Cecil Peacemaker, 15.
District 3 Male.
"Okay, time's up," The Peacekeeper outside the door called, banging a fist on the door, rattling the whole frame. Nana quickly planted a kiss on his forehead, departing the room as soon as she'd gotten there, it seemed.
Why had he done this? Why did he just throw his whole fucking life away like this?He'd be dead before his next birthday at this rate, wouldn't ever get the chance to experience everything he wanted to. He curled up tighter into the couch, hoping the next person to enter wouldn't be his father, hoping he wouldn't come at all, in fact. Maybe this would be his breaking point, when he finally gave up on Cecil, and he wouldn't blame him for it. Cecil sniffled, wiping what tears remained after Nana had wiped them away, new ones forming already. He felt cold and still, like a statue carved from stone.
Tears began streaming down his face again, as the overwhelming weight of his actions washed over him. That was, until the door creaked, Cecil looking up before freezing like a deer caught in headlights.
Standing in the doorway was Counselor Peacemaker, and he did not look happy. Cecil hadn't seen him since last night, when he'd finally stood up for himself.
"Hello there, son," Counselor growled at Cecil, his words as venomous as ever. "I knew you were a screw up, but I didn't think you were this fucked up."
"Thanks dad, I appreciate it," Cecil replied, rolling his eyes. Cecil didn't ask for his sorry excuse of a father to come here, and he certainly didn't want to hear any of this from Counselor. He knew he fucked up, there was no need to listen to Counselor rubbing it in.
"Yeah, whatever. You screwed up royally. I hope you know that. You're a sorry excuse for a Peacemaker," Counselor spat, glaring down at his son.
"I don't care about being a Peacemaker, I never asked for you to force this life on me!" Cecil's voice raised with every word he spoke, pitching up to a yell by the end.
"I-"
"You're not my dad," Cecil snapped, "You never were, and you never will be."
"Of course not, no son of mine would waste his life like this and cry about it," Counselor replied, voice raising to match his sons, "You're a failure, and I'll be glad to see you dead."
With that, silence fell over the room, save for the ragged breaths of a fractured family. Cecil could feel his heart beating out of his chest, trying to escape so it couldn't be hurt like this any longer. He'd tried for years to pretend like his father's words didn't reach him, and yet they did, the weight of their meaning sinking in all at once, weighing on him like a ton of bricks.
Failure. Coward. In the eyes of his father, maybe that's all he'd ever be. But at this point, Cecil didn't care about his father's opinion anymore.
He'd learn to make something of himself for himself.
"Get out," Cecil growled. "Get out, and never come back."
"But-"
"I said, get out," Cecil snapped louder, his gaze fixed on his father, who had already turned his back on Cecil. "I hope you're happy you're a failure of a father."
"At least I get to live the rest of my life knowing that I didn't throw my life away for a stupid, petty cause. Enjoy the last of your days, Cecil." Counselor snarled.
And with that, Counselor was gone. Cecil would never see him again, even if he lived. He'd make sure of it. Picking up a pot from the table, he threw it where his father had been moments before, shattering against the now closed door. Shards of ceramic scattered across the room, clinking against the door, crunching beneath his boots as Cecil focused his gaze on the rest of the room. His sight was overwhelmed with a haze of red as he tore into the couch cushion, leaving only torn fabric and bits of stuffing in his wake. Cecil continued on his path of destruction, the sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood filling the air.
Before long, Cecil had collapsed in the middle of the room, surrounded by destruction and ruin. His aching hands were clasped to his chest, blood and flower petals smeared across his face and arms. He'd kicked his own father out... No, more than that. Cecil had disowned his father, finally telling the man everything he'd been holding in all those years. All of the pent up frustration and anger was finally directed at the man he was forced to call dad.
At least he'd finally built the courage up to do it. Even if it was during their last moments, he'd managed to speak his mind. Cecil was cold, the white hot rage that filled him draining just as quickly as it came on, leaving him nothing but empty and numb. For himself, for the father he didn't have to care about or please anymore, and for the mother who never cared about him in the first place.
Cecil didn't move a muscle until a hand landed on his shoulder, sending his spinning sight back into sharp focus. Had Counselor come back again? Or did he send somebody after Cecil? Would he be dead before he even got the chance to fight for his life?
