It's a hard road to Heaven.
Day Five, Panem:
It had been five days, and only three tributes were deceased. Each passing day was indeed filled with some sort of conflict — some sort of plot progression — but that wasn't enough to appease the Capitol population.
Even in the Career Districts, trainers and parents were upset. So what was the issue? What was taking so long for these Games to progress?
On the other hand, the outer-districts were content with the pacing. Unfortunately, Districts Six, Nine and Twelve had lost one tribute each; however, they were still in the running and could very well win.
Regardless of how long these Games took — or who came out victorious — all of the Districts had one thing in common: they would all be mourning.
The Control Room felt extremely empty. Emptier than a tubular pit. Head Gamemaker Jarion paced the silent room back and forth, analyzing the NPC constructions that he had researched thoroughly.
Everything was set up well. It would be a Game to remember — one that would go down in history and cement his legacy as one of, if not the best, to ever construct an arena design and narrative.
President Bengel leaned back in his chair, watching Jarion walk back and forth aimlessly. With the turn of his head, Bengel made note of the stiffness of all the other gamemakers inside of the Control Room.
He knew that they were scared, and most certainly working diligently in order to not raise suspicion. President Bengel stretched and yawned before mentioning the silence.
"Jarion, what is the issue here?" President Bengel rested against his arm chair, catching note of Jarion's halt. "It's now the fifth day, and we are yet to see any significant tide turners. Would you care to explain?"
Jarion had never been one to fumble over himself when presented to the royalty of Panem. In fact, he cherished the moments that he received with someone as prestigious as Milo Bengel.
"Excuse me for the lack of turmoil upon the tributes," Jarion apologized. Jarion relaxed his body and allowed for his brain to decide his next choice of words, before continuing with, "I take full responsibility for the pacing of these Games—"
"As you should," President Bengel interrupted.
"—but, this is all part of the focus of these Games. What has happened in the past is now being brought down like hellfire upon not only the children in the arena, but also the Districts. Would you not enjoy a change of scenario, Sir?"
The President was mentally prepared to take matters into his own hands, but he liked Jarion. He trusted Jarion.
Nobody speaks. In fact, the air is extremely brittle — brittle to the point where it could pop, and all oxygen in the Control Room would deplete. The eye-contact between President Bengel and Head Gamemaker Jarion was extremely deep, as if they were staring into each other's souls.
Bengel was everything to Jarion — his employer, his redeemer, his stressor, — everything that Jarion respected and hated all-in-one. And Milo Bengel knew that. He knew that his Head Gamemaker's loyalty resided in the palm of his hands.
Letting out a slow, controlled breath, Milo Bengel eased the tension in the room. "I trust you, Jarion. You know that." President Bengel lolled his head in a circle and casually traced his hand gestures and eye movement simultaneously in order to get his point across. "But, I would appreciate a slight change of pace. There is no need for seven tributes to die a day, but whatever your set-up is, today is the day that everything must be complete! Have I made myself clear?"
"Understood, Sir," Jarion replied with a headnod.
"You are my salve, Jarion." As President Bengel proceeded to exit the Control Room, he turned slightly and continued, "These tributes will grow as old as the book on my lectern if they do not start dropping soon. It is in your hands fully now, and I will not intervene. Do not disappoint me."
While they were both anxious, Jarion knew that he had much more on his plate at stake than President Bengel did. That whole, "You are my salve" statement was complete nonsense, in the opinion of Jarion.
You do not poke at one of your most important employees to alleviate your stress and consider that person to be your medicine — no way in a million years. They both just needed to protect and soothe themselves.
They both just had their own selfish needs: while Jarion wanted to go down as the best Head Gamemaker to ever construct a Hunger Games, President Bengel wanted to continue his streak of successful years of Presidency.
In a twisted way, their wants aligned. It was an oddly sadistic duo.
Day Five, Arena:
"We need to leave the Cornucopia," Odessa insisted.
Cassian, Aurora and Sota paused in their childish games; Camille straightened her posture; and Aether remained still, staring out of the window without a seeming care in the world.
Odessa made note of the silence around. She was prepared for this. A few of the Careers had good relations with each other personally, but collectively, it was awkward. "I said—"
Camille stood up gracefully, ready for war. "We heard you — and I'm all-in." Camille noticed the tilt in Odessa's lips and nodded her head. "I don't think there are any objections?"
Aether finally moved — had he not, you would assume that he were asleep — and picked up his personal belongings. Aurora, hesitantly, picked herself up as well, and added to the list of four Careers in agreement.
As for Cassian, he was a bit lost. "What for? Why do we need to leave when we're comfortable where we are?"
"It isn't about being comfortable, Cassian. The Games are about dwindling the competition, and there have only been three tribute deaths in five days," Aurora answered. The two met eyes, and Cassian seemed a bit disappointed that those words were coming from her mouth. Ever since she got back with Aether and Camille, they'd been bonding more — he had thought that their growing friendship would lead to an unwavering loyalty.
Camille couldn't help but grin to herself. Ever since they had reached the Capitol, she'd made note of everyone and everything significant to her success: Aurora's insecurities, Cassian's jocularity, Sota's dwindling spirit, Aether's little secret, and Odessa…
Odessa was a blank page, an unfinished book that Camille was trying to complete.
"We also need to prove ourselves," Camille added. "Out of the three deaths, Sota and Aurora are the only ones to catch a body. Four of us haven't provided any form of entertainment, and it won't be long before the gamemakers decide that we aren't worth keeping around."
Cassian was in disagreement. "We're Careers! They can't get tired of us since we carry the Games. If the gamemakers were as dissatisfied as you believe, they would have forced us to move a long time ago."
"Are you quick to do anything, Cassian?" The Careers were knee-deep in silence for a moment, but Camille knew what she was doing. She had always been one step ahead of the others, but they wouldn't see it. Never. "This mindset that you have is a contributor to why there are still twenty-three tributes left alive! When will you realize that you can't always fool around?"
Odessa had a gut feeling that Camille was filled with conviction. Something was off about the girl from District Two, and Odessa wasn't willing to get mixed in the crossfire. This confrontation between Cassian and Camille would lead to everyone's downfall. "Relax. Both of you have points, but calm down before you say something you'll regret."
"I'm looking out for him," Camille said, wanting, attempting, to turn the tide in the alliance. Aurora wasn't trusting of Camille at all, but she was never going to speak up — meanwhile Sota and Aether were passive in the situation at hand. "If he doesn't get on the same page as the rest of us, he's going to be the first one to die. It's obvious, but I guess all those years of training just went over his head."
