Chapter 49: Miller Thompson
A/N: Well, here we go again with District Nine and this time it's the man who went into the Quell! Strong, powerful, determined, he's going to do all it takes to survive in the arena, and those tricks he learnt from his parents are certainly gonna come in handy...
P.S. Willuna has reserved the D1 Female for Blue Moon!
P.S.S. The cover pic is now Ragnar!
P.S.S.S. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story! We're edging close to 50 reviews (a big achievement for me haha), every review really does make me smile so pls keep 'em coming!
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Peeta bit his lip, his eyes clouding over as he gazed at Miller's confident smirk. "I killed him too."
Katniss put a hand on his shoulder. "He tried to kill you first, Peeta. You only acted in self-defence."
Peeta shook his head. "Doesn't change the facts. I still killed him."
Katniss sighed, picking up a cup of tea from the dining table and handing it to Peeta. Peeta took it and sipped it, drumming his fingers against the base of the cup lightly. "Peeta, it wasn't your fault."
Peeta blinked, as if trying to erase those horrible Quell memories. "I don't know, but still, he was a deceiver. I watched a replay of his Games and oh boy, he was one heck of a trickster."
Katniss shuddered. "Tell me about it. In a twisted way, I'm glad he didn't make it out of the Bloodbath."
Miller Thompson
District 9
Aged 18
5 Kills
Miller wasn't respected in District Nine. He was feared. The son of the leader of the infamous Red Devils gang, he wreaked havoc on granaries and grain farms across the District, looting and stealing for his own pleasure. Ever since his father Marco was caught and executed by Peacekeepers, though, he had taken the reins of the Red Devils, and to the people of District Nine, this reeked of trouble. After the tornadoes that devastated the District only a year earlier, despite Gwen and Laurel's best efforts, the District still slumped into a near-apocalyptic state in part due to the fact that Miller led the Red Devils to numerous raids across the District, pillaging and plundering to obtain riches to survive the period referred to by people all across Panem as 'The Black Days'. He was ruthless, merciless, even once going as far as ransacking Gwen's house while she was off distributing food to the homeless. This, combined with his deceptions used to fool Peacekeepers and the illusions he utilised to evade capture at all costs, earned him the nickname 'Beelzebub'. But there was one thing Miller was afraid of: water. Ever since he fell into a pond as a child and nearly drowned, he had developed a strong fear of it and tried his best to avoid water bodies as much as possible. He never let anyone know of this fear, though, and anyone who even dared to suggest that he feared this common liquid would be in for a nasty punishment.
District Four had their very own version of Miller Thompson. Atoll Carvalho, a close relative of the deceased former tribute and pirate captain Molly Braden, who had founded the Red Crew in her youth and prior to her being voted into the sickening Quarter Quell arena, had decreed that in the event she died, Meander Carvalho, Atoll's mother, was to be named the new captain. More than two decades later, after Meander herself had died in a clash with the Capitolian navy after a botched raid on the Deep Blue Fishery at the ever-polluted Necromancer's Bay, her son Atoll had been given charge of the crew at the young age of fifteen. He showed not a single ounce of mercy, proving himself to be far more capable and far more bloodthirsty than his mother had been, drawing numerous comparisons to the swashbuckling pirate Molly herself, a comparison Atoll was extremely proud of. But he had bigger ambitions. He didn't just want to be the most powerful pirate in District Four, he wanted to be the most powerful person in District Four, period. And to do that, he had his eyes set on something that would lead him to change the course of District Four's history forever: Victory in the Hunger Games arena. He mastered, perfected, did all he could to train and brush up on his skills, all in a desperate bid to volunteer and win the Games when he turned eighteen. Little did he know, his actions and greed would spur several other young kids of District Four into volunteering, creating an irreversible process towards District Four becoming increasingly indoctrinated into the Capitol's volunteer system...
