"Jasper?" Mor called, spinning in a circle on her heel. The fog was so thick, almost like a solid wall surrounding her, trapping her. Mor could make out the sounds of footsteps and voices, but nothing more than that. She growled, swiping at the fog, her hands passing through with ease. It cleared the fog for a moment in a small area, but quickly the white clouds filled the gap.
"Mor?" Jasper called - louder than the last time she'd heard him. She grunted, pushing forward towards where Jasper's voice had come from. As she did so, Mor crashed into somebody- somebody moving with just as much intent as Mor. Reeling back, Mor caught sight of a flash of gold- District One's colour. Without hesitation, she pulled her fists up, readying for a fight.
The Career's sword carved through the fog, gleaming wickedly as it skimmed by her head. She darted for the girl, jamming an elbow into her ribs with a satisfying crack. One cried out, swinging clumsily with her sword, catching Mor on the arm. Her blade easily sliced through Mor's jacket, leaving a stinging cut. Ignoring the pain, Mor grabbed for the girl, latching onto her arm. She twisted it as far behind One's back as she could manage until the Career dropped her sword with a pained grunt.
"Were you the one who killed Claudia?" One asked. Mor narrowed her eyes, yanking the Career's arm back further.
"What's it matter to you?" Mor replied as One threw a punch with her free hand. Mor blocked the punch, the strike bouncing off her arm. As it did, she spotted an opening in the girl's defences. Mor swung around with a kick to the girl's side, pushing her back. The girl stumbled, dropping down to one knee in the mud.
"I was just curious. I wanted to know who could take a Career out like that," One said, panting heavily, holding a hand to her ribs. "I think I understand it now. You're a good fighter."
"Thanks. Your stance sucks," Mor replied. She went to grab the Career, but as she did…
Mor was knocked to the ground by a massive explosion that shook the entire Arena.
"Shit, shit!" Mor yelled, managing to get back to her feet. There was a horrible, deafening shrieking noise far above her, the sound of metal scraping against metal. A strange stinging sensation covered her bare skin, as Mor quickly realized that not only was rain falling from the sky but bits of metal and glass.
The Arena itself was tearing itself apart, and Mor was right in the center of it all.
Steadying herself, Mor spotted the Career getting herself back to her feet nearby, looking just as shocked as Mor felt. Mor shook her head, taking off in the opposite direction of the explosion. The scraping, creaking noise didn't stop, reminding her of the sound of jammed machinery, the ear-splitting noise of gears straining against one another making her want to cover her ears. Looking back over her shoulder to see what was happening, Mor could hardly believe what she saw.
Incomprehensibly large sections of the Arena were falling to the ground. They split apart as they crashed to the ground with deafening booms, sending clouds of dust up into the air.
As she turned to run faster, she found herself running smack into another person. "Jasper?" Mor exclaimed, quickly realizing who it was.
"What the hell's going on?" Jasper asked. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know, and I'm fine."
"Good- I'm… I'm sorry for bringing us here, we shouldn't have come, you didn't want to come in the first place and now things are going bad and I'm sorry," Jasper rambled.
"That's nice of you. We can talk about that later," Mor replied, grabbing Jasper by the arm and taking off once again. "Keep up this time." Jasper yelped in surprise as Mor dragged him along. She was significantly slower with him than without him, but she found herself caring less than she thought- Mor was determined to get them both out of here alive.
The rapidly disintegrating Arena seemed to have other ideas, though. Larger and larger chunks of metal and glass and concrete were falling on them now- the destruction was catching up to them. Mor dragged Jasper along through the debris, her nails digging into his arm desperately as they wove through the maze of chaos and ruin. She quickly realized, though, that they were very rapidly getting close to the fence that separated the Cornucopia from the rest of the Arena. Mor estimated that, based on their speed, they wouldn't be able to get over it fast enough.
That was if Jasper could even get over it at all.
