminds her of the tendrils that ate the Nines alive.
Beneath its skin are multiple reddish veins and ligaments; the arms of the creature end in long, sharp talons. The head is misshapen, lacking eyes or a nose and consists primarily of a large mouth filled with jagged fangs.
Honey screams as the mutt approaches. This is the end, she thinks. It is not fair! She shouldn't have been here in the first place! And to think she will be torn to shreds by such an ugly creature. How unfitting for someone like her. She should have won these Games handily, not dragged around like a typical outlier.
The creature lunges and Honey dives to the floor. She wastes no time surging for the exit. Black claws backhand Honey off her intended path, slamming her to the ground. Her vision fuzzies as the room tilts sideways. Ragged breathing intermixes with the squelches the mutt makes as it approaches Honey's prone form.
Readying the killing blow, Honey uses the last bit of her energy to jump up and push the mutt back into the incinerator from where it came. She desperately shuts the door, bringing down the security bar. A red flashing button calls to Honey as the creature bangs on the glass.
"Burn in hell, ugly."
A roaring fire comes to life, consuming the mutation instantly. Honey collapses to her knees and stares into the blaze as the smell of putrescence saturates the room.
She should have stayed in the basement.
Outside, the swampland reeks of a rancid acidity. The calamitous tendrils from the bloodbath slink through the rest of the arena, making the landscape a make-shift minefield. One wrong step and you'll become the next prey trapped in the rotting web.
After watching the mutt turn to ash, Honey stumbled upon another staircase that led upwards and into the wetlands. Bypassing the cornucopia courtyard and continuing down one of the mysterious pathways, it didn't take long to reach the water's edge she took note of at launch. The beginning of cross-crossing, moldy docks extended from the mud and slush.
For the past hour or so, she has been trudging her way through the wrecked walkways. Continuing forwards is the only option that remains. The mansion is not safe, as it's too close to the mutts, and Honey does not possess the skills to survive off the surrounding wilds. The Fours are probably thriving in this environment, similar to the backwater bayous they live in. Of course, that's if they're still alive.
If Phlox is still out there, Honey could use another body to take the hits that remain. She hates to admit it, but there is no way she can withstand much more.
In the distance, the outline of another shoddy house lights up the horizon. The yellow-tinted glow signifies someone is home. Up close, the wood siding is blanketed in black mold, water stains, and algae.
Honey no longer has the energy to put on her mask - it's cracked beyond further use. At this point, all she can do is rely on her brain.
Carefully opening the front entrance, the inside of the building reminds Honey of the main house. The difference is the fact that it's waterlogged and all but destroyed. Gaping holes in the floorboards expose the murky water below. Honey steers clear of the deteriorating areas; after all that she's been through, it would be embarrassing if she drowned.
Crossing to the east wing of the house, a loud buzzing drowns out the sounds of the swamp outside the windows.
Honey freezes as she is faced with the source of the noise.
Oversized insects meander through what appears to be the remains of a living room. Mutated crane flies, mosquitoes, black flies, and wasps flutter about the space. The droning reminds Honey of the tracker jacker nests back home.
Stuck in the middle of the mutts, Honey knows the slightest movement could set them off. She looks for an escape route, but the only exit, a side door, is blocked by the hive's nest.
There has to be a way out of this mess. She just made it out of one horror show, Honey will not fall victim to yet another.
On her back, the pack weighs heavy on Honey's shoulder blades.
Wait.
The ingredients to salvation have been with her this whole time.
Deliberately shifting the backpack off her shoulder, Honey bends to the wet floor. Unzipping the bag, she takes out the bottle of alcohol she scavenged from the kitchen. As quietly as she can, Honey rips off her t-shirt's left sleeve.
In a few seconds, she has a molotov cocktail brewed up.
Upon her return to the Capitol, Honey needs to thank the survival resources trainer. Just as she is about to light the bottle with her lone lighter, curly hair and caramel skin climbs down the stairs closest to the swarm.
Phlox's chest heaves, eyes blown wide.
Caught in the middle of Honey and the nest, her partner has seen better days. Dried blood coats his overalls and a long cut bisects his right eyebrow. Dark eyebags and broken fingernails indicate a less than stellar arena experience. Honey wonders how she looks from the outside, a spoiled princess brought to ruin.
"Honey? Is that really you?"
A few days ago, she would plaster on a virtuous façade and greet her long-lost friend with open arms. Now, all she wants to do is get the hell out of here.
"Phlox, get out of the way," she says firmly, not wanting to waste any time. The mutts meander closer and closer.