Aurora shot Cassian a look that told him to pipe down. It was easy to see that he was going to retaliate, but once Cassian caught a glance of Aurora's gaze, he understood that it was better to let things go and to follow the majority.
This was never what Cassian wanted. All of the disrespect and the anxiety that came with having five other well-trained individuals accompany him in a death battle. It all felt so… wrong.
Sota placed his hand on top of Cassian's shoulder and assisted in lifting the young man up. It hurt, though, seeing the two companions who he had a genuine liking to, get up and leave his side.
This wasn't what Cassian had imagined at all.
Darren noticed quite a long time ago that he and Eloise were running out of food. But did he want to bring it up? He knew how Eloise would react, but he didn't want to worry her.
In fact, if he really needed to, he'd offer up the majority of their water and bread to her instead. He was stronger than her, more durable than she was, and would survive longer without resources. He didn't want to admit it, but that was the harsh truth.
Without him, Eloise would die.
They had been following the soil paths that the gamemakers were setting up for three days now, and nothing had happened. It couldn't have been the path to a tribute, simply because it would never take that long to find an active opponent that the gamemakers wanted them to fight.
Eloise, still as giddy as ever, continued to hurl mud at Darren every now and then. Although Darren was slightly amused, he was getting tired of fooling around and just wanted to restock on supplies in order to help them. "C'mon, El. Relax a little, would ya?"
The energetic girl from District Eight twirled in her steps, glancing at Darren with a precious look. "Am I bothering you?" she questioned. "You seem more on edge. I'm sorry if—"
Darren couldn't help the laugh that escaped his dry lips. "It's nothing like that. I've just been worried about our safety since there haven't been any cannons recently."
Eloise smiled. She understood Darren's fear since, deep down, under the distractions that she'd been making, she felt the same way. Despite how strong Darren was compared to her, Eloise was still a coward hiding behind the young man's strength. She felt as though she didn't actually deserve an ally like him.
Unconsciously, Eloise felt her body get pulled and dropped to the floor aggressively, her and Darren's impact making a loud noise. "What the—?"
Darren clasped his hand over Eloise's mouth as he dragged her towards the nearest bed of bushes. Some of their supplies dropped from their pouches, leaving the District Eight duo with even fewer necessities.
Thoughts raced through Eloise's mind. Were there tributes nearby? What was Darren doing? And their supplies? What about their supplies?!
"Shh!" Darren warned. Eloise met his eyes and watched as his irises moved upwards, almost as if Darren's eyes were about to roll to the back of his head.
Eloise felt as though she was bound by ropes, completely unable to move. In front of the two were hundreds, maybe a thousand, soldiers marching, shouting in a patriotic protest and raising banners and flags the colors of red, white, and blue. They shouted about the North, shouted about how nobody in captivity was allowed to escape, and how they would fight for their beliefs.
How had she not heard them coming? How had she not seen them from a mile away, like Darren did? Eloise's stomach turned at the thought of how secure she'd been with an ally. With Darren.
But what if he weren't there?
Eloise was snapped from her state of discomfort when Darren tugged on her shirt. His face was soft and comforting. Whether or not he truly were calm, she felt easier with his reassurance. It wasn't much, but neither were the NPCs. If the two of them were truly at harm, they would have been attacked a long time ago.
All they could do was heed the signs being thrown at them and watch the dust swirls cover their vision as the soldiers marched in the late evening.
Aaliyah still hadn't recovered from the fight with Lucretia. She probably wouldn't.
Even if that were the case, she was still alive. Five days into the Hunger Games, and she was alive. Along with twenty-two other tributes…
But she didn't know that. Ever since her capture, she had been brought to a massive mansion, chains still limiting the movement of her body.
During these past two days, she'd heard plenty of noises. However, she was never able to tell if any of them were cannons. For all she knew, she was part of the final ten. Maybe. Maybe not. She couldn't function properly due to the lack of food and the increase of exhaustion.
She just didn't know anymore.
Nataie, on the other hand, knew that the competition was still plentiful. Millet was still alive, as well. That gave her hope — but most importantly, Natalie herself was alive. She was breathing.
Natalie was aware of Aaliyah, but she wasn't positive that Aaliyah figured out that she was a tribute. There wasn't any interaction between the two, but Natalie could never forget the face of someone she was supposed to kill.
But what was the deal? Why did the gamemakers force the NPCs to kidnap both of these girls, place them in the same home — the same room — and not initiate anything?
The only reason for Natalie not attacking was because Aaliyah hadn't recognized her — hadn't posed a threat.
It didn't make any sense. What was the set-up? What was the story behind these Games? Natalie couldn't help but overthink. She couldn't help her mind from becoming a mess. This was all insanity.
Condor and Helena were getting ready for the end of their day. He listened to her and the two went back to the Cornucopia a few days ago. After their supplies were replenished, they high-tailed it out of there and hadn't looked back since.
The two have no idea of their location, but Condor admired the environment. Although it was nighttime, there was a buzz of life that scattered their location — the sacred green trees and the Arena's green bridal gown that covered the earth beneath them. It was beautiful.
Helena caught a glance at Condor's smile. It was so peaceful. So precious.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? We can go for a walk. Only if you want, though," Helena proposed. Condor shook his head, to Helena's surprise.
Condor breathed deeply. "Do you feel that? The flora in the air? Nature's ventilators are so strong. It's like the trees and the wind are dancing together, and it's amazing."
Helena paused. She sat there and stifled a chuckle. "Dude, all you had to say was that the air was refreshing." She scooted towards Condor and offered him some water. "Stop being so philosophical. I've told you this already."
Although he apologized for how observant and descriptive he'd been, Condor was still respected by Helena. And day-by-day, it only grew more robust. They were going to be okay.
Day Six
Natalie finally understood, when she and Aaliyah were placed, side-by-side, in front of their respected slave owner. There was a quiet sorrow. A sorrow that was entirely different from what Natalie had felt when she separated from Millet.
She wanted to jump right out of her skin. She wanted to run. Run as far away as possible, escape and hide within a hill peak at whatever farm was furthest away from the ranch that she resided in.
Aaliyah, still stuck in chains, looked at Natalie. That was when the horror sunk in, and she noticed the familiarity in Natalie's face. How could Aaliyah have been so lost? Right next to her was another living, breathing tribute.
The slave owner approached Aaliyah and Natalie, his eyes focused on both of them. Aaliyah felt the heat from the NPC's hands rest on her shoulder, her back, her legs. They invaded her space, entered her nostrils, and provided unwanted closeness. "No good."