Mor wasn't betting on him succeeding, though; he wasn't from a world like hers, and that was apparent now more than ever. She was not obligated to drag him around; she had no debt to him, no reason to stick around. Mor should just leave him behind, leave him to fend for himself… and yet here she was, his arm still firmly wrapped in her hand.
"We gotta move faster," Mor called.
"I- I'm trying," Jasper replied, his breathing ragged. "You should… just leave me behind."
"What? Why?"
"I'm just slowing you down. I can't be carried all the way to the end, and I can't help you. Only one of us can win and it won't be me."
"Stop. We can talk later. This isn't the time," Mor snapped.
Because for some reason, Mor didn't want to let go.
Maybe Mor didn't want to be strong anymore. Maybe she wanted to have friends again, to keep people around and not push them away.
Maybe Morrigan Meadowlark didn't want to do it all on her own anymore.
"I'm not leaving you here," Mor growled, tightening her grip on Jasper's arm. They came to a stop in front of the fence, Mor clasping her hands together. "C'mon, go."
Jasper hesitated for a moment, and Mor encouraged him further. "Jasper. Go." With that, Jasper stepped onto her hands, and Mor pushed him up as high as she could manage. He grabbed onto the fence, scrambling to get to the top. Mor followed suit, gripping the metal fence as hard as she could manage. Her bleeding hands protested, stinging in pain as she climbed. Quickly enough, Mor found herself caught up to Jasper. Both of them perched on the top of the fence.
"We can't run forever," Jasper panted. "The destruction isn't going to stop."
"Well, what do you want to do about it?" Mor replied, swinging herself over the top of the fence. "We can at least try and find somewhere safe."
"I don't-" Jasper muttered. He dropped down to the other side of the fence just in front of her. "I don't know. I don't know what to do."
"You don't need to do anything. You don't need a plan," Mor replied, offering him a hand. "You just need to act."
Jasper looked up - not quite at her, but past her, clasping her hand in his own. "I understand. I'm sorry about this."
"What-" Mor questioned. But before she could do anything else, Jasper pushed her, harder than she ever expected, sending her tumbling to the ground. Scrambling to right herself, Mor just managed to catch sight of a ginormous chunk of concrete falling from the sky.
Falling straight for Jasper.
Mor struggled to get to her feet but before she could take a step, the debris landed squarely on Jasper, taking the fence he perched on down with it.
Jasper never even stood a chance.
But Mor still did.
And so she ran. She turned and ran, to live to fight another day.
But when did the cost of each day lived become too much?
Ping's lungs burned as she ran as hard as she could manage, pulling herself ahead of the chaos with every footfall. But she quickly pulled to a stop; a vast piece of metal blocked her way, laying across the path forward. Going over wasn't an option - the heavy rains made everything impossibly slick - and getting around it didn't seem likely either.
"Shit," Ping muttered, scratching at the back of her neck. She was running out of patience at a rapid rate, and this blockage was just another thing on the list of things going wrong. Everything was going to shit and Ping didn't understand how or why. Was this the Gamemakers' doing? Were the Games not interesting enough for them?
Or was this something else entirely?
Ping spun on her heel, turning to look behind her. Her only option was to follow the path she'd just taken back to the Cornucopia. She could find a piece of concrete or metal along the way and hide out under it until things blew over and until the rest of the tributes cleared out. So she took off, her footsteps splashing in the puddles on the ground. But as she glanced down, catching her visage, Ping's heart stopped.
Hers wasn't the only reflection in the water.
Ping stopped dead in her tracks, looking up to the figure in front of her: a single man, standing imposingly in the middle of the path. She recognized him immediately; it was the same Career who'd chased her at the Bloodbath.
Ping couldn't easily forget those haunting eyes.
He raised the sword clasped between his hands nonchalantly as he cocked his head at her. She went to run back down the path but she couldn't, not with the path being blocked. It dawned on her just how trapped she was-
Ping had no way out.
The only choice left was to fight for her life.