"I've been hiding out here since we got separated at the Bloodbath. I was finally going to leave yesterday, but—" he points behind his back, words thick with emotion.
It's not a coincidence that her partner has been trapped here for the past however-many days. Without a shadow of a doubt, Honey knows the Gamemakers kept him around for their reunion. Judging by the hurt in his eyes, she can tell it won't be a happy one.
Phlox continues, voice now hardened. This is a side of him she's never seen before; Honey despises it. "You know, I tried to find you after the launch. But the kids from Two cut me off. Gave me this nasty cut for my troubles. I could've ran, but no, I stayed behind to find you."
Honey's stomach plummets. She knows what is coming next. "I'm glad I did. Because I got to see the real you; the girl that mercilessly betrayed her friends. You threw them out like trash, as if they were nothing!" Phlox shouts, pure anger laced in his tone. "I can't believe we ever trusted you."
Hot tears stream down Honey's face. She's tired and at the brink. Honey accepts she can't talk her way out of this one. So fucking what? Huh? Sure, she screwed over a few kids but it was to survive. Who is Phlox to judge her? Why is she the bad guy?
Honey's lies might have caught up to her, but there's not a chance in hell she's letting them bite her in the ass.
The damn breaks.
The build-up of the past few days finally unleashes, a flood of bitterness and rage overflowing her veins. "I'm not sorry! So fucking what! They were inconsequential, kids that were trying to outrun death. Korrion and Rhiannon were stupid and naïve and it was all too easy to manipulate them. That's what you wanted to hear right? That I'm a snake? A snitch? A monster?" Honey lets the words sink in. "Well guess what Phlox? Good people don't make it out of here alive."
Phlox takes a step back, clearly not ready for the true Honey to show herself. He can cope, he asked for this.
Honey wipes away the wetness on her cheeks and continues, not able to stop herself. "I'm not sorry for anything. They would have gotten me killed. I had to! I couldn't let - I couldn't—" Honey chokes up, words caught in her throat. After so long of pretending to be invincible, the emotion is too much all at once.
I couldn't let this be for naught.
Honey from before would be disgusted by her hysteria, disappointed that she has shown her true cards. Honey can't find herself to care. She feels alive. Human. Real.
Phlox is stunned into silence. Honey's chest heaves and her fingers tighten around the molotov.
"If that were me, would you have done it? Would you have killed me? Treated me nothing like a puppet?" the boy finally asks after a few moments.
Honey answers with a dagger to the heart. "Yes."
Shining tears carve their way over Phlox's angled cheekbones. "I believed your lies. I thought we were friends. That I meant something to you. But, no more. I'm done."
Her senses feel overloaded. Time stands still yet crashes inward simultaneously.
Overwhelmed, Honey knows there is only one way to get out of this situation alive. Seconds seem to slow as she lights the cocktail and throws it at the nest. The fiery bottle arches over her district partner's head, crashing into the hive.
Phlox goes up in flames along with the bugs.
Heat licks at the opposite side of the room, fire consuming everything it touches. Phlox's terrified screams make the house shake. Honey wastes no time, sprinting through the blackening remnants of the living space as the house is devoured.
A cannon shot rings through the swamp.
The anthem plays overhead, announcing the six deaths that occurred in the past hour or so. Rain drizzles into Honey's lashes as the never-ending night sky reveals the faces of the dead. Two girl, both the Fours, the Five boy, Eight kid, and finally Phlox.
Honey turns away, not bothering to watch ghosts pass by.
Limping through the tree line barefoot, her old dressing frays at the edges. Black veins branch under the dirtied wrapping, a clear sign of infection. If nothing else kills her, this most certainly will.
Somehow, she outran the fire unharmed. As the docks were engulfed in flames and cannons marked the loss of life, Honey stumbled into the tree line. Since then, she's been batting away tree limbs and broad leaves from her person. To make things even more exciting, the Gamemakers decided to sic the tendrils on her once again. Korrion's writhing body stays at the forefront of her mind as Honey tries not to trip.
Eventually, the undergrowth drops away and reveals a sort of clearing. From the swamp, a half-destroyed greenhouse rises into the air.
Honey feels numb. To be honest, she isn't really sure how she even got here. Her feet overtook her muddled brain, leading her deeper and deeper into the unknown. She wastes no time hobbling into the dark entrance, fear pushing her forward.