Aaliyah's heart fell to her gut. What did the man mean by 'No good'? What wasn't good about Aaliyah? Was she going to die?
Unlike Aaliyah, Natalie pulled away. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't let this monster touch her. The urge was too strong, and Natalie fought for her life despite no immediate danger.
Natalie listened carefully as the man spoke. She took in every word that he said and completely ignored Aaliyah's begging. It was insane. Was Natalie really supposed to kill Aaliyah?
The girl from Seven recapped what the man had told her, but what about Aaliyah was exactly no good? And if Natalie refused… then she herself would be "removed" along with Aaliyah.
Natalie took a look at Aaliyah, and she realized that... maybe the man was correct. Aaliyah had a choker chain that left her stiff and bound, had indentations in her neck, wrist and ankles. She couldn't win.
"You don't have to do this," Aaliyah pleaded. The girl from Eleven started tearing up. "This isn't fair. You know it's not! Please!"
Every word fell upon deaf ears. Natalie had the power in her hands, as well as every advantage that Aaliyah didn't: free will, free movement, and free capability. What Aaliyah had...
...was chains and shackles.
23rd - Aaliyah Ransier, District Eleven
Aaliyah wobbled away from Natalie as quickly as possible, but there was no use. Even though Natalie had stayed in her position of disbelief for about a minute or so, Aaliyah could only get so far away and out of the kitchen room.
The double doors of the mansion weren't too far away, but how was Aaliyah supposed to make her way? Think, think, think! Aaliyah was running out of time before the inevitable.
That's when it hit her, that Natalie had started moving. Natalie was much quieter than Aaliyah was, and there would be no telling unless Aaliyah had caught sight of Natalie's thin silhouette.
Aaliyah turned around, only to see Natalie a couple feet away, kitchen knife in hand. Her fingers curled into sweaty fists as Aaliyah continued to move forward, as if that would save her. "Please don't kill me!"
There were sunlight streams that announced the rising sun, glowing rays of sunshine upon the beautiful walls of the massive mansion. Luckily, they were coming from a slightly opened window.
There it was!
This was her only chance — Aaliyah's only getaway. Her lungs pumped but the air that Aaliyah took in was limited. Panic constantly hovered and enveloped over the girl's frame, and due to the chains, her limbs were exhausted.
Aaliyah's jump had missed. She fell too short of the window and landed face-first on the apron. There was no time to register what was happening when Aaliyah's mental factories let her emotions run free, and tears splashed like a waterfall.
Natalie struck out and stabbed the kitchen knife once into the crook of Aaliyah's neck, and then another in the poor girl's loin for good measures.
The agony came quicker than Aaliyah could blink. Pain walked right into her body and stayed as a permanent visitor. The slashes in her body gushed with blood. Even if Aaliyah were able to move and cover her wounds, blood would simply ooze under her hand and between her fingers.
It was just too late.
There was a sound behind her, one that sounded like gagging. It was Natalie, and accompanying Natalie's horrendous sound was the sour scent of vomit, filling the aroma with a stormy, unpleasant expulsion.
Those were Aaliyah's last senses in the bright, beachy daylight.
There it was. Another cannon — finally.
Each of the Careers peered up at the sky and squinted as they relished in the jocund, heavenly rays of sunshine. There had been a total of four deaths — and two of them were caused by the Career alliance.
Sota was the first one to speak. "We gotta divide and conquer." This was him making an effort. This was Sota Shirai's chance to show his eagerness and gain an advantage over his allies. What he felt deep down, they didn't know. They didn't need to know.
He was just playing the game.
"Are you suggesting that we split up?" Aurora had a hard time believing her ears — they were only six days into the arena, so what was the point of splitting up this early? "There are still over twenty tributes alive."
Odessa sighed. That was exactly the point. Six days into the Games and not many tributes were dead. At the current pace, it would take nearly two weeks to decide a Victor, and nobody wanted to wait two weeks.
"That's exactly why we need to split up," Aether answered.
Those few words got everyone to settle down quietly. There was something about Aether. His indifference, maybe? No. Was it the mystery behind him? Nobody knew, but whenever Aether spoke, they had to listen. "If we break off into pairs, the competition will die down quicker, which means that all of us will be multiple steps closer to winning."
"So then what are the groups?" Cassian wondered.
Before anyone else could respond, Camille shot her answer. "Odessa and myself will be a pairing; then, Cassian and Aether; and then Aurora and Sota will get together."
"Why those combinations?" Odessa was confused. "Shouldn't district partners work together?" The chemistry would be a lot better that way, as each Career District had their own way of strategizing and going about the Games. This was random. Camille was random. Was Odessa being set-up?
Camille raised her axe and rested the weapon above her right shoulder. She looked around, eyeing each and every single one of her allies before responding. "Our options are limited. Sure, district partners sound like the best choice, but that would do none of us any good."
Then came the voice that Camille despised the most. "How come?" Cassian. Again.
Because I want to kill you! But no, Camille couldn't say that, and she wouldn't. "Think about it like this," she started, "Aurora and Sota have a kill confirmed, each. They have the safest betting since they've provided entertainment. You, me, Aether and Odessa don't, so we need to be the next four to act. You especially, Cassian. You need to be checked. We're all expecting big things from you."
Cassian grew tired of the fingers being pointed at him. It was stupid. So he leaned in to Camille, close, and spontaneously claimed that he was going to win the Games, regardless of these "best interests" that Camille had in mind. It was all bullshit, and Cassian knew it. She just didn't want to deal with him anymore.
That wasn't important, though — not to Odessa, at least. Camille and Cassian would end up killing each other if they were together, and that would be a good thing, but Odessa didn't have time to worry about that. Their alliance was too unstable. Too many variables. Also, how were they going to assemble again? None of them understood the arena yet.
And just like that, one of Odessa's questions was answered. A silver parachute came floating down with a ding, holding a rather large, thin box. Inside of the box were three maps — one for each duo — showcasing the rather large Arena. They could see their departure location so that when it was time for them to congregate once more, they wouldn't have any troubles. And most importantly, they could see where the hotspots of the arena were. They couldn't see where the other tributes were, but this was good enough.
"Ten cannons." In the drifting silence, Odessa had a chance to pick her own mind and decide on the collective best choice of action. "After the sounding of ten cannons, we all meet back here."