"Get your hands off me," Cecil growled, throwing the hand off his shoulder and whipping around to see who it was. It was a Peacekeeper, seemingly one of the ones who'd been standing watch in the hallway. Not Counselor, not anybody who would hurt him.
"Let us help you, kid, you've done quite a number on yourself," said the one who grabbed his shoulder, and Cecil caught a glimpse of a second one rushing out of the room. The Peacekeeper grabbed him by the arm again, and this time Cecil wasn't able to fight their grip off. He was unceremoniously hauled to his feet, the Peacekeeper righting his small frame with relative ease.
"Alright, let's get you out of here and get those hands bandaged up," the Peacekeeper said, ushering Cecil from the room, his shoes crunching in the shattered glass that was once a vase.
Cecil didn't even have the energy to fight back anymore. He was worn to the bone, stretched to his limits. He figured this was what his breaking point looked like: volunteering for the Hunger Games and completely trashing a room. The Peacekeeper pushed Cecil into a more open room where his District partner was seated, alongside what he assumed were their mentors.
"Oh dear, what happened to you?" asked the woman on the right. If Cecil recalled correctly, her name was Penny.
"Don't exactly know, but whatever he did, he did it to himself," the Peacekeeper at Cecil's side replied.
"I'll go get the first aid kit, there's got to be one around here somewhere," Penny muttered before turning to the impossibly tall girl sitting next to her. "Ping, could you give me a hand?"
"Of course," Ping replied, the two taking off through another nearby door. The room was decorated similarly to the one Cecil had just destroyed; plush, velvet covered chairs surrounded a larger table, the carpet under it a dull grey with the splatters of blood that occasionally dripped from his hands.
"Eesh, what did you do?" The other mentor piped up. Cecil remembered his name to be Elliot, recalling vague memories of watching his Games as a kid- or perhaps they were reruns, but Cecil was too young to remember.
"Long story." Cecil sighed, slipping into one of the chairs. He stared at his slack hands on the table, blood pooling from the cuts, the faintest of bruises forming across the ridges of his knuckles. Despite this, Cecil didn't feel anything. There was nothing but the dull throb of his aching hands and arms, the dried remains of tear streaks smeared across his face. Penny returned soon enough, Ping and a first aid kit in tow.
"Now, let me take a look at this," Penny mumbled, taking a seat across from Cecil. He held his hands out, the number of small cuts on his hands and fingers beginning to stop bleeding.
"Do you need help?" Ping asked as Penny cleaned out the cuts, which were stinging slightly, but Cecil barely noticed.
"Yes of course dear - here, take this," Penny replied, handing a roll of bandages to Ping. She took Cecil's other hand, fingers surprisingly cool to the touch. Cecil watched as they bandaged his hands up, and soon enough both were covered in white gauze. His hands were fixed easily enough, but bandages didn't fix everything. Stark white cloth couldn't band his family back together, couldn't close the gaps that had grown into rifts over the course of years.
Not everything could be fixed.
"There, that should do it." Penny nodded, looking proud of herself as she stood. "We should get going then, we do have a train to catch."
With that, Penny rounded all of them up, ushering them towards the train. This could very well be the last time he was in Three, and now all that lay ahead was uncertainty and the unknown. Stepping foot onto the train was only the first of many unknowns he could face on the road to what may very well be his death.
But Cecil would try. Try to win, for the freedom he craved. If this was his only way out, then so be it.
He would prove his father wrong. After all, he couldn't turn back now.
Bo Peep Durlech, 18.
District 10 Female.
Bo Peep half expected to wake up in her bed at home, having dreamt up everything at the Reaping. But no matter how hard she willed it, here she was, sitting in the musty back room of the justice building. She shouldn't have been here. Out of everyone in District Ten, Bo shouldn't have wound up here - after all, her family was paying off the higher ups of Ten to keep the Durlech name out of the Reaping bowls.
And yet... something had gone wrong. She didn't know what had happened, as even if her name had somehow ended up in the bowl, the likelihood of her being picked over any of the poorer kids from Ten was miniscule. But Bo had been reaped, and she would soon be on her way to the Capitol, and then on to the Arena where she'd befall a fate nobody deserved. Especially not her. It was much like how cattle were shipped off to be slaughtered: what was left of them was packaged and shipped across the country to be consumed, although in different ways as the animals would end up on the plates of hungry Capitolites, whereas Bo would be consumed by the entire country as she died for their entertainment. Bo was worth something, after all. She had potential, things to do with her life, and now she might never fulfill that purpose. This wasn't her destiny. Bo had her whole life planned ahead of her, but the moment her name rang out across the town square, it was all cut short.