On Reaping Day, Miller stood towering over his comparably short fellow teens, glowering at those who stood around him. For the first time since the epidemic that had hit District Nine right before the Dark Days, social distancing was observed in the Reaping Square. The other kids stood at least ten metres away from Miller, meaning that due to the large population size, many kids were cramped together in the corners of the Square. But at least none of them were near stabbing distance from the terrifying gang leader Miller. Miller didn't care about these pesky little insects. He didn't care about being Reaped either. After all, he could very well trick the other tributes into submission. The crown would be his even before he entered the arena. A certain trick he'd only recently discovered in his father's old notebook came into mind, prompting a light smirk across his hardened face. Oh, how he would love to test that out one day! Perhaps, he would get the chance to do so, one day. The escort called a girl up to the stage. Gramineae, a cockroach that Miller could hardly care less about. He forgot her name as soon as she stepped onto the stage. She was worthless, meaningless to Miller. He actually hoped she died, so her useless self could be wiped from the face of the earth. The escort reached into the boys' Reaping Bowl and pulled out a boy's name. "Miller Thompson!" Silence. Now everything was deadly silent. Miller straightened his pose. He wasn't afraid at all. Confidently marching up to the stage, he held his chin high, subtly glaring at anyone who even thought about staring at him. But the looks of relief were undeniable on the children's faces. They wanted this devious monster gone for good, that was no secret. They wanted him to die the most horribly painful death possible in the Hunger Games arena, as a form of cruel justice for all the heinous crimes he had committed. Miller loomed above the escort, who finched and scuttled away as he raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. This escort was a puny man, tiny in comparison to the large Miller. He wondered which idiot had even given such a weak man the job of an escort. He wouldn't mind getting Willuna, District Four's current escort. At least she seemed to have some fighting will, some attributes that Miller could somewhat respect. Horatio Macclesfield, on the other hand, was beneath him, a tiny, imbecile of a weak mortal. Miller paid absolutely no attention to him. He didn't even spare a thought for Gwen and Lauren, the two Victors from Nine and his mentors. He was absolutely certain he could win rather easily without the help of two of the weakest Victors who ever lived. Gwen was a lucky Victor who had anorexia and stomach problems and Laurel was just some fortunate baker girl. They weren't worthy of being alive right here, right now, in Miller's opinion. But he would show the nation, he would be District Nine's first proper Victor. He would be the one who would show Panem what the grain District was truly capable of. He would win in the most incredible way possible.
District Four was in shock. Fifteen-year-old trawler Gerald Nowak had been Reaped, he was the one who was destined to go into the arena! But no, there he stood, halfway up the stage, but instead of continuing his climb, he had his back turned and was gazing ahead at the crowd, mouth wide open in shock, blinking in rapid confusion. The entire District turned their heads towards the eighteen-year-olds section, gaping at one particular boy. Atoll Carvalho. The sandy-haired pirate boy had raised his hand and shouted the fabled words. "I volunteer." The words rang like an oracle's prophecy throughout the shellshocked District, who weren't sure quite exactly how to react. Some began to smile, having witnessed firsthand the devastation brought about by the Red Crew. Some looked thoughtfully ahead, realising the money opportunity in the Games. And many more baulked, the understanding that this would only fuel more volunteers plaguing their minds. At any rate, as Atoll marched up the stage and the Victors exchanged nervous glances, it was safe to say that everyone knew District Four would never be able to return to what it once was. Atoll smirked as he looked out over the sea of faces. They would be in for one heck of a Hunger Games. And they certainly would, just not in the way he might have expected. Because little did he know, there was another outlaw tribute waiting to meet him in the Capitol...
Gwen and Laurel had no idea what to do about him. As soon as he hopped on the train, he had snatched a knife, pulled out a coin from Gwen's ear (how that had ended up there, Gwen had literally no idea) and sliced the knife through the coin, causing the shiny metal object to disintegrate into a fireball which Miller scooped up with his palm and swallowed. An odd show of trickery and magic, and an unwelcome one too. The knife had come way too close to slicing Gwen's face. Also, the fact that Miller had grabbed the knife wasn't exactly a very nice gesture, to say the least. But Miller seemed unfazed by Gwen's reaction. He just smirked, his smirk carrying a strong stench of putrid arrogance, as he strutted off to his room. Laurel, being the nice, helpful mentor she was, called out, "Miller, your shoelaces-" She was cut off by Miller snapping his fingers and causing the shoelaces to seemingly tie themselves together. Laurel stopped mid-sentence, her jaw hung wide open in shock and frankly a tinge of amazement, being left utterly speechless by Miller's tricks. She and Gwen exchanged unsure looks. "What do we do about him?" Laurel asked, the tremble clear in her voice.
"Focus on Gramineae, perhaps?" Gwen suggested, glancing at the terrified little girl cowering behind her.
Laurel didn't argue. There was no way she was going anywhere that trickster of a gang leader. She doubted she would make it out alive if she even stepped into that room without a hand grenade. Miller was fine with this arrangement. He was content with kicking back and relaxing before his arrival in the Capitol.