That was all that needed to be said before the goodbyes. Aether got ready immediately and said farewell to Aurora; Odessa and Sota shared a final moment of arrogance; and somehow, someway, Camille managed to drag Cassian over for one last conversation. What they were talking about, the rest of the alliance didn't know, but Camille was plotting. Cassian was a manipulative individual as well, but he was kinder than Camille — and his confusion only gave way to her plans.
None of them knew it, but all of the Careers were in for a treat. Nobody really favored the idea of breaking up, but they all understood. It was sad, kind of. None of them had the best relationship — minus the trio of Sota, Cassian and Aurora — but they all could relate to one another.
The only remaining solace that they all had was that Odessa said "we all meet back here." There were no what-ifs.
They were all confident in each other's survival.
Nighttime came quick. Too quick, in fact. But maybe that was how the Games worked — with each cannon, the tributes were rewarded with what felt like shorter days.
Condor and Helena got comfortable in the woods where they decided to spend the night. Just a bit further away was a city littered with farms and all sorts of agricultural animals, but they would head there tomorrow. For now, they needed to soak in the deep tranquility of moonlight.
They laughed together tonight. They even spoke about home and subjects that were deep to them both. It was good. They were safe, had plenty of food and water, and hadn't encountered any danger for quite a few days. Both Condor and Helena's skin radiated gold, orange and red as the bonfire before them gave off an arboreous scent.
"Do you think the Hunger Games will ever come to an end?" Helena asked, seemingly out of nowhere. This hadn't been related to anything that they were speaking of. What was she doing?
Condor's veins had jerked slightly. How was he supposed to answer that? They were in front of Panem — in front of the Capitol — and there was no way to ease out of this conversation. "I… I don't know. I hope so." It was fear. Fear loomed over Condor, and he felt his stomach twist and churn, as well as the goosebumps forming on his forearm. He had lost his coolness. "Hey, maybe we shouldn't talk about this, yeah?"
"I just think it's ridiculous that this has been going on for nearly two centuries." Helena pursed her lips in disbelief, and no matter how hard Condor tried to disregard her heart-felt worries, Helena only persisted. "How is it that there hasn't been a stop to the Games? Is Panem the only country in the whole wide world?"
"Chill out, will you?" Condor begged. It was to no avail.
"How can it be possible that there hasn't been any outside interference? Are we really doomed to this for eternity, where the Capitol will always be the elite, and the districts are only seen as a form of entertainment?" Helena paused and let her words sit. She stared at Condor, and slowly, cold, impassioned emotion surged through Helena's voice. "We pray and pray constantly, but where's the deity that's supposed to save us?!"
Condor's mouth was agape. He could do nothing but stand up as their once radiating fire quickly turned into barely-glowing embers. The wind came in harsh and forceful with a powerful coldness. It wouldn't stop, either, causing the tall family of trees above them to dance in a raucous commemoration.
22nd - Helena Vasilev, District Twelve
Odessa didn't know what Camille was doing. Whether it was being friendly, flirty, or trying to be manipulative, she didn't care — she just wanted to cut the conversation short.
And when the combination of their map along with the ferocious wind brought them to the location of a dying fire and two tributes — one male and one female — Odessa wasted no time in letting a pocket knife soar towards the nearest tribute.
She was smart, knowing not to throw her spear in this type of weather. Her knife nicked the boy across the cheek and missed a fatal blow. Had that been Odessa's spear, she would have lost her weapon.
No words needed to be said between the two Careers — Camille dropped her bags and sprinted in the direction of Condor and Helena with her axe positioned in a defensive stance, ready for their counterattack.
The counter attack didn't come, though. Helena and Condor split up, forgetting to pick up any of their belongings. Camille turned left and was on Condor's tail. Odessa couldn't tell whether or not she had caught up to him, as both of them faded into the pitch black woods.
Odessa was upset with herself. Even in the wind, how could she have missed an easy throw like that on a still target? All she had to do was adjust her trajectory. Damn. But it was okay; Odessa still had time to make up for her failed attempt.
There were no restrictions when Odessa quickly arrived at Helena's side. It seemed as though there was a lack of self-control when Odessa finally got her hands on another tribute — she scratched, bit, and jabbed repeatedly at Helena, even as the girl from Twelve's screams filled the air with rage and sorrow.
Just then, a tree lumbered to the ground. Odessa pushed herself out of the way, but that gave way for Helena to do the same despite her knot-filled, bloody head causing immense pain. Odessa wasn't having it, though. As Helena attempted to crawl up to her feet and flee in the darkness, Odessa hoisted herself up and over the fallen tree, and choke-slammed Helena on top of the sharp, tall-standing, inordinate tree stump.
A scream broke out from Helena. It wasn't fair that Odessa was the nearest tribute at the time of Helena's outburst; it wasn't fair that Odessa was being animalistic; and it certainly wasn't fair that Odessa was born with an advantage, but Odessa didn't make the rules.
Helena's eyes followed the glint in Odessa's spear as it was raised upwards, and then she looked Odessa in the eyes. Helena couldn't even speak through the pain — it was just too much.
Without hesitation, Odessa plunged her spear right through Helena's chest, and it wasn't long before Helena fell stiff with a befuddled expression on her face.
The cannon rang, and finally, the embers of Condor and Helena's dying flames faded away, leaving Odessa in the pitch-black.
Just because two cannons had rung today hadn't meant that the gamemakers were satisfied with their work. No, there were still alliances that weren't interesting enough, and tributes too close together that just needed to encounter. The different dynamics would be excellent.
The first group to go was Pavel's group. He, Krissy, Sebastian and Mackenzie just weren't entertaining enough. This whole pretend-family thing wasn't providing any sort of satisfaction. People were tired of Pavel putting those children on a pedestal — it was old now.
It was no surprise when the urban myth, hook-for-a-hand, zombified soul of a former slave known as Candyman attacked the group, Pavel put on his imaginary cape and protected his allies. "Run!"
Sebastian and Mackenzie didn't know where to go. Sebastian was a hardened young man, but he feared for his life in this situation. And if anyone were to hold back the mutt, it had to be Pavel.
"It's going to kill us!" Mackenzie screamed. While Sebastian was attentive, Mackenzie was antagonizing. This was perfect. Mackenzie knew that Pavel wouldn't let him and Sebastian die — not yet, anyway — so he made the best of Pavel's usefulness. This was enough time to take what Mackenzie could and leave. Sebastian was right there with him, though, as proactive as ever. Collectively, they decided that sticking together was the best option, and two sets of hands was better than one.