"You've gotta be kidding me," Ping muttered, hands going for her weapon. In the blink of an eye, he lunged for her. Ping sidestepped him, kicking a foot out to try and trip him, but he anticipated the move, stepping over her with ease. He swung around with his sword, cleaving into her shoulder just as she plunged her knife into his, narrowly missing his neck. Ping yelped loudly as she tore the knife out of the boy. She pushed past him, running up the path, his footsteps close behind. Her breaths were ragged as she weaved between pieces of metal and concrete and gaping potholes in the path as if navigating through a maze.
As soon as Ping was sure the footsteps had stopped, she paused, gasping to catch her breath. She ducked behind a piece of metal large enough to conceal her. Her hands were slick with blood and water, red pouring from her arm. Somewhere along the way she'd dropped her knife, her only form of defence. Wiping her hands off, Ping searched around her, finding a piece of rebar sticking out of a chunk of concrete.
"That'll do," Ping muttered to herself, gripping the rebar in her hands. It wasn't the greatest weapon, but she'd much rather go up against a Career with some way to defend herself. But even for a Career, Two seemed particularly hellbent on taking her out. Sure, Careers were known to be bloodthirsty and barbaric, but this felt different to Ping. His demeanour was too cold, too calculated.
In the end, his motives didn't matter. All that mattered was who came out of this with their life, and Ping didn't plan on going down without a fight.
Rounding another corner, Ping slipped between two metal bars. As she stepped out the other side, something connected with her face, sending a searing pain shooting through her left cheek. Ping cried out, her hands flying up to her face as she stumbled forward. Out of the one eye, she could open, Ping watched the boy approach again.
"Why are you doing this?" Ping cried out, clutching at her face. "What did I do to you?"
"You already know the answer to that," Two replied, his tone steady and bitingly cold. She didn't know what to make of his response- she already knew? What had she done to him that made this so clearly personal? Of all the people in the Arena - or Panem for that matter - why her?
Ping scrambled backwards but quickly found herself with her back against another piece of metal. She scrambled up it as best she could manage, getting halfway up before Two caught her, plunging his sword into the back of her leg. Ping hissed, swinging her legs up onto the ledge. She tried to get to her feet, but searing pain ran through her leg as she did.
"Fucking hell," Ping growled, dragging herself up again and steadying herself against another piece of debris. She continued to scramble upwards, but Ping quickly realized the metal bar only took her a bit further up. And now, she was trapped- she couldn't turn back, or she'd risk encountering the Career. But, maybe there was another way off.
Ping peered down the side, taking in the height of the drop. It was a solid fall - fifteen or twenty feet, maybe more - but with her vision blurred red with blood, she couldn't be so sure. Maybe it could be survived but at the same time maybe it couldn't.
All Ping wanted was to live. All she wanted was a chance at life, a chance at the life that had been stolen from her. And if this would provide that chance, then Ping would take it.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
And took a chance.
Pluto curled up tighter in a ball as he sat on the ground. All around him was death and death and nothing but death. The boy from Ten's body lay nearby, completely crushed, the only defining marker the number on his sleeve. Pluto couldn't quite bring himself to move away.
All he wanted to do was sink into the ground and never come back out again. Pluto just wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted to be at home, with his parents, or back in Ed's bed, or even back at the factory.
Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here.
Pluto could feel tears pouring down his face as he gripped onto the two things he had left- his scrap of blanket and the stone. Everything else he had was lost in the explosion after he'd dropped his bag, and Pluto couldn't bring himself to care anymore. What was the point? There wasn't any point anymore, there was nothing but ruin and destruction. There was no good in the world because if there was none of them would be here. They'd be safe.
Pluto had forgotten what it felt like to be safe. Forgotten what it felt like to hug the people he loved, and he hated that. He just wished he could remember what his mother's hair smelled like or the sound of his father's laughter. Maybe they'd bring him some comfort if he could recall them, but Pluto found himself struggling to uncover anything nice in a place like this, where those pleasant memories were so far away.