Unfortunately, the escort had to ruin his plans. Daniath Pickleton, District Nine's brand new escort after the previous one quit her job due to issues with her salary, knew nothing of District Nine's vicious gangs and the threat Miller posed. Instead, he only knew that the tributes had to be well-mannered and had to be prim and proper before arriving in the Capitol. To do this, he barged into Miller's room while he was watching a Capitol wrestling match and began spouting random Capitol manner rules and all that nonsense an Outlier would hardly even care about. Big mistake. Daniath got his warm welcome into his new job by being on the receiving end of some very hard punches, after which he had to be whisked off on an emergency hovercraft to the nearest hospital for surgery and medical treatment. That was all it took for Daniath to quit his new job. The savagery and barbarism displayed by the District Outliers was, to him, simply unacceptable!
District Four had a problem. An annoying, unexpected one. And the name of this problem? Atoll Carvalho. This uncanny volunteer, this Career tribute, this pirate, no one in the District Four team wanted to associate with him, least of all Mags, who lashed out at him before marching off with the female tribute by her side. Atoll didn't care. He never liked Mags. She was too bossy, and too weak. She won her Games with a freaking basket. That wasn't very proper now, was it? But then there was Jolien Fisher. Atoll knew she had to be his mentor the second he met her. She was a former member of the Red Crew, a pirate at heart, one Molly raised to be a strong, fearless warrior, much unlike her 'siblings' Timmy, Iris and that other guy. His mother had told him tales of Jolien's time on Molly's ship. And her arena antics? Legendary. The first-ever Career tribute from District Four, she had won with style. As captain of the Red Crew, Atoll wanted her as his mentor. Unfortunately, Jolien did not feel the same with him. She had grown to despise the pirates and had learnt of all the horrific crimes the Red Crew committed. And ever since Timmy was the victim of an attack on Red Beach, she had lost any remaining respect for the pirates of District Four. This made for some very awkward conversations between the pair. "So tell me, how brilliant of a fighter was Molly?" Atoll asked, his face arrogant and very much punchable, in Jolien's opinion.
"She was good," Jolien replied flatly.
"Ah yes. And you were a brilliant pirate too, right?" Atoll asked, grinning as he crossed his legs.
Jolien scowled. She had put her pirating days past her long ago. "I don't want to talk about pirates, Atoll. Now let's focus on the Games."
Atoll frowned, raising an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't you? Aren't you proud that you were born to a pirate crew?"
Jolien hissed at him. "First off, I wasn't born in the Red Crew. I was born somewhere else. And no, I'm not proud of my pirate history. Now shut up and concentrate on the arena!"
Atoll blinked, surprised by her rash response. His small brain couldn't comprehend or process her words. After a couple of seconds of thinking about it, he simply shrugged and went to take a nap, much to Jolien's annoyance. She sighed, taking a sip of her wine. Why couldn't he just be a normal tribute and focus on the Games?
Miller tried to strangle his stylist. And in his opinion, his actions were more than justified. District Nine's male stylist, Kieran Farcreek, was in his second year in the job after being promoted from District Eleven. Kieran's attitude could only be described as 'extra bubbly', and even the Capitolians themselves would admit that he annoyed them on a very frequent basis. Plus, he had seemingly no clue how to style costumes for the grain District. While his costume for District Eleven had been a stroke of genius, his costumes for District Nine were simply dire. Last year's male tribute had been dressed up as a stalk of wheat, an outfit that had made Claudius Templesmith fall off his chair laughing. After receiving some nasty messages on Capitolgram, Kieran vowed to up his game this year. By styling Miller as a tornado! The outfit itself was a laughable joke. A grey cone-shaped costume with lines representing the swirls in a tornado and finished off with a pinch of real dust, Miller took one look at it and decided that there was no way he was going to wear anything even remotely resembling that thing. "But you must!" Kieran chirped, twirling and dancing around Miller in the most annoying way possible.
Miller snarled at him. He reached out and from out of the blue, pulled out a slip of paper from behind Kieran's ear. Kieran's eyes widened with amazement and those wide eyes didn't diminish when Miller made the picture of an impaled tribute appear on the slip of paper. "Don't. Push. It," Miller warned.
Kieran giggled with glee. "That was brilliant! But fun and games must come to an end and you should really be wearing that costume soon!"
"I'm not going to," Miller said flatly, marching up to Kieran and looming over him. His eyes blazed with fiery anger, enough to burn even the coldest of souls.
Kieran gave him a sideways smile. "Ooh, a stubborn one, eh? Well, kiddo, I hate to be the soggy pants but alas, you really need to-"
That was it. Miller lunged at Kieran, who barely had time to scream. Miller's rough, muscular hands closed around Kieran's throat, squeezing it tightly. Kieran's eyes widened in fear and he choked out, "Please..."
Miller pressed harder. Kieran's eyes rolled up and his breathing slowed. Just then, the door barged open and a horde of Peacekeepers stormed in, having heard Kieran scream. Miller instantly released Kieran, who slumped to the ground, unconscious. He gave the Peacekeepers a sly grin as they handcuffed him and led them away. "Ya'll need to loosen up," he said coyly. "I was doing ya'll a service by strangling him."