Krissy, on the other hand, was gone. She had said adiós and disappeared without a trace, taking as much as she could hold in her petite hands with her. It wasn't much, but she had a few days of survival left. Out of everybody in that broken alliance, she was the early favorite.
When Pavel finally ended up killing the mutt, he had a few slashes here and there. None too deep, but they all stung. He would live — he was okay.
Unfortunately, it was only him that he could now certainly assure was okay. His allies were gone, and so were his — their — supplies. Pavel wanted to cry and writhe, but he couldn't do that. No, Pavel had to remain strong.
In spite of his physical strength, Pavel's mental strength was beginning to suffer immensely, and the only way to cope was by letting out a depressingly deflated sigh.
Malik had barely been able to remain sane when Aspen died, but seeing his own district partner's face in the sky hit differently. She wasn't his ally, but she was from home — and whether he wanted to admit it or not, the remaining prudence that was left in Malik died along with Aaliyah.
Sadly, Malik was a former shell of himself. If a tribute were to cross paths with him right now, his instability would be frightening, but it would also be something that they could exploit. Malik's thantophobia was growing to a level of extreme, causing a regress to the boy's mental health.
He had failed to be a leader; he had failed to save Aspen; he had failed to leave on good terms with Lachlan; and he had failed to come to terms with Aaliyah's death.
Whether she was the first cannon or second, Malik couldn't stop the booming in his ear. It was hard to hear himself think, and the aggressive voices that he swore weren't his just kept on pestering him.
It was nearly impossible to mourn. All his life, Malik feared death, but seeing it in front of him was something else. He realized that he couldn't die of old age back in his district — he realized that time was no longer on his side. Was it ever?
Malik could die any time now, whether that be a week, a day, an hour, or a second from now. He couldn't suppress the feeling, and he concluded that one day he, too, would have a meeting with the Grim Reaper's scythe. And life would continue, with or without him.
Emotional pain ended up pouring out of every emotional cavity in Malik's body — his nose snotty, his eyes teary, and his body in pain. The raw emotion that came out of him was filled with a ferocity that held every viewer back in Panem in place, still and helpless — just like Malik.
The hysteria that Malik let out was too violent — too chaotic. Someone would find and shut him up for good. Or maybe they didn't need to. Malik, in his sorrowful walk, had arrived at a massive estate unconsciously.
Whether it was a tribute or an NPC inside, Malik couldn't think straight.
The only thing he could do was violently shake as he grabbed hold of the residence's doorknob.
Day Six
Condor was sore, but Helena was dead; Condor was famished, but Helena was dead; Condor was alive, but Helena was dead.
He had been lucky to use his environment in order to evade from Camille in the darkness of the woods. Condor had also been lucky to situate himself inside of a miniscule, broken-down shack. However, he wasn't lucky to be without supplies — and worst of all, injured.
The gashes on the side of his face and waist weren't Condor's highest priority, but it was oh-so difficult to ignore the smouldering pain that radiated from his wounds. If he didn't do something about those open holes soon, they would get infected.
His survival was important, yes, but did Helena really have to die? The exact moment that her cannon rang out was in unison with Camille's axe burying itself nearly hilt-deep in Condor's waist. He had even thought it was his own cannon for a second.
It was dark last night, yes, but Condor definitely left a trail of blood — and it was only a matter of time before the two dangerous women hunted him down.
Maybe the gamemakers would let Condor slide. He tried — he really did — to shut Helena up, but it was to no avail. Her death was unfortunate, but she'd been naïve to believe that she had freedom of speech.
Condor had to keep moving for the both of them.
Everything they discussed, and all the emotions they shared… Condor couldn't let that all go to waste.
21st - Condor Teal, District Seven
Condor didn't see them from the windows of the shack, let alone hear the NPCs waiting to ambush him outside.
When he stepped foot outdoors, he was immediately bonked on the side of the head with a foreign object. Condor collapsed as his vision faded slightly, but he could make out a mob of hooded figures in white robes who surrounded and propped him upwards.
Condor awoke abruptly, but his body was suspended in the air. His wrists were tied excessively tense, and his feet were nowhere near the ground.
The worst part was that it was his lack of breath that made Condor begin to panic.
His lungs required oxygen — he was drowning in air! He was beginning to feel tired and lethargic as his body worked overtime to maintain the rest of the fresh air that Condor had left. His lungs were pulling as best as they could but it was futile. Nothing was working.
While Condor slowly died, the hooded crowd cheered. They threw slurs, and while Condor couldn't exactly hear or understand what they were saying, he made out the words: punish, slave, transgressor, and execution.
This was the gamemakers' way of getting back at Condor and Helena. Sending the Careers after them wasn't enough; the survivor of that incident had to be hung.
Condor couldn't take it anymore, no. Every movement that he performed made his surroundings blur even quicker like a sick, shattered reality. He couldn't cry, he couldn't scream, and he certainly couldn't escape. Condor fidgeted for another minute before the suffering completely disappeared, and his heart beat for the last time.
The extrajudicial killing had been completed.
Day Seven
Malik didn't recognize Gracie, and vice versa. They were both slaves to the arena — both literally and figuratively.
While Malik dragged himself into captivity and was forced to work, Gracie was seen as a child to be taken care of. Gracie was… uninteresting to the Capitol, to say the least. Maybe that's why she had survived for seven days.
They didn't forget about her, but… who was Gracie compared to Cassian? Who was Gracie compared to Lachlan? Who was Gracie compared to Eloise? Nobody. All the young girl did was read books with another child living in the home and yap all day about horses.
On the other spectrum, Malik was having mental issues. Sooner or later he would snap. For now, the young man was forced to work on the fields — which was familiar to him. Minus the occasional whippings, Malik was reminded of District Eleven. He was reminded of home.
For some reason, he just couldn't grasp the idea of returning.
Pavel was right there with Gracie and Malik. He stayed to himself and didn't bring any attention. It was smart, actually. Pavel was a willing slave. Unlike Malik, though, Pavel had a very stable mindset.
Three tributes all in the same home would never end pretty. Pavel knew something was bound to go down, but as long as he had his baton, he would be okay. Yeah, he'd be fine. For now, all Pavel had to do was work along the fields and remain lowkey.
Imogen paid close attention to Chayona. The once timid tribute from District Three was no longer the cute, little ally that Imogen partnered up with — no, Chayona was… cold now.
That wasn't too much of an issue. Imogen continued to chirp away as she took a bite out of her apple every pause or so in between sentences. Chayona would respond constantly with one-word answers, or she wouldn't respond at all. Yet again, that was no issue — Imogen would just laugh it off.