A soft knock came at the door, and Bo straightened herself. The hinges creaked, the door opening to reveal her brother, Bleu, flanked by their other siblings, plus their father and Bo's step mother. He rushed into the room and Bo stood to meet him, finding herself caught in a hug.
"Hey Bleu," Bo murmured into the crook of her brother's neck.
"Hey Bo," Bleu replied, pulling back with a gentle smile. "This doesn't look too good, does it?"
"Not really, no." Bo let out a choked laugh.
"It could be worse," Billy said, wrapping his arms around Bleu and Bo.
"He's right. You have a chance, you're smart." Gruff nodded, continuing as he joined the hug. The rest of her siblings came together, joining the hug around Bo. She'd never been particularly close with any of them, save for Bleu, but in that moment they'd all come together, filling Bo with a sense of hope.
Maybe things wouldn't be that bad. Bo didn't have to give up hope just yet.
"I wouldn't bother sugar coating it," Dahlia growled from her place across the room. "She'll wind up dead anyways."
"Why are you so sure of that?" Bo asked. "I know you've hated me all my life, but you can't be certain I'll die out there."
"I don't know, why am I so sure?" Dahlia mocked. Bo knew Dahlia had plenty to do with the funds of the farm, keeping track of money and the such, but Bo couldn't- wouldn't believe she'd go as low as to put Bo's name in the reaping contendings.
"Did you...?" Bo couldn't even say it aloud, staring at Dahlia with wide eyes.
"Did she what?" Bleu said, all eyes in the room turning to Dahlia.
"Just be thankful you aged out before anything could happen to you." Dahlia spit the words out as if they were weaponized, aiming her ire at Bleu.
"What did we ever do to you?" Bo pushed through the crowd of siblings to loom over the smaller woman.
"Nothing useful, I can tell you that much," Dahlia replied. "You've always been a scourge on this family. Everything was better before you and your whore of a mother came along."
"Now hold on just a minute-" Father said, reaching a hand out to his first wife.
"Don't touch me," Dahlia snapped, pushing his hand away. "I'm just glad to finally be rid of you."
"Get out," Bo snapped, grabbing Dahlia by the back of the shirt and dragging her to the door. "I'm glad you were never my mother."
"So am I," Dahlia screeched, squirming beneath Bo's grasp. "I'm glad I never gave birth to a useless bitch like you! You and your brat of a brother only brought ruin upon this family-"
With that, Bo opened the door, tossing Dahlia out into the hallway. She landed with little grace and Bo slammed the door shut behind the miserable woman, her hands shaking.
"I'm gonna…" Father's words trailed off, and he pointed to the door before swiftly exiting after his wife.
"It's okay," Bleu said, taking Bo's shaking hands in his. "Well, maybe not okay, but... I'm proud of you. I'm proud to be your brother."
"Time's up," the Peacekeeper from outside the door called. Bo found herself getting pulled into another hug, the closest the siblings had been in all their lives. As she watched them go, she caught her brother by the hand, pulling a ring off her finger to press into his hand.
"This was grandfather's. Keep it safe for me, okay?" Bo said, curling Bleu's fingers around the small metallic object. "I love you."
"I love you too."
And with that, they were gone, and Bo was alone with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her own stepmother was the reason she'd been reaped? Bo wanted answers despite knowing them already- Dahlia always wanted her own children to do better than Bo and her siblings, and the only way that could happen was if Bo was out of the way.
Things were not always as they seemed with the Durlech family; that was a truth that Bo had figured it out early in life, and that lesson only proved itself to be right over and over again.
Another knock came from the door, this time with little relent as her Grandmother pushed her way into the room, looking as if she'd aged another decade since Bo had last seen her that morning.
"Grandma!" Bo cried, rushing to wrap her arms around the stately woman's shoulders.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Grandmother said. "You weren't supposed to be here."
"I know," Bo nodded, pulling back from the hug. "Dahlia did something, I just know it."