Pluto shuddered, squeezing the small stone tighter. It shone from between his fingers, a reminder of Revan, knowing his mentor was watching him- protecting Pluto as best he could. He stared at it a few moments longer before turning his attention back to his surroundings.
As he looked around, he spotted a girl laying among the rocks and debris who decidedly hadn't been there minutes earlier. There was a large Three emblazoned on the arm of her jacket and her neck was bent at an unnatural angle, a large chunk missing out from the left side of her face.
Pluto quickly looked away. He couldn't remain here, didn't want to, but he couldn't work up the energy to move. No matter how much he strained, screamed at himself to get up, to move, to do anything, he couldn't bring himself to move an inch.
The rain continued, pouring down on Pluto, the chill sinking in like a cold in winter. And through the sounds of falling rain, Pluto could hear something. He thought it might be falling debris,- loose stones tumbling, but as the sounds continued he realized what it was- footsteps. Still, Pluto didn't move an inch, instead squeezing his eyes shut tightly.
Pluto Valence didn't want to face his own death.
Reign stabbed his sword into the boy before him, blood pouring from the lacerations that crossed his body, staining the water beneath them crimson. The ginger-haired boy curled up into a smaller ball on the ground, his sobs muffled, but that didn't stop Reign from delivering a single kick to his ribs. Reign arced his sword down, again and again, digging into the pitiful form of the boy before him.
He'd lost it. Reign had lost Ping at the very last minute. He couldn't even kill her right. He couldn't even get the one thing he wanted so badly. And now all that was left was rage, burning deep within him.
It was all that remained. It was all that ever remained. After his mother, grandmother, and Imperia left him, fury was the only thing that ever stayed.
When would anything ever go right for Reign Legatus? Would anything ever go his way again?
Or maybe things had just been going wrong since the moment he'd come into this horrible world. Maybe Reign wasn't ever supposed to amount to anything, like his mother. Maybe he was supposed to work himself to death and be worth no more than the dust of the rocks he'd mine.
(Another blow to Five, this time slicing his side open where one of his arms was missing. Reign couldn't tell when his crying stopped and his screaming started.)
Now he'd be known as nothing but a failure. Reign couldn't even do the one thing he'd set out to do, and he'd let Two down in the worst way. He was supposed to represent them, supposed to be the epitome of everything District Two strived for. What more could he do? He was running out of time- running out of life. Soon enough he'd be dead and buried and then what would he be?
What would Reign Legatus have, buried six feet under?
Nothing. Not a single person would mourn him. Nothing but an empty legacy that never truly amounted to anything. Nothing but broken promises and hollow words.
Reign brought his sword back, driving it into the boy once, twice, three times until he lost count. All he saw were heaps of mangled flesh floating alongside the scarlet of blood in the puddles, strands of the boy's orange hair drifting in the water. Five's cries finally died out as Reign sunk his sword into his back one last time.
Reign dropped his sword, slick with blood and water. He panted as he sank to the ground next to the boy. As he did, he spotted something drifting in the water, just next to the boy's hand. Reaching over, Reign plucked the bundle of cloth out of the water, carefully unwrapping it to reveal a pale stone.
As he did, Reign felt a shooting pain in his arm, right where his tracker had been implanted.
"Shit," Reign grunted, turning his left forearm over. But as he went to rub at his arm, he felt his entire body growing heavy.
It couldn't end like this. Reign couldn't die like this. He wouldn't be remembered, wouldn't amount to anything. His death would be nothing more than a whisper against the wind, and he was powerless to stop it.
Just as quickly as the pain started, it ended, and the world around Reign Legatus went dark for the last time.
Chiffon twirled his sword, sheathing it at his side as he surveyed the complete ruin of the landscape around him. He picked through the debris, kicking rocks aside as he went. While the worst of it seemed to have passed, bits of metal and glass were still falling around him.
But his allies were nowhere to be found.