Both girls were safe for now. What they had done to get here wasn't necessarily the kindest way of going about things, but when thrown into the Hunger Games, what other option really is there?
They had killed Mr. Hepiner; they had killed the doctor who provided them a ride to St. Augustine; and they had killed Mr. Hepiner's eldest son, who traversed in the muddy swamps to exact revenge.
Chayona was bandaged up, the girls had a ride, they had medicine, and they were okay on food and water. They had done enough to appease the Capitol. Hell, Imogen even got bit by a snake.
"We have to start killing other tributes, Imogen." Chayona's voice cut deep through the silence like a kitchen knife. There was no stuttering, either. "Did you see what those mutts were capable of? The peace that we have now won't last forever."
Nothing really ever fazed Imogen, but hearing her once innocent ally talk about boldly killing other living, breathing people that they were cohabitating with no less than a week ago, seemed to give Imogen all the anxiety in the world.
Imogen knew exactly what Chayona was thinking, too. The bear traps that the two girls were blessed with as a sponsor gift would do the trick in injuring and incapacitating a tribute, and all they would need to do is provide the finishing blow. What more did they need?
With how willing Chayona had been, how much longer would it be before these two crossed paths with another tribute — or worse, another group?
Gideon still wasn't willing to take any risks. Whenever he saw shadows, he automatically assumed that they were other tributes and ducked behind the nearest structure.
Even if he hadn't seen anything, he had to pretend as if he were ready to defend himself. Giving the Capitol a sense of worry, even just bits and pieces, was better than giving them nothing at all.
He was going to be fine. Other tributes were out hunting, cannons were booming, and Gideon was doing his part. Even though he was in his comfort zone of being alone, he missed his sister, Eren. How was she doing, anyway? Were the peacemakers leaving her alone?
Damn, he sure hoped so. That was the motivation, in fact. If Gideon were to win, he and his sister would be allowed to live a life of peace, no longer bothered by peacemakers. Gideon would no longer be lusted over for his body, and he sure as hell wouldn't need to constantly fight to survive.
As the Victor, money would never be an issue for Gideon. Maybe a bit of PTSD, but Gideon has suffered through enough mental trauma to be able to withstand and get past a few deaths — he was sure of it.
Eren wasn't the only person he missed, though. There was still Aether Cynephris, somewhere out there in the arena fighting for his own life. It made Gideon sad. Someone like Aether didn't deserve to be in the games, despite volunteering. Then again, someone like Gideon didn't deserve to be in the games, either. They were both simply handed unfortunate cards in the game of life.
If he were to see Aether later on down the line, Gideon would have to give his thanks and appreciation. Gideon had a strong liking to Aether. Maybe more than just a strong liking. In fact, Gideon was infatuated with the man. They both couldn't win, but Gideon wanted to share a strong moment with Aether before this was all said and done.
Nevertheless, Gideon himself was more important than any other person in the arena, and that was final.
Lachlan felt his body swing with each step that he took. In the distance, birds sang a playful chorus for him. The beautiful choir played their melody to the rhythm of Lachlan's footsteps, and he enjoyed the sound so much.
This was a nice contrast to the hell that he had been receiving for the past few days. Ever since Malik's departure, Lachlan fended off countless mutts, ate nothing but raw meat, and drank rain water.
Did Lachlan blame Malik? Yes. Of course he did, because Aspen was a lostcause. Did he resent Malik? No. Lachlan understood the pressure of a life-or-death situation, but he wasn't willing to forgive Malik if they crossed paths again.
Lachlan would make sure to get all of his supplies back. They were no longer a team, and caring for anyone in the Hunger Games who weren't your ally was an idiotic move.
Maybe Lachlan wasn't the fan-favorite to win, but the audience's reaction to the boy from Six showed that they wanted him in the competition. Lachlan had this calm, laid-back aura around him that bewitched everybody. How could he be so unbothered?
It was probably malnutrition. Still, Lachlan knew that he had to do something. The gamemakers were giving him every chance imaginable: easy mutts, minimal weather hazards, and even singing birds.
Singing birds, huh? Actually, the twill of the birds were getting further and further away. Was he supposed to be following them?
He was..!
He didn't need any more hints — Lachlan understood clear as day. Wherever the gamemakers were leading him, it was going to be a gamble for Lachlan's life, and he was willing. He had to be, or else they were going to kill him in the most exciting way imaginable.
With only his rampuri at his side, Lachlan let out a slow breath, took in the fresh air scent, and found happiness in his direction.
Millet Arrowroot had the most unique situation in the arena.
After losing Natalie, he was forcefully recruited into the Confederacy. The NPCs treated Millet like one of their own by providing him with a uniform, a bayonet, and a khopesh.
Millet was strapped with heavy artillery. Who in the arena could pose a threat to him, realistically? He had every advantage in the world, but his head wasn't positioned on the right task at hand. Millet constantly thought about Natalie and how she was doing.
She was alive, he knew that much, but other than that, what was going on with her? Would they ever reunite? Would he ever get to make it up to her?
No. Probably not.
He didn't want to think like that, but it was reality. Even if they were to come into contact again, he doubted that she would accept him with open arms. Millet had to move on and focus on himself — he had to focus on his well being.
There were a few instances where Millet wanted to cry, scream and beg for Natalie to come back to his side, but he couldn't hold on to that memory forever. Millet had to focus on himself and himself only.
The predicament that Millet was in was actually perfect for an individual like him. Millet was going off to war, and he had every quality of a fine soldier: stoic, accepting, willing, and persisting. Whatever needed to be done, Millet Arrowroot would do it.
Being recalcitrant during this period of the Games, where everything seemed to start flowing into motion, was not a good idea. Millet decided that what was meant to be would fall into place.
If he were to avenge Cherokee's death, then so be it — and if he were to meet with Natalie again, then please, so be it.
Day Eight
20th - Natalie Needle, District Seven
There wasn't any care for Natalie after she had killed Aaliyah. Other than Cherokee's death, Natalie's kill had been the most uninteresting fight in the Games so far. Had Aaliyah won, that would have been more interesting — the chained girl who took down two tributes while restrained. Yeah. That would have made for a great storyline.
Regardless, the gamemakers allowed Natalie to leave the home that she was brought to. They didn't care where she went.
The expansion of green laid a path that rolled past the viewable horizon. Her senses soaked up all of the sensory palletes, and her lungs expanded as Natalie caught multiple whiffs of the spring joy in the air.