The best part was, the Peacekeepers couldn't even argue and led him away in silence.
Atoll couldn't sleep. There were voices outside, so how could he? He wished his mentors didn't have to be so freaking loud! How could not for the life of him understand how Hannah, the female tribute, could even sleep. He lay on his bed, which was far more comfortable than any bed onboard the Red Crew's ship, resigned to listening to the Victors talk for the rest of the night. He could hear two other voices besides his mentors. One of them belonged to Willuna, their new and frankly quite irksome escort. The other belonged to another Victor, one Atoll thought was far too overrated amongst the Victor fanbase. Cartier Cooper, District One's latest Victor. Being from One, he had received far more hype than any of the Outlier Victors who came after him. Atoll tiptoed towards the door and pressed his ear against it, wanting to hear every word of their juicy conversation. Alas, it was pretty boring. They discussed sponsors, that was literally it. Coral and Cartier were having their own little conversation in a corner which was muffled and probably sickeningly lovey-dovey. Atoll did not want to hear what those two weaklings had to say about each other. He slumped to the ground, exhausted. It seemed as though he would just have to wait for sleep to come and whisk him off to a world of deliciously adventurous dreams. His eyes grew heavy and he began to drift off to sleep. Until he heard Willuna shout. Her voice was so unmistakably loud, it made Atoll jump to his feet and reach for a trident that wasn't there. "What the heck?" he gasped. Peering through the keyhole, he saw Willuna dumping a jar of honey on Cartier's head, the Victor from One yelping and begging for mercy as if he were an Outlier tribute facing a Career. The thick honey oozed into his throat and he spluttered it out, gasping for air. Coral stood a sizeable distance away from them, staring incredulously at Cartier. Iris and her younger brother stood off to the side, their eyes narrowed and giving Cartier piercing looks.
"Don't ever come near her again!" Willuna growled.
"No, I just-" Cartier stammered but Willuna didn't let him finish. Instead, she proceeded to toss a heart-shaped stress ball at him.
"Get off our floor!" she demanded, an order that was met with murmurs of agreement from the Victors of District Four.
Cartier pursed his lips. Wiping some of the honey off his face, he sighed and muttered, "Fine."
Atoll shook his head. A small smirk spread across his face. "Finally, some drama," he chuckled, sauntering back to his bed as the voices outside began to quieten.
Miller knew exactly what to do in Training. He hadn't told Gwen or Laurel about his plan, but why should he in the first place? This was his life, he could do whatever he wanted without their permission anyway. He completely ignored the Head Trainer's instructions. Instructions were for goody-two-shoes like last year's pathetic Victor Calico, who he could spot up in the Gamemakers' Loft staring nervously at her tributes. Her Victory was disgusting, to say the least. Blowing up all her allies? Mollycoddling them for a horrific death? Even Miller wouldn't dare to stoop that low. But this year was going to be different. He was going to be a good, proper Victor with loads of kills and he would make sure his Victory was so spectacular, it erased all memory of Calico's the year before. He sauntered up to the Careers, the pack of six large, trained tributes, five of whom were volunteers. They were huddled in their group, discussing tactics, something that Lyme insisted they do at the start of each training session. The boy from Four was of particular interest to Miller. He was arguably the biggest and strongest tribute and had volunteered, which, despite Four's status as a Career District, was very rare. The skull-and-bones tattoo on his shoulder only served to give him an intimidating aura that sparked terror in the hearts of many of the other tributes, including Miller's own District partner, who yelped when she saw it and ran off to join her newfound ally, that wimp from District Eight, Mary Pepper. Apparently, she was Calico's sister or something like that, which meant that she was top on Miller's kill list. She reeked of a Bloodbath death, and that was exactly what she would be. A Bloodbath death. Nothing more, nothing less. Mary was dead wood to him, a piece of nothing standing between him and Victory. The Careers also stood in his way, but for now, he decided that joining them would be a good idea. He approached them, then lunged forward, reaching into the boy from One's pocket, and pulling out a coin. The Careers yelped and began to reach for weapons that weren't there. Miller slid backwards, holding up the coin, which he flicked into the air, causing it to erupt in an explosion of candy. He sneered at the shocked Careers. "Like what you're seeing? Well, I thought that since I would be joining ya'll, I might as well give a proper introduction."
The boy from Four scoffed. "You? Join us? You're from District Nine!"
Miller rolled his eyes. "So?"
The girl from Two scowled. "So, you're just a pathetic little Outlier who doesn't deserve to be in this pack."