"Dahlia? Really?" Grandmother's eyes widened in shock. "I never thought her capable of doing anything this unspeakable . I know she was jealous of your mother, but still…"
"I know, but we don't have much time, so just trust me on this one okay? She's the reason I'm here, and she'll go for Bleu next. Without me in the way, she'll try and put one of her own into the spot I'll leave."
"So what do you want me to do about it?" Grandmother put a hand on Bo's back, guiding her to the nearby couch.
"Put Bleu in charge, and protect him," Bo replied, springs squeaking beneath their weight as they sat. "I trust him, he can do the job."
"Bleu... in charge? I never thought of that, but… if you think he'd do a good job then I trust you."
"He will, I promise. Just... do for him what you couldn't for me. And get rid of that horrible woman if you can," Bo whispered intensely, squeezing her grandmother's hands in her own. "She won't do anything good for the family if you let her stay around."
"I'll do what I can, dear," Grandmother said, lifting a hand to wipe away the river of tears that ran down Bo's face. "I'll look after Bleu, I promise."
"Thank you," Bo replied, sinking into her grandmother's shoulder. It was one of the few places that felt comfortable to her, somewhere she'd found herself often over the course of her life.
And maybe this would be the final time.
"Time's up." The Peacekeeper banged his fist on the door. Grandmother pulled back, placing her hands on Bo's shoulders.
"Come home, okay?"
With that, she was gone, just like everyone else. Bo Peep would face the arena without her family, and she would be there because of her family, because of Dahlia. And Dahlia could go rot in hell for all she cared, as Bo had secured her family's future on her own. Nothing would be able to tear that from her, not even her own death.
Omega Riley, 28
Victor of the 200th Hunger Games
The wind whistled loudly against the usual chatter of the night. It was strangely calming, the constant noise keeping his mind busy as he waited, gripping his hands tighter around the railing before him.
Did he really want to be here? Did he really want to ally himself with the rebels he swore to destroy? He knew his brother was dangerous, he'd seen what things Havoc was capable of firsthand. And yet here Omega was, helping his brother escape from the very jail Omega had put him in eight years before. Unfortunately, Havoc's aid was valuable - valuable enough that Omega was willing to risk his livelihood.
Anything was on the table if it rid the world of Snow. She had to pay for what she did to Omega's people.
Loosening his grip on the railing, Omega pulled the hood over his head lower to shield him from the cold and blistering wind. It had started to rain at some point, the wind sending a near constant spray of water through the open sides of the roofed pavilion he stood on. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been here, but he'd been instructed to stay there until Northcroft's men returned with his brother. They were supposed to find someplace more private to talk, as the prison's visiting rooms were all recorded. Omega was glad that they were going to be talking on his terms..in the end, he had control, which was all that mattered.
If only Father could see his sons now. What would he think of them?
Truth be told, Omega hadn't the time nor the willingness to think about his father anymore. He just wanted to get this over with so he could go home and fix his District, but that wouldn't happen as long as Snow still lived. First they had to find a way to get rid of her, and they had to do it without getting discovered. It was hard for Omega to wrap his mind around the fact that the Panem he'd dedicated himself to - turned against his whole family for, even killed for - had turned its back on him like this. He'd given everything to his country, and in return Omega had been tossed aside. There was nothing left but the wind whistling through the empty streets of his broken home, colourless and void of life.
So Omega decided he would turn this beaten down country into the Panem he'd believed in all his life. Omega would fix it, no matter the cost. He'd make things better for those who came after him, at any cost.
At the sound of scuffling, Omega snapped out of his thoughts. He spun on his heel to face the entrance of the pavilion nearby, hand going to the weapon at his side. But all he was met with were his own eyes, his father's eyes, blinking back at him. They were framed by dark hair and accompanied by a familiar grin, one Omega hadn't seen in years. It sent a chill through his body unlike anything the cold or rain could ever produce.
"Why hello, little brother." Havoc grinned at him, lifting his cuffed hands to offer Omega a cheeky wave as Peacekeepers pushed him forward.
"We'll be just down the path if you need anything," the Peacekeeper on the right said, his voice muffled through his helmet. Omega merely nodded and turned his attention back to his brother in front of him.