With fumbling steps, Natalie finally collapsed. The lack of food for days on end was the cruelest punishment she had ever faced. She was a sentient being just like everybody else, yet the treatment that she received seemed somewhat worse than what Aaliyah was dealt.
Maybe this was what Natalie deserved after killing a girl who clearly couldn't defend herself.
As the sun-strengthened grass tickled Natalie's skin, she fell sleepy to the lullaby of nearby birds, chirping away and reverberating their beautiful song and dance. The blue-white, heavenly sky radiated Natalie's skin, and the warmth that followed was comforting.
In the fields, it was Lachlan Smith that found Natalie. With his rampuri being the only item to his name, Lachlan didn't spend too much time deciding on what to do.
Shakily, Lachlan pressed the knife against Natalie's throat and cut right through her jugular vein. The pain only lasted for a second, but the small gurgle and eruption of blood that Natalie let out was horrific. There wasn't much solace during her moment of death; however, the boomerang that her father whittled for her brought the tiniest ounce of comfort that Natalie could be thankful for.
Guess she had it coming to her.
19th - Gracie Sullivan, District Ten
Snap!
Gracie heard a loud crack that tore the entire room apart. Not one, but multiple. Thuds as well, almost like bodies were dropping.
Bang!
It was getting closer. Were those gunshots?
Sure, Gracie had a disadvantage compared to the other tributes when it came to processing information, but she wasn't stupid. She was in the Hunger Games — something was after her. Someone… was after her.
It was Malik who came walking down the stairs, a pistol gripped in his right hand. With the other hand he carried the young girl who Gracie had befriended, who happened to be stiff and lifeless with an entry wound in her forehead.
Gracie's heart sank. She hadn't paid attention to anyone else in the abode, but she knew Malik's face as a fellow tribute. Gracie never liked boys, but Malik wasn't just an ordinary boy — he was a killer.
With all of the NPC mutts roaming the arena, it was difficult to tell who was real and who was a computer programmed entity, but Malik was definitely real.
The closer he got, the louder Gracie's horrified shrieks bounced off of the thin walls.
Something was up with Malik. Panic rose in his chest and his mind was a static mess. Whatever was going internally, it caused the boy to secrete streaky tears that seemed so distant.
"Get out of my head!"
Who was he talking to? That wasn't what was important, no. Malik rushed up and down the stairs repeatedly, which was Gracie's cue to go. She tried her best to run to the front door but Malik was quicker.
Gracie screamed, louder than she had ever screamed before, but Malik silenced those annoying wails with the count of ten. And once he reached ten, Malik let a bullet fly and ripped Gracie from existence.
The horizons of Malik's mind were still a blur. Why? He had done what his mind told him and shot Gracie Sullivan dead. Was he feeling remorse? No, he couldn't have been. Gracie wasn't family — she didn't matter to him in the slightest. Was it her innocent gaze? It couldn't have been.
Gracie was an obstacle. Everyone in the arena was a threat to his life. He had to do it. Right?
It was all part of the game, and that's how you play it. Whether Gracie was twelve, fifteen or eighteen, she had to go. Malik was tired of all that damn crying, anyway. The silence brung Malik to solitude, but his mind was still a mess.
What was the issue? Malik had finished his business and killed a tribute. Gracie wouldn't be the only one — Malik would have more kills once he calmed down, but first his mind needed to get rid of all the rampant thoughts.
Malik almost started slamming the pistol against his temple to ease the mental pain. "I did what you said, get out of my head!"
Cassian and Aether were polar opposites. There was never much conversation between the two of them, other than who was taking the first watch when sleeping during the night.
Aether always had his head in the clouds, and it was depressing as hell. Cassian, regardless of his humor and sarcasm, couldn't get a reaction out of Aether. It was just like back at home; how Cassian just wasn't all that impressive to be put at the center of attention.
Whatever.
Where were these two supposed to be headed, anyway? Cassian checked the map once more. The two Careers were right at the hotspot of Fort Monroe, a decommissioned military base. The only issue with this hotspot was that it was huge.
Cassian folded the map and tossed it to Aether. "Isn't this great? I bet we'll find the tributes here in no time! It's not like this base is ginormous or anything, yeah?"
Aether studied the area. He didn't mind Cassian's sarcasm — actually, it made Aether smile faintly.
"Not necessarily," Aether replied. Aether turned his head to the clouds, and in the great blue sky was a lighthouse that towered over the military base. "We can gamble, but if I were to guess, I'd say that whoever's here would be hiding up there."
18th - Darren Leicester, District Eight
Darren heard them coming up the stairs of the lighthouse and tackled Eloise to the ground as two flying knives clanked against the gallery deck.
Of course it was the Careers..! Why wouldn't it have been them? They were loved by the Capitol and were born to be a pain in everybody else's backside.
Did it have to be Darren and Eloise, though? What bad luck.
"You missed, asshole!" Darren shouted. His snarl was not a beautiful sight to behold. Cassian raised an eyebrow at Darren's hostile provocation. That look on Cassian's face, though, it bothered Darren. Cassian being a Career bothered Darren. "How do you train your entire life and don't know how to hit a target?!"
At that moment, Cassian wanted to retort with a sarcastic reply, but he decided that it wasn't worth it. Instead, Cassian pulled back on the strings of both knives and implanted them into Darren's back shoulder girdle.
Darren bit back a scream, but Eloise let all of her emotions out at once. Darren remained upright, strong and defensive over Eloise, but he knew he couldn't fight two Careers at the same time. They couldn't fight two-on-two together, or else both he and Eloise would die.
That's it — Darren made up his mind. "Go."
"What? I'm not gonna leave you and let you di—!"
"Go!" Darren shouted at Eloise. He was done talking. As he pushed through the pain in his shoulder, Darren wrapped their remaining essentials around Eloise like a satchel, lifted her up over the lantern room and helped her plant her feet in the open watch room.
"I am not going to leave you!" Eloise cried. "Pull me back up, please! Please!"
Darren could only shake his head and pry his hands away from Eloise's grip. He turned, hurriedly, and crossed his arms in an x-shaped defensive block, when Cassian's machete pierced through both of Darren's forearms.
It hurt like hell, but he was not going to let them get to Eloise. Darren rushed past Cassian, blood flying everywhere, and tackled himself headfirst into Aether's back in order to knock him to the ground and stop Aether from fleeing after Eloise.
Darren choked when Cassian quickly pulled him off of Aether. The guttural noises that came from Darren were loud enough for Eloise to hear from the floor below, and she bellowed, shouting excessively for him.