The interior of the glass structure is expansive. Moonlight cuts through the jagged edges of broken window panes. The drizzle outside becomes a full-on storm, peppering the glass intensely. Festering webs of onyx slink up the glass like the ivy growing on the façade of her house back in Amity Grove. With each passing moment, the stygian mass overtakes the building, effectively dimming any lumination. With so many deaths, Honey should be self-assured now that they're in the endgame. One or two more people stand before Honey and victory.
(All she feels is hollow.)
Honey is distraught and on the verge of collapse. All her perfectly crafted masks are coming crashing down, and she can do nothing about it. Does she even want to do anything about it? The answer is not as important as it used to be. How could a wretched girl like her win? Honey doesn't deserve to live - she's nothing but fragile porcelain. Easily broken.
But she'll fight to make it back home to her family. She'll win to get justice. Honey has not forgotten about her promise to get revenge on Mayor Beaufort. If anything, this is what drives Honey forward.
The cracking of glass alerts Honey to the presence of someone. From the shadows of the overgrown gardens, Tulya emerges with a wicked-looking chainsaw. The brum-brum-brum-brum pervades Honey's senses. The rotating chain of serrated teeth scowls at her, coated in fresh blood. It is not the only thing drenched in sanguine; the entirety of Tulya's stout frame is encrusted with death.
"Fancy meeting you here."
There is a wild look in the One girl's eyes. It seems they both have been rattled during their time in the arena. Honey is too tired to think of a plan out of this; she is outmatched.
Nonetheless, she will fight to the bitter end. After all, she isn't afraid to punch below the belt. Haywood's specialize in playing dirty, after all.
Before Tulya can even rev the engine of her fancy death machine, Honey takes off into the overgrowth. She'll need a head start considering her ankle can barely support her weight. Cackles reverberate through the glass prison as Tulya hunts Honey through the gardens.
With every twist and turn, her ankle cries out in disapproval. Honey can't stand it anymore, her foot dragging behind as the chase continues. So, she turns off the pathway and drops to her stomach. Why try to adhere to Tulya's expectations?
Dirt gets into her eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Honey dares not make a sound. Vanity can take a back seat for now.
Hiding in the foliage, Honey tries to think of something she can use to even the playing field. Quietly digging through her backpack, the only thing she finds is a flashlight. It will have to do.
Clicking on the torch, Honey tosses it onto the run-down cobblestone. Her flashlight calls out, beaming into the grimy nether. Please, work. Tulya falls for the trap easily after she turns the corner, chainsaw hungry for a new victim. Standing over the lone torch, Tulya confusingly twists about, trying to locate her target.
As she turns her back, Honey leaps from the brush and stabs her in the back with the remains of her destroyed hacksaw.
Of course, she misses anything vital.
The Career howls and slashes her heavy weapon through the air, cutting into Honey's abdomen. She screams, face contorted into anguish as the blade digs deeper. Tulya rips her weapon back, carnage spraying everywhere. Before she can do anything, Honey is thrown through the side of the greenhouse.
Dazed and bleeding from glass skewered in her shoulder and back, Honey watches as her opponent scuttles over the broken wall. Clumps of grass tickle her fingers as Honey tries to pull herself to the water mere feet away. She would rather end things on her own terms than let some crazy bitch cut her head off.
"Too slow, Eleven."
Tulya starts her engine one more time and cuts into Honey's already-injured ankle. Every jostle of the spinning chain sends ripples of grinding pain through her body. Skin, muscle, ligaments, and bone are shorn away in seconds, leaving a bloody stump. There is a buzzing in her ears that intensifies into a roar - the world disappears as black splotches appear before her eyes. Millions of needles crashes over Honey all at once, pain exploding like a bomb inside her body. She feels the pulse in her gushing wound like a hammer banging away.
With every beat of Honey's heart, blood pours out of the severed appendage. Her breathing is irregular, lungs gasping for air as the adrenaline fades away into the night sky. Every droplet of rain lights her nerves on fire.
(Kill me, please.)
There is no warning when the chainsaw descends to her exposed stomach. Intestines go flying everywhere. Honey can do nothing but watch in horror. Circling around the two girls, the melanoid horde of vines seem to laugh at Honey's forever torture.
A lifetime passes before Tulya grows bored of the slaughter, removing the chainsaw from Honey's body and drops it to the rain-soaked ground.
Honey closes her eyes and accepts death. She's deserving of it. After everything she's done, Honey deserves to be killed by a monster like herself. Bleeding out, Tulya stands over her, ready to deliver the killing blow with a raised boot that eclipses the moon overhead.
Death never comes.
Instead, a squawk of surprise trills through the air. Honey lifts her head to watch as Tulya's other foot becomes entangled in her blood-soaked intestines. She loses her footing, arms flailing in the air, trying to balance herself. The mud of the swamp only accelerates her fall into the water.