"Dean?" Chiffon called out, his voice echoing back to him in the ruin. "Cecil?"
No response.
Chiffon haphazardly slid down a muddy hill. He caught himself as he hit the bottom, catching a glimpse of something brighter than the grey and browns of the landscape. Chiffon beelined for what he quickly figured out to be shreds of red fabric, the same shade as Cecil's jacket. Searching through the rocks, Chiffon uncovered a wisp of blonde hair, and then…
Cecil himself, although he was hardly recognizable in this state. Chiffon pushed more stones off of the boy. He was curled up on his side, as if he were asleep, though the massive gaping hole in his chest told Chiffon otherwise.
"Holy shit," Chiffon exclaimed at the sight of his former ally, holding a hand over his mouth. Cecil hadn't always been his favourite, but in the end, he was just a kid- a kid who didn't deserve an end like this.
If this was the fate Cecil met, what had happened to Dean?
"Dean?" Chiffon called again frantically, quickly backing away from Cecil's body. "Where are you!"
"Chiffon?" Dean's hoarse voice responded quietly. Chiffon had never been so thankful to hear from his friend.
"Where are you!"
"I'm stuck," Dean replied, his voice wavering. "I can't- I need help."
"Hold on," Chiffon called, trying not to let his voice betray his frustration - not with Dean, but with the situation. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The Feast was supposed to be their- his time to shine. They were supposed to show off what a real Career could be. But then the world exploded. Maybe they never even had a chance at being normal Careers.
Maybe Chiffon would never get a chance to really be recognized for what he was capable of.
Soon enough, he found Dean, a wickedly sharp piece of metal stuck through his leg. Kneeling, he took Dean's hand in his own.
"It's okay," Chiffon sighed, squeezing the boy's hand tightly. "I'll get you out. It'll be okay."
Dean nodded, wincing, as Chiffon began pushing aside glass and chunks of rock that pinned him down. After Chiffon was done with that, he turned his attention to the piece of metal stuck into the boy's leg. Instead of impaling the center of his leg, it was off to one side, and Chiffon figured that was a good thing - hopefully he hadn't broken any bones or nicked any arteries. If that was the case, Chiffon stood a better chance of patching up the wound successfully.
"Well, this doesn't look so good," Chiffon remarked, trying his best to hide his worry.
"If it looked good, you wouldn't be making that face," Dean replied, his breath faltering.
"I'm doing that bad of a job hiding my concern?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, there goes my plan of trying not to worry you too much," Chiffon sighed, clicking his tongue. "I'm gonna have to pull it out."
"Are you sure?"
"Well I could just leave it there, but I don't think either of us want that."
"Well… no," Dean said. "Just do it."
"Okay," Chiffon nodded, wrapping his hands around the piece of metal as tightly as he could manage. It was slick with blood, but Chiffon still hoped he could get it out in one swift move. "On three?"
"Just do it," Dean repeated.
"One…" Chiffon started, but before he could count down further he yanked as hard as he could. Dean cried out loudly as Chiffon tossed the piece of metal aside, scrambling for the bandages in his bag as quickly as he could manage. Chiffon bandaged the wound to the best of his ability, but even as he tied the final knot, blood soaked through the cloth.
"Ah," Chiffon blinked. "How are you feeling?"
"Like… shit?" Dean replied, his voice shaking. "I'm so tired."
"I know," Chiffon sighed. "I know it's okay."
"Am I gonna die?"
Chiffon paused for a moment. Would he? Would Dean die here, in the ruins of what should've been?
"I don't know," Chiffon replied honestly, avoiding his gaze.
Dean sighed, reaching out, wrapping his hand around Chiffon's. He gave Dean's hand a squeeze, rubbing small, comforting circles along the back of Dean's hand with his stayed like that for a few moments, or minutes, maybe an eternity - Chiffon couldn't tell anymore. All he knew was his grip on Dean's hand, tight as ever as if that would keep Dean rooted in the moment- rooted in life.