A smirk spread across Miller's face. They knew nothing of his history. Of course, they didn't, information as forbidden to be spread between the Districts. He could bet that none of them knew anything about the tornadoes that often ravaged the grain District, or about the gangs that ruled the black markets and rural farms and granaries. "How about ya'll give me a trial? Let me show you what 'Beelzebub' can do."
The Careers murmured amongst themselves, seemingly divided on whether or not they should give Miller a chance. Shocker's actions hadn't exactly been forgotten, after all. Miller tapped his foot impatiently, but he had no choice but to wait. Eventually, the Careers seemed to come to an agreement and the boy from Two, with a hint of reluctance, told him, "Fine. Show us what you can do."
Miller grinned. "Good. I'll prove my worth, trust me."
Atoll had to admit, Miller was impressive. His skills with a knife were shockingly good. Who would've known that an Outlier like him could use a weapon? And his trickery was on par with that Capitol magician Atoll had seen on television during the train ride. What was his name again? He racked his brain, trying hard to remember the name of the dapper, red-eyed magician. Dave Ironfield. That was it. And Miller was a more violent, aggressive version of him. He pulled off dangerous stunts and tricks with the knives and swords in the Training Centre, making them disappear, reappear and transforming them into various other objects, all while donning that rather annoying yet familiar smirk on his face. That smirk was all too similar to the ones on photographs of Molly he had seen on the ship. The stark similarity, it had to be a coincidence, right? But a closer look would only spook him further. The hair, the eyes, everything. Atoll feared that this magician, the one turning what appeared to be an ordinary ball into a fat wad of cash, could well be his relative. He shook his head, No, Molly and Meander's principles had to come first. Miller was a shark, a being he had to disregard and eventually kill off. "He's impressive, isn't he?" the boy from Two murmured, glancing as Miller and the girl from One took turned chucking knives at dummies, both being extremely proficient in this particular skill.
Atoll nodded, his eyes stormy and unsure. "Yes. But that means he's a threat."
The boy from Two raised an eyebrow as Miller wrapped an arm around the girl from One, who giggled uncontrollably, as if she were a baby dolphin. Gosh, Atoll hated dolphins. Ever since one nearly drowned him as a baby, he had made sure to annihilate every single dolphin that came close to the Red Crew's ships as a form of revenge. The girl from One was just another dolphin, cute on the outside, dark on the inside. He couldn't wait to kill her. But Miller, he sensed, was the bigger threat. "We need to be careful of him."
The boy from Two nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we can't afford to let him out of our sight."
Miller had another idea. He liked this pirate boy from Four, Atoll, or whatever his name was. The pirate boy from Four had been a good ally for the past three days in training, being a fellow criminal outlaw and an excellent fighter. His skills with a trident were impeccable, and his knife skills weren't as bad as Gramineae's. Oh, boy Gramineae. Miller's absolutely god-awful District partner. The girl had gotten a two in training. A TWO. Disgraceful. No wonder people constantly looked down on Nines. It was because of wimps like her. They brought down the reputation of District Nine. If real, strong tributes like Miller were Reaped every year, then Miller was certain that it would be Nine, not Four, who would be in the Career pack. And then there was Gwen. His pathetic mentor. Where was she anyway? She had disappeared after the interviews, not even bothering to check on them. Probably off to go cry her eyes out or something. She was a wimpy Victor, arguably the weakest of them all. Heck, even Laurel had commandeered an army of mutts. That was at least somewhat respectable. But Gwen had done absolutely nothing to deserve her Victory. That girl from Ten would've been a better Victor than her. Miller shook his head, jamming his hands into his pockets as he took the elevator up to the roof. Atoll had agreed to meet him there for a very special proposal. The elevator door slid open and Miller breathed in the polluted Capitol air. Ah, how fresh. There was a garden on the roof, with an arrangement of plants that vaguely reminded him of his mother's garden, right before she died during a tornado whilst tending to it. He smacked his forehead. No. Childhood nostalgia was for wimps. He forced himself to look away from the garden and focus on the boy standing near the ledge of the roof. "Hello, Atoll."
Atoll gave him a curt nod in reply. "Hello, Miller. So, what is this about?"
Miller sneered and walked closer. "Well, I have a plan to kill the Careers."
Atoll raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Really? And what might this plan be?"
Miller chuckled softly. "Can't say. Just follow my lead." He took out a card, the queen of spades. "You have a tribute token?"
Atoll shook his head. "Nope."
"Good," Miller said as he handed Atoll the card. "Keep this. You'll know when to use it."
Atoll scowled. "I'm not playing games here, Miller."