Screams and splashes echo through the arena as Tulya is acidified.
Honey has barely any energy left as she turns her face to watch as skin melts from bone. Good thing she never tried to drink from the swap water. Bits of muscle are revealed as the water dissolves the One girl's body, stark-white bone exposed as skin and internal organs become nothing.
On the edge of consciousness, Honey sees Phlox reach out his hand. She smiles as her vision blacks out.
"Congratulations, again, Miss Haywood."
In a militant office, Honey sits in an intolerable stiff chair. If she has to guess, the point is to make each guest feel awkward. Uncomfortable. Off-balance. Honey straightens her back and pulls back her shoulders. She will not succumb to any psychological tricks.
Every book has a designated spot in the bookcase to her left. No file is left crooked on the jet-black desk. There is not a single speck of dust on any surface. Order reigns with an iron fist. Not surprising, given she sits in front of the President of Panem.
Honey answers gracefully, mask firmly in place. "Thank you, Madame President. Coming from you, that means the world."
President Catalan's apathetic eyes stare into Honey's soul.
The thin-silver scar on her abdomen gnaws at her insides and the metal of her prosthetic foot feels cold against her skin. "Your victory was well-deserved. Unconventional, but I was quite impressed with her ingenuity and guile."
Honey opens her mouth to answer, but Catalan holds up a leather-gloved hand. She bites her tongue. Most would be scared, holding a meeting with the most powerful person in the country. Honey is only filled with a resounding emptiness.
"Although, it does not excuse your family's dealings in Eleven."
Honey's blood runs cold.
Catalan appears amused, a slip from her usual demeanor. "Do not worry, child. I appreciate your father's loyalty. I merely want to extend my gratitude. His service to Head Peacekeeper Antias has made District Eleven a much safer place."
The grandfather clock on the wall ticks, continuous as Catalan presses on. "And I hope you will take comfort in the fact that Mayor Beaufort and his family have been taken care of during your absence. I think you will be pleased by his new successor."
Honey should be twirling, clasping her hands in joy after hearing the news that the man that fucked her over is six feet under. Instead, she feels yet another loss. Getting revenge on Mayor Beaufort was one of the only things she was looking forward to upon her arrival back home. While lying in recovery after waking up after the Games, the thought of his blood under her nails is what helped her sleep those first few nights.
(All she sees is red. Her jaw tightens, teeth grinding together. Why can't she feel one ounce of satisfaction? Happiness? This is a robbery! Once again, she's being screwed over.
She just wants to be whole.)
Honey does not bother with a response. Catalan has a point to all this. Why drag her halfway across the Capitol to tell Honey about the Mayor's death? She would have just seen for herself when the train docks in Amity Grove next week. There is more at play, she's sure of it.
"As our newest Victor, you will ensure that our country remains unified. But I know you can offer more than a few public appearances once a year. Your skill set promises more than just a pretty face."
In her streamlined jacket and smart trousers, Catalan clearly means business. There is room for nothing else, according to her track record. Savior of the Capitol. Legend from Two. The woman who ripped off the Mockingjay's wings with her bare hands.
"I have a proposition for you, Honey. If you're interested, of course. However, I think it is one you can't refuse."
The woman's monotone voice drills into Honey's head. She is smart enough to read in between the lines; if she refuses, she's as good as dead. No matter, this is everything she ever wanted.
The chessboard has been reset.
Honey battles back the memory of Phlox's final words before she answers. Despite her best efforts, the wounds of his words still ache.
Honey has to make sure her façade is perfect - not only to convince the president, but to convince herself this is what she wants. Taking a deep breath, Honey lets her signature pearly smile grace her face.
"If I could share a secret, Madame President," Honey says cheerfully, leaning forward. "I've been dreaming of this day my whole life."
FIN.
A/N: Contagion by Circle of Dust
contagioussecrets96 . weebly . com
Welcome! I am brain dead and sleep deprived, but excited nonetheless! Thank you to Nell and her beauty of a child for helping officially launch the dyot-verse! (Name pending). I immensely enjoyed writing Honey for VE; it was an honor to work with such a great character that fits perfectly with my worldbuilding. Stay tuned, because this is definitely not the last you will see of our dear Honeybee :)
I also highly recommend reading Nell's VE fic: Desiderium: The 171st Hunger Games. It is a masterpiece! Yes, I'm biased since it's about my son, but the point stands.
Also, keep an eye out for more dyot-verse related information on the horizon!