Chiffon didn't want to be alone. Chiffon didn't want to face what this Arena held by himself. All he had left was Dean, and he couldn't let him go- not yet.
But maybe he had to let go. If he wanted to win, Chiffon would have to do it alone.
"Do you wanna move?" Chiffon asked softly, pushing Dean's soaking wet hair back from his face. Through it all, the rain hadn't relented; despite everything, it kept pouring down.
"I don't know if I can," Dean whispered.
"We can't stay here," Chiffon muttered. "Shall we start with sitting up then?"
Dean nodded. Chiffon held onto his arm, placing a hand on his shoulder. He slowly sat up, Chiffon keeping a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Chiffon remarked.
Dean shook his head as he leaned into Chiffon's side. "Not so bad, no."
Chiffon shifted, pulling his jacket off, draping it over Dean as best he could. He rested his temple on the side of Dean's head, and for a moment, they stayed there in silence. The rain continued to pour down around them, and as he held his hands up it washed away the dirt and blood that coated his palms.
"Chiffon?" Dean asked, his voice quiet. "Do you have any stories?"
"Hmm," Chiffon hummed. "I think I just might. One time, me and my friend- Pomela, you'd love her, she's great - almost got caught on a rooftop drinking right after I got picked to volunteer, and we had to run away from Peacekeepers. It's not like I was ever gonna get caught, but if I did, I probably wouldn't be here right now."
"What were you doing on the rooftop?"
"I have a mural up there, a big painting on one of the walls. I was working on it."
"Did you finish it?"
"Not yet," Chiffon shook his head. Hopefully he'd see it completed; Chiffon couldn't just leave it there, with no end to its story.
But finishing it… that would mean winning. And Chiffon couldn't do that with Dean by his side.
The only road home now was one Chiffon would have no choice but to take alone.
"I hope you can finish it."
Chiffon couldn't respond. He could only squeeze Dean's hand tighter.
"I'm gonna take a nap if that's okay," Dean sighed softly.
"Okay," Chiffon agreed. "I'll be here, don't worry."
"Goodnight." Dean sighed, closing his eyes. Soon enough, his breathing steadied; his face went soft, losing all of its sharp worry lines. Chiffon watched as Dean settled into what seemed to be a steady sleep.
Chiffon knew what would have to come next, but that didn't mean he couldn't hold onto this moment.
It wouldn't last.
Verity's eyes drifted open, the brightness she was met with only intensifying the pounding in her head. Gingerly, she sat up with a groan. Everything felt so fuzzy as if her brain was making its own static. She slowly surveyed the area, things coming back to her one by one.
The bombs. Diesel's heartbroken expression. The searing brightness of an explosion and then-
Nothing at all.
But in the rubble, Verity didn't see Diesel. There was only twisted metal and shattered glass. And as she turned her gaze to the sky, all she could see was the gaping hole in the side of the Arena. It created a strange effect - the dome over them was grey and cloudy, but the outside sky was a brilliant blue.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Verity attempted to pull herself to her feet. Rocks and debris tumbled off of her, and she couldn't help but cough from the suffocatingly thick dust hanging in the air. She fell forwards, landing hard on her hands and knees. Verity gritted her teeth, dragging herself to her feet again. Everything hurt. She didn't even know where to start searching for injuries. Swaying, Verity stood still for a moment, ensuring that she wouldn't just collapse again.
"Diesel?" Verity called out, but curiously, she couldn't hear herself speak. She cleared her throat, trying again. "Diesel?"
But there was nothing. Not even a single note of her voice. The harder Verity thought about it, the more she realized:
Verity Blanche couldn't hear a thing. Not a single drop of rain, not the crumbling of rock beneath her feet, nothing.
But Verity couldn't dwell on this for very long. She needed to find him.
She took a step forward, and then another. Carefully, she made her way around the piles of debris and the twisted metal sticking out of the ground. She'd been lucky nothing had landed on her, because she very well could've been killed.