"Are you gonna tell me what I'm doing here or what?" Havoc sighed, leaning against one of the tables behind him, his eyes watching the Peacekeepers turn and make their way back down the path nearby.
"Well, we need to talk," Omega replied. "If you're willing to, that is."
"I'm always willing to talk to you, dear brother," Havoc said, his smile dropping away. "So, tell me what you want."
"Do you know what happened back home?"
"In Two? Who doesn't? Why do you ask?"
"Well…" Omega launched into the tale of the virus that had descended onto their District, the ruin that had been caused, the rise, fall and subsequent volunteering of Reign Legatus.
And that all the pain had been brought to them by the President that Omega was so loyal to.
Havoc straightened with a snort, rolling his eyes as he said, "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."
"Who, Snow?" Omega replied, leaning forward. It was odd to have such a civil conversation with his brother, as things usually didn't go this well. They'd never gotten along, as Havoc had always been favoured by their father, which had caused a great deal of tension between the two growing up. Omega had never been invested in their father's ploys against the Capitol, and him trying to force his sons into it had ultimately been his downfall. Deimos Riley had tried to turn his sons into carbon copies of himself, and unfortunately for him, his indoctrination only stuck with one of them.
Who knew his own bastard son would be his downfall?
"Well, yeah. None of the Snows have ever been any good, so of course she was just too good to be true." Havoc shrugged.
"You sound like Dad," Omega snapped. "And not in a good way."
"Well, you can't talk, you're the reason he's dead."
"Hav, he was a horrible person. You know how he treated us, treated me for not being like you."
"Just because he treated you differently didn't mean you had to put his life and mine on the line. I could've died alongside him! Did you ever consider that? Did you ever consider me?" Havoc's voice was rising, just like the temper that failed to surprise Omega by this point in their lives.
"Of course I considered you- just-"
"Just what?" Havoc let out a sharp laugh, leaning closer to Omega. "What are you, a hypocrite? You always thought you were better than us, but look at what you did in that arena!"
Who was Havoc to comment on what he did in the arena? Omega was trying to survive, plain and simple. He didn't volunteer, he didn't ask to be put into that arena. There were far too many kids reaped that year, there would never be enough volunteers to replace them.
"You don't get to judge me based on what I did in that arena," Omega replied as calmly as he could, his voice raising to match Havoc's.
"I'm not. I'm just saying you're no better than me! Don't go around pretending like you're all high and mighty compared to me. I never claimed to be a good person, and you aren't either!"
"I did what I had to in order to survive. What don't you get about that?"
"You chose to train, you chose to learn how to murder innocent kids, and you did! Willingly! At least I had the decency to never go after kids, or those who didn't deserve it!"
With that, Omega pulled a hand back, and before he knew what he was doing his fist connected with his brother's face. Havoc went down, hard to the ground. Omega instantly felt bad, as Havoc didn't deserve it, despite the satisfaction it brought him. Havoc hovered his hand over his face, and Omega winced as he realized that would likely bruise later. He watched his brother unsteadily try to stand up and fail, sighing as he felt a sting of pity.
"You don't get to judge me, based on what I did, and I'll provide you the same courtesy," Omega said, holding out a hand to Havoc, who paused for a moment. Omega wasn't sure he'd take it, but he did, letting Omega haul him to his feet.
"Fine, I guess I can work with that," Havoc replied, hesitating for a moment as he wiped the blood that had begun to trickle from his nose. "So, you want me to help kill the President, right? That's what you want me for? Of course you only come to visit when you want something from me."
"Well, yes, but there's more than that. Northcroft will tell you, if you agree," Omega answered, blatantly ignoring Havoc's comment.
"Well, I guess I still owe you that favor, and I quite like the idea of killing the President. I'm in," Havoc replied with a nod. "So, when do we start?"
If only Father could see them now. If only he could see what they would do next.
Revan Allerix, 18.
Victor of the 207th Hunger Games
Revan Allerix had always hated waiting, hated being forced to do things he didn't want to do. He'd never been good at being patient or following orders, always wanting to keep moving forward, on his own terms. Revan had wanted to be the one to go in and get his brother out. If anybody could do it, it was him. He was trained for missions exactly like this, and yet here he was.