Miller gave him a sideways smile, flipping a coin in the air. He caught it, but when he opened his palm, it was gone. "Well, Atoll, all I can say is..." He gestured at Atoll's shoe. Atoll frowned as he bent down to check it. He gasped when he found the same coin Miller was flipping hidden in his sock. He looked up at Miller, who laughed. "Check your shoe on the third day. I have something special in mind." With that, Miller left, whistling a local District Nine tune to himself as he went.
Atoll was sceptical. He stood behind a pillar on the roof, quietly tossing Millar's coin into the air and catching it again whilst pondering his words. What exactly had he meant? All those tricks, all that talk, it was so complex, so irksome, yet, if his mother had been correct, that was exactly the way Molly talked at times. It was really annoying how frustratingly similar those two were. Atoll gritted his teeth and slumped to the ground. Gazing out at the bright lights of the Capitol, he wondered if maybe, there was a connection between their families. No, he decided, shaking his head. These were just mere coincidences, nothing more to it.
Just then, he heard the elevator door slide open. Peering around the pillar and set of potted plants he was sitting behind, he caught a glimpse of several people entering the rooftop. He could spot Coral, Cartier and Gwen all emerging from the elevator. Huh. That was an odd bunch. Districts One, Four and Nine. Very uncanny indeed. Just then, he remembered the drama that had occurred the other night, and how detached Coral seemed afterwards. A smile spread across his face as he ducked behind the pillar again, eager to listen to this conversation. Over the years, this tactic of hiding and eavesdropping on others had allowed him to learn of some juicy gossip, and on one occasion, even blackmail a man named Colin, who was a former member of Coral's football team. He sat there and listened as Coral began shouting at Cartier in jittery, agitated tones. He knew she was generally very shy, but at that moment, she sounded like she was ready to stab Cartier multiple times without breaking a sweat.
"You tried to kiss me!" Coral snapped, trying her hardest to shoot Cartier a withering glare, an attempt which, in Atoll's opinion, was quite pathetic.
Cartier stared at her, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. "N-no..."
"Stop denying it, you, uhh, you-" Coral faltered for a second, trying to think of a horrible thing to call Cartier. "Seaweed Brain!"
Atoll resisted the urge to burst out laughing. Seaweed Brain? How pathetic! That was what toddlers called each other for goodness sake! And here was Coral, a grown woman calling Cartier a 'Seaweed Brain'. Oh, how absolutely pathetic! "Nice job, bozo," he murmured quietly, letting out a soft giggle, then quickly clamping a hand over his mouth.
Gwen sighed. "Guys, this was probably just a misunderstanding-"
Just then, a fly landed on Atoll's nose. He tried to swat it away, but instead, his hand slammed against one of the potted plants, causing a pot of coral bells to topple over and smash onto the ground. He cursed. Great. Now his cover was blown. He didn't even wait for the Victors' reaction, he ran straight for the elevator and furiously jammed the '4' button!
Miller stood on his pedestal, gazing around the arena. No one had accompanied him to his launch tube, except for a squadron of fully-armed Peacekeepers. It was weird, having to change and eat in front of ten people carrying fully-loaded guns and dressed in that sickeningly white armour. But he hadn't thought too much of the situation. Now here he was, in the arena at long last. To his dismay, there was water. To the north was a large cornfield, with tall husks of corn sprouting from the ground. It reminded Miller strongly of home, of District Nine. He slapped his forehead. Homesickness was unacceptable. He had to be a man. At the northern edge of the cornfield was a long, winding river, the currents slow and lazy and carrying several pieces of driftwood along on a lazy ride. Two bridges led beyond, to further cornfields that stretched far and wide. To the south was a large rice paddy, flooded, much to Miller's dismay. In the distance were tall, towering peaks, with what appeared to be a small farming town beneath them. To make things worse, there were two lakes to the east and to the west, sandwiched in between the two contrasting landscapes. Miller gritted his teeth. He hated getting wet. But in this arena, did he really have much of a choice? He pulled his socks up. "Be a warrior, be a fighter, be a man," Miller muttered, repeating the three words his father had always told him. He couldn't let his fear of water show. Not on national television! That would be hopelessly embarrassing, a humiliation to the Red Devils gang. No, he had to be a man. Miller took a couple more deep breaths, trying to channel some sense of calm into his pounding heart. The gong rang. Shit! Miller was caught off-guard! He jumped off his pedestal a full three seconds late. Cursing to himself, he tried his best to catch up and race for the biggest weapons in the Cornucopia stockpile. Thankfully, his years of being a part of the Red Devils meant that he had been trained to run as fast as possible. Acre Hargreaves, the fastest runner in the gang, and a member who had managed to throw a Molotov cocktail at a Peacekeeper before running across half the District with a huge army tailing after him, had taught him personally. Sure, Acre had died of cancer just two weeks before the Reaping, but right at that moment, Miller could feel his legacy working within him. His legs flew across the clearing, allowing him to land a huge sickle. There were no knives as far as Miller could see, which was a shame, but he could use a sickle pretty well too, being from Nine, the grain District. He spun around, taking short breaths, and charged at the oncoming surge of tributes. He swung his sickle, slashing Mary from Eight's throat. The little girl, Calico's sister, dropped to the floor as nothing more than a corpse. Miller smirked, satisfied that he had brought down the sibling of a Victor, and a terrible one at that. He spun around, a broad grin on his face. "Who's next?" By the end of the Bloodbath, thirteen tributes lay dead on the ground, including Miller's own District partner, with Miller being responsible for the deaths of the boy from Three and the girl from Eleven, in addition to Mary. He chuckled, a smile spreading across his face. However, as the Careers packed up and headed for the rice paddy, that smile quickly began to vanish. "I think we should check the cornfields first," he said, trying to sound tough and imposing.