"Diesel? Are you okay?" Verity called again. Even if he responded, it was likely she couldn't hear him. But she had to try- surely he'd appear at any moment with a gentle smile to tell her things would be okay. He never went far from her side. She had to try to find him- there was no way she was just leaving him. He could be hurt or scared and alone and there was no way to know unless she searched.
(All Verity would find was rubble and ruin. She wouldn't find a single sign of Diesel.)
But that wouldn't stop Verity from looking. That wouldn't stop Verity from finding her answers. Whether she liked them or not, she had to know.)
Following the wall of the Arena, Verity found steadiness in the rhythm of searching. Walking wasn't so hard- she was nothing more than scraped up, covered in little cuts and bruises. The real issue was the pounding in her head, which only intensified with each step she took. After only a few minutes, Verity found herself exhausted, sinking to the ground to rest for a moment. Her throat was dry, and her clothing was completely soaked through. Cupping her hands, Verity collected some of the water falling from the sky, sipping it as she continued searching the landscape. She faintly wondered if any of the other tributes were still around. Maybe they had been caught in the blast too. If they had, it wasn't like she'd know until they put the fallen tributes' faces in the sky.
Verity could only hope she wouldn't see Diesel up there.
Feeling steadier with every passing moment, Verity pushed herself up to her feet again. She took a step forward, and as she did, something curious caught her eye in the stark grey of the world around her.
A single hand, sticking out from the rubble.
Verity rushed towards the limb, dread mounting as she noticed just how pale the hand was. As she crouched down, she saw the sleeve attached to it.
It was the very same green that she wore.
No matter how badly Verity wanted it to be anybody else, there was only one person it could be.
"Diesel?" Verity choked out, raising her shaking hands as she struggled to figure out what to do.
There was no way to tell if he responded or not; Verity's eyes didn't leave his hand, and there wasn't any movement. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she felt the sheer exhaustion of the day taking hold of her.
She couldn't let it overtake her - not now, not yet when she was this close to Diesel.
Verity turned her gaze towards the giant piece of metal that was pinning Diesel down. Her attempts would be futile to move it though, as she struggled to find purchase on the slick surface. Blood soaked her hands, soaked the metal surface and she couldn't do anything. There was nothing Verity could do to help.
Diesel had given everything up for her, and now she couldn't even do the same for him.
"No- no," Verity shook her head, tears streaming down her face now. "You- we have to go, Diesel…"
She trailed off, sniffling feebly. Her hands curled into bloodied fists, a pointless attempt to stop their shaking. There was a way. Verity would make there be a way.
Surely, Verity Blanche wasn't powerless to help.
Ever so slowly, Verity uncurled her fingers, wiping her hands off on her pants in an effort to rid them of all the blood. And then, ever so carefully, she threaded her fingers through Diesel's, squeezing his hand as if it were a lifeline.
(He didn't squeeze back.)
"Come back," she pleaded, though she doubted anyone could hear her. "I need you. Please come back."
But Verity was left to grieve alone, with nothing but the sky for company.
13th: Diesel Malstrom, District Six, killed in explosion set off by Diesel Malstrom
12th: Jasper McCoy, District Twelve, killed in explosion set off by Diesel Malstrom
11th: M'Pingo Appara, District Three, killed via fall.
10th: Carter Feldman, District Ten, killed in explosion set off by Diesel Malstrom
9th: Pluto Valence, District Five, Stabbed to death by Reign Legatus
8th: Reign Legatus, District Two, killed in explosion set off by Diesel Malstrom
7th: Cecil Peacemaker, District Three, killed in explosion set off by Diesel Malstrom
Kills:
Diesel Malstrom: V
Reign Legatus: V
Chiffon Shivaan: II
Dean Karafanda: I
Morrigan Meadowlark: I
Arena: IIII
Alliances:
Careers: Dean, Chiffon
Alone: Verity, Mor, Mystic, Nugua