Waiting. Waiting for everyone to return, his fingers tapping against the cold metal of the bench he sat on as he tried to not let the clutches of complete and utter boredom take hold of him. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there. It felt like hours, but the dimly lit interior of the hovercraft didn't help him judge how much time had passed. In reality, Revan hadn't been alone for very long at all. It hadn't been long since the Peacekeepers and Omega had gone in seperate directions. Omega had firmly directed his gaze away from Revan as he left, and now Revan was left with only his thoughts, wondering what it meant.
"How much longer?" Revan called up to the remaining few guards in the front of the hovercraft.
"Dunno, you'll just have to wait it out," one of them replied, their voice muffled. "Just be patient."
"Just be patient," Revan scoffed under his breath. Hadn't Revan done enough waiting? It'd been four years since he'd last seen Caller, four years since he'd come out of the Arena only to see the rest of his family murdered before his eyes. That small, scared boy had merely turned into an equally-scared adult, but he'd never let that show.
Victory, but was it worth its cost? It was as if every good thing in his life came with a price: winning the Games at the loss of his family, the loss of his own individuality as he became a Peacekeeper. Revan had no control over his own life. No matter how hard he tried to take command, he'd just get beaten down again and again by the pressure of demands suffocating him, sapping the life out of him until he was nothing but a husk of his former self.
Revan was tired, plain and simple. Tired of being a pawn, tired of the few he loved being held against him.
Not for much longer. Soon he'd have Caller back, and then Panem would finally feel the wrath he'd been hiding away for years. Every ounce of hatred he'd harbored toward Snow for everything she'd done over the past four years would come back to haunt her when he put a bullet between her eyes.
One way or another, he'd make sure Snow's blood was spilt. Just another bit of red staining his conscience to match the rest of the lives he'd taken.
Revan pulled his jacket around him tighter, the sleeves brushing the tips of his fingers as he hopped to his feet, beginning to pace along the length of the bench. The metal floor creaked beneath his feet with every step, offering him some respite from the overbearing silence. Now all he needed to do was wait for the moment something changed.
And change it did, as the door at the end of the hovercraft swung open. Dim moonlight spilled through the opening, revealing a familiar figure.
"Here you go," one of the Peacekeepers called, pushing the man through the door. "If you need anything, or if he tries anything, we'll be outside."
The man stumbled through the door, crumpling to the floor just inside. The door slammed shut, plunging the hanger into dim lighting again, leaving just Revan and-
"Caller?" Revan asked, pushing forwards to the figure he now recognized as his brother. He appeared older, as if prison had taken a physical toll on him. Revan couldn't imagine he looked much better, but he wasn't quite as ragged as Caller.
"Yeah? Who the hell are you?" Caller growled, dragging himself up to eye level with Revan, eyes widening as he realized who he faced.
"It's me, it's me," Revan reassured him, taking his brother by the arm and hauling him to his feet. "You're looking rough."
"Same for you- is that my jacket?" Caller asked, eyes widening with recognition.
"Maybe." Revan merely shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"What- what the hell am I doing here?" Caller asked, spinning around to take in his new surroundings. "I mean, you aren't working with those assholes out there, right?"
"Well- hmm… it's complicated," Revan muttered, casting his eyes to the floor. "They forced me to be one of them, after the Games."
"You? How the hell did they do that?" Caller scoffed. "No brother of mine would ever be a Peacekeeper."
"I didn't have any choice. There's a reason they didn't kill you."
"Oh, I see, so… I guess I should be thanking you for getting me thrown in prison, right? You followed their rules to keep me alive?" Caller asked, leaning back against the wall of the hanger. Caller's face twisted into an expression he'd seen more often than not growing up.
"What?" Revan said, prematurely bracing himself for the storm he knew was coming. "What is it?"
"You're even more pathetic than I thought," Caller snapped. "I didn't raise a damn coward."
"Wh-what was I supposed to do, just let you die?" Revan shouted, hating the way his voice wavered. "I couldn't do that, it would've gotten both of us killed!
"Death would be a better fate than seeing my brother become one of those fuckin' pigs!" Caller snarled, voice sharp in the quiet.
"It's my fault you got caught, Caller. I couldn't stand by and let you die too." Revan's voice quaked as he was thrown back to his childhood. He felt just as small and hopeless as he did then, back when he was just a scrawny kid that got pushed around by the older kids. Nothing he did mattered, and he was still as powerless now.