Atoll shook his head. "All the remaining tributes headed in this direction, Miller."
Miller bit his lip. Well, this just sucked.
Atoll couldn't quite explain it, but he knew there was something about the rice paddies that bothered Miller. The big hunk of a bloke looked so uncomfortable trudging across the flooded field, his face scrunched up in a queer expression. Atoll, on the other hand, didn't mind sloshing on the wet soil one bit. He was from District Four, after all. Getting wet was a huge part of one's daily routine. He wasn't even the tiniest bit concerned about his feet, which were caked with mud, or the fact that he slept on wet ground at night, unlike Miller, who seemed to mind very much. The rice on the fields was so easily destroyed, a heavy touch was enough to cause it to shrivel up. They certainly wouldn't be using that as a food source. But they were the Careers. They got a wide variety of quality meat from the Cornucopia, so they didn't have to worry about food shortages. On the second day, the boy from Eight died, which, unbeknownst to Atoll, was due to the fact that he tried to chomp up some of the rice, sadly discovering a brood of winged snakes in the process. The Career pack had also located the girl from Five and the boy from Two killed her with ease. But Miller had barely participated in the chase. In fact, he had stood back and watched it all unfold. He didn't look anything close to the strong trickster in Training, or the cold-hearted killer in the Bloodbath. He looked like a wimpy Outlier. Atoll seriously began to think twice about allowing Miller to continue being a part of their alliance. But then there was the plan. On the third day, Atoll found himself constantly checking his shoes. Nothing there. He wondered if it was all just a ploy, all fun and games. If so, Miller wasn't going to live to see the dawn of morning emerge. That was for sure. They were camped by the lakeside on the third day, and both he and Miller were on guard duty. Atoll slid up next to Miller. "Hey, what about the plan, huh?"
Miller blinked, almost as if he were confused. Then his eyes lit up and a weak smile appeared on his face. "Oh. Right. Check your boots."
Atoll snarled quietly at him. He had enough of this! He had been checking his boots all day and- oh gosh. He gasped as a small bottle of Molotov cocktail appeared in his boot. He turned to Miller, his eyes wide in shock. "How did you..."
Miller gave him a sly wink. "That's for me to know and for you to find out. Now, remember the card?"
Atoll took it out. "Yeah."
Miller nodded. "Good. We're gonna light this place on fire."
Miller grinned, pleased by his new masterpiece. As he stood in the cornfield, very far away from any of the water bodies, thank goodness, he watched as fireworks shot into the sky, accompanied by an orchestra of screams and cries for help. He chuckled, twisting a half-burnt card in his fingers, the symphony of booming cannons like classical, enchanting music to his big ears. "Ah, I knew it would work," he muttered. But now he was faced with a problem. He had split up with Atoll, in order to allow both of them to flee the scene and have a fair chance of winning. And now, in this watery arena, he was faced with the challenge of taking down a pirate, a swimmer since birth, the person who fared the best in the places that Miller fared the worst in. He gulped, then straightened his back and crushed the charred card. There would be no fear, no mercy. Atoll was going to die, period. His gaze turned to the lakes, Atoll's biggest advantage in the arena. A steady smirk flashed upon his face. He knew of one, powerful trick that could end this once and for all
Atoll smirked. Miller was going to die, he was sure of it. A walking corpse, about to get slaughtered. The two boys, the two proud outlaw leaders of their respective criminal gangs, faced each other off on the banks of one of the lake on the sixth day, wielding sickles and hissing at each other. The pair slowly approached, moving in a steady circle, like two birds in a ritual, trying to predict the other's next move. Miller advanced first, charging at him with a low, threatening growl. He swung his sickle at Atoll, a poor swipe which Atoll effortlessly dodged. Atoll stuck out his foot and sent Miller tumbling to the ground. He chuckled, but then, a fiery, unforeseen pain shot through him. Miller had punched him in the nuts! Atoll groaned in agony, molten hot pain shooting through him, prompting a troupe of white fairies to pop up and start dancing around his vision. Miller swung his sickle at him again, this time achieving a cut across Atoll's cheek. Atoll snarled as he crawled towards the lake. The lake. He knew that Miller was afraid of water, so jumping in was the obvious method of escape. "See you later, bitch!" Atoll cackled as he hauled himself into the lake, laughing at the exasperated growl that came from Miller. Atoll fell, but his body wasn't wet. There was no contact with water at all. He yelped as he fell through an empty void, straight into a pit of Molotov cocktails. His last thought right before he was blown up into a million pieces was, What the heck?