"Maybe you should've," Caller replied, pushing past Revan towards the door, making him stumble. "Let me fuckin' rot for all I care." Revan could only watch as Caller pushed the door open and disappeared through it. He gritted his teeth and ignored the way his hands shook before straightening and heading after his brother. As Revan stepped through the door, he could see his brother making his way down the path nearby, back to the prison.
"Why didn't you stop him?" Revan growled, turning to the nearby guards.
"We couldn't," one of them replied. "On orders from Northcroft."
"Who gives a shit about Northcroft? I outrank you," Revan said, moving towards the group. "Give me your gun."
"What?"
"You heard me, give me your gun," said Revan, extending his arm. He raised an eyebrow when the guard hesitated, more firmly stating, "That's an order."
The guard sheepishly held out his gun, letting Revan take it from his hand. Revan briefly let himself be comforted by the familiar weight as he switched the safety on before shoving it into the empty holster at his side.
"Nice to know you idiots are good for something after all." With that, Revan set off after Caller. The spindly trees of the forest loomed overhead like claws reaching down for him, ready to snatch him up at any moment. The path narrowed as the bright lights of the prison complex came into view on the horizon, blinding and white, a stark contrast to the forest that surrounded him. Revan quickly found himself at the end of the path, pushing through the treeline.
He emerged just in time to see the sky turn to blazing fire, ground shaking with the deafening explosion that rang out, threatening to knock him off his feet. Revan found purchase in the hillside as debris rained down around him, occasionally getting hit with a piece that stung like rain made of fire. He pushed himself to move faster, following the chain link fence as he rounded the corner to the front of the prison.
Where was he? Where the hell was Caller? He couldn't have gotten that far, but Revan didn't know. He couldn't give up on his brother now, not after four years of wasting away for him. As Revan rounded the corner to the front of the building, his worst fears were realized as his eyes set upon the scene before him.
The entire front of the building had collapsed, rubble and concrete turned into an unrecognizable pile of stone. The rest of the building crumbled behind it, and clouds of dust washed over Revan, caking him in grey.
The screams wouldn't leave Revan anytime soon, the cries of the damned filling his ears, making him want to clasp his hands over them and curl up in a ball right where he stood.
But he wouldn't- no, he couldn't. He wasn't a scared little boy anymore, he couldn't be. Revan pushed onwards, drawing the gun at his side as he carefully climbed the pile of rubble, pushing pieces aside as he desperately searched for Caller.
He couldn't be dead, not after all of this- not after Revan had worked towards this for years, fought to reunite with him, risked everything to be here. Revan was completely powerless, unable to do anything besides search, his hands tearing against the broken concrete and twisted metal. Then he found a familiar number, plastered across the back of a half buried man. Revan continued pulling rubble away from the prone body, his stomach sinking with the knowledge he already knew, but his hands were still moving of their own accord as he revealed the man's face.
It was Caller. Revan knew it was, beneath the grime and blood that stained him crimson red, it was him.
He was dead.
"Revan, c'mon we gotta go," a voice muttered in his ear, indistinct and familiar against the hostile surroundings. A hand landed on Revan's shoulder heavily, but it wasn't enough to snap him out of his stupor. "We can't be seen here."
"No- no I can't leave him here," Revan croaked, voice hoarse and broken. "I can't leave him here."
"It's okay, they'll get him out. You can't do much more with those hands anyways," the voice said, Omega appearing in his sight as he crouched next to Revan. His vision kept blurring, and he wasn't sure if it was from tears or his pounding head, but he slowly focused on his torn hands, dirtied and bloodied as the stinging of his injuries set in.
"No- no I've gotta get him out," Revan sobbed, trying desperately to drag his half buried body out from the stones, hands slick with blood and grime, and yet finding no traction.
"It's okay, I've got you," Omega murmured, voice softer than the tone Revan was used to hearing from him as he hauled Revan up. Omega wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding him steady as they began carefully making their way through the field of debris. The dust had begun to settle, but the fires continued burning, the first hint of sunshine beginning to peek through the trees and thick air.
As blood dripped from the ends of his fingers, trailing into the dirt beneath his feet, Revan made an oath to himself. He swore he would bring the whole country of Panem to its knees for the wrong they'd done to him.
He would make them pay their long overdue debts.