26 Years Later
Miller cursed. Another watery arena? He had zero luck, it seemed. Alas, he had no choice but to actually swim this time. The gong rang and he tumbled into the water. Shit, it was so cold! And the waves, they were so sickeningly large and the water was so deep...
And then he spotted him. Peeta. Suddenly, a whole new confidence emerged in Miller's heart. If he could just kill the baker boy, oh the sponsors would rain down on him!
Just a shame his watery fighting terrain gave him a panic attack, allowing Peeta to pull him underneath the waves, never to be seen again.
Katniss and Peeta had a brief moment of respectful silence for Miller, then they swiftly moved on, not wishing to dwell on Peeta's second Hunger Games kill. They didn't mention Atoll, the pirate boy from Four, either. Peeta just quickly flipped the page, trying to avoid the onslaught of traumatic memories that he knew was coming. A smile spread across his face. Katniss glanced over and smiled too. Finally, yet another familiar face they could still see day in day out. And the best part was he was right there, on the train with them, the train moving across Panem to the Capitol, to be reunited with other familiar faces. The boy in the photograph had scruffy blonde hair and sharp, piercing blue eyes that glared ahead with a strong sense of confidence. His arms were scrawny, his cheeks hollow, due to the many years spent living in the Seam, a place where malnourishment, starvation and disease ran riot. He was rather handsome, and had he smiled, would have gotten a sizeable portion of the female audience swooning. Just then, the door to their car flung open, and in entered the Victor in question. The Victor saw the photograph in the notebook and smiled weakly. "Ah, Haymitch Abernathy."
VICTORS
District 1-Sapphire Huntington(4), Onyx Hibonite(9), Franc Montgomery(14), Crystal Montgomery(21), Sterling Jones(25), Luxe Carmichael(36), Geneva Cooper(37), Cartier Cooper(44)
District 2-Ragnar Sveinsson(5), Reyna Boudicca(6), Draco Hadley(10), Scipio MacAllister(17), Freya Carson(22), Hercules Nichols(28), Julia Dawson(39), Brutus Gunn(42), Lyme Sveinsson(45)
District 3-Nikola Johnson(13), Gadget Schroeder(24), Beetee Latier(40), Wiress Jansen(47)
District 4-Marina Bluebell(1), Mags Flanagan(11), Jolien Fisher(31), Timmy Fisher(32), Iris Fisher(33), Rafael Fisher(34), Coral Thiller(41)
District 5-Shocker Crimson(8), Switch Kim(19), Flash Morrison(27), Porter Tripp(38)
District 6-Ford Hamilton(20)
District 7-Hassan Greenwood(2), Jill Wilson(15), Olive Sanchez(26), Birch Davison(35)
District 8-Woof Casino(16), Calico Pepper(48)
District 9-Gwendolyn Whitfield(18), Laurel Flamsteel(29), Miller Thompson(49)
District 10-Ringo Alvarez(7), John Gatwick(23), Mare Trybull(43)
District 11-Orchid Bloom(12), Seeder Crue(30), Chaff Mitchell(46)
District 12-Axel Millar(3)
A/N: And there we go! District Nine with a banger and Miller wins the Games! The complete opposite of Gwen and Laurel, he brings with him a whole new perspective of life in District Nine (not like there was much to begin with, though. D9 was done dirty in the franchise) Hope you enjoyed and if you did, drop a review and join my new Discord server where we talk about my story and basically have a blast meeting new people! The link is in my profile so do check that out, yeah? And as far as further updates go, well, I run a tight ship so expect Haymitch's chapter to be out maybe within five days, I hope? But anyway thanks for reading and as always, I'll see you guys next time. Cheers:)