"...Okay! It's okay..! I'm fine!" He wasn't. Darren's arms were a mess — useless now. His throat was getting crushed by the pressure of Cassian's headlock, and the machete stab to the anterior ends of his ribs ended all of the elasticity that Darren had in his body. Still, he continued to fight for Eloise's survival. "I will not let them get past me! You're going to survive..! …Get out of here..!"
His voice didn't fumble — and that was enough to make Eloise run. Her dying footfalls filled him with joy, but the unbearable pain was starting to take its toll. Darren's body was getting weak beyond repair.
In his dying moments, he decided to spew hatred. He had always hated Careers — the way they talked, behaved, everything. They were the Capitol's lapdogs and were fed with silver spoons.
So, he let it all out. Darren cursed at both Cassian and Aether, especially Cassian. He told him off, called Cassian outside of his name, and wished harm upon his relatives. The bluntness must have been too much for Cassian.
Before Darren knew it, his nose was busted; his lip was swollen from a knee, and his throat was aching from the constant stomping of Cassian's foot.
Soon, Darren was thrown off of the lighthouse entirely, free-falling hundreds of feet in the air. He hoped that Eloise would be okay. This must have been their punishment for telling Addison off during the interviews. In no way were they crowd favorites, but Darren could only pray that Eloise would be spared.
Darren didn't have enough time to ask for forgiveness. He died in the air, before his body could touch the ground below.
17th - Malik Sherman, District Eleven
Malik awoke with a throbbing pain bouncing on his forehead. And in the back of his head. His shoulders, as well. Actually, the pain was radiating everywhere.
Where was he? Why couldn't he move? The dim lighting in the dark showed a boy holding a baton in his hand, unmoving.
Malik was chained to a tree, tied in a sitting position. He glared at the man in front of him. Silently, Malik demanded, "Let me go."
"You wanna hear a story?" Pavel responded.
Malik craned his neck in search for an escape, but there was nothing he could do. The fear began to slowly creep up on him. Was he going to die here, without a chance to defend himself? Where was his gun? Where were his supplies? "Let me go!"
"A couple of hours ago some crazy guy was in a house about a mile or two away from here. He let off gunshots, firing at everything in his direction, but I guess he was feeling conflicted," Pavel summarized.
Where was Pavel going with this? Malik couldn't help his thoughts but… was Pavel talking about him?
"He left everybody in the home's body twitching. He went even as far as to kill the owner and his daughter, but there was another girl left alive — she wasn't a prop, though. She was an actual living, breathing girl with a family to return to. I guess he understood that he and that girl had similarities, but she was a child compared to him — she posed no threat. Maybe he didn't want to sin, but when she tried to leave, all of his morals left his body and he ended her life with a shot to the head."
It was definitely about Malik.
"He left," Pavel continued, "but he missed the lone survivor hiding behind the staircase." Pavel stood up and approached Malik. "How could you kill a little girl?"
Malik was shook. What was Pavel talking about? This was the Hunger Games — everyone was competing. There wasn't supposed to be sympathy for a single soul. The girl didn't have any relation to Pavel, so why did he care so much?
Was Malik supposed to apologize? Pavel must have lost his damn mind.
Malik's mind swarmed with questions when Pavel's baton came down and assaulted him. The damage was already irreversible, and it just kept coming. Pavel swung, and swung, and swung. Pavel exploded, pummeling and beating Malik to the state of unconsciousness. Every time Malik slipped away, Pavel splashed water on the young man.
"Say you're sorry!" Malik couldn't remember how long the beating had lasted. Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe? Regardless, Malik had organ damage, and his body was damaged beyond recovery. Malik could barely open his eyes — they were nearly shut with swelling. He was a bloody mess that couldn't massage or take care of his wounds, and Pavel wouldn't stop assaulting Malik's disfigured face. "Say that you're sorry..!"
All Malik wanted to do was curl into a ball and slumber. He couldn't breathe, and every nerve in his body was beginning to go numb. His body felt as if it were no longer his own. There was bile collecting inside his parched mouth. He was helpless. He couldn't move or say anything to his assailent. Malik's heart felt like bursting from his chest — he wanted to scream and beg for someone to save him.
He was destitute and monotonous. Was this what it felt like to die?
Was Malik dying..?
Pavel aimed the gun at Malik's temple, but when he pulled the trigger, nothing came. Malik had used his final bullet to end Gracie's life, and Pavel couldn't repay the favor. Instead, Pavel continued to hammer away, attacking and attacking and attacking until Malik choked on his own blood.
Even as the cannon echoed three minutes ago, Pavel continued.
Day Nine
Four deaths yesterday was more than enough to suffice. Even if Aether and Cassian failed to track down Eloise, she would be dead sooner or later. She'd be dead before either of them kicked the bucket, Cassian guaranteed. He had taken what Darren said personally.
And since Eloise was Darren's ally as well as district partner, she was someone who he cared for. Cassian would send Eloise to the afterlife right after her precious friend when he found her — and he'd tell her to send his warmest regards.
Fort Monroe was beautiful, indeed. There were exquisite buildings, a base with execution devices, and even a beach for Cassian and Aether to enjoy.
There had to be more, though. Fort Monroe was still a hotspot, which meant that Eloise hadn't escaped completely — or, there were other tributes nearby.
Almost immediately after those thoughts, Cassian watched as a tall and slender figure paused in its tracks. They made eye-contact. The boy with dark hair and tanned skin slowly began to move again, like he wanted to ignore Cassian entirely.
"Tribute!" Cassian shouted.
Aether knew. He saw Gideon from a mile away, way before Cassian looked up. But Cassian jumped up on his feet and gave chase way too quickly. Aether could only yell out at Cassian and follow suit.
"Wait, stop!" Aether's octaves rose exponentially, which was unusual for him. Did Aether want to kill the tribute? Was he trying to compete with Cassian? Or was that the tribute that Camille told Cassian to get rid of, specifically?
Cassian grinned. Whatever it was, Aether had to compete for this kill.
16th - Gideon Alvaro, District Three
Cassian was too fast for Gideon. He didn't want to risk it, but Gideon had to turn and fight — there was nowhere left to run.
Gideon turned quicker than Cassian was expecting, but the Career's reaction time was better than Gideon was hoping. Cassian's high carbon stainless steel blade cut into the wooden stick of Gideon's spear, slightly deteriorating Gideon's balance.
Gideon wasn't going down that easily. In fact, he was probably the most prepared outer-district tribute in the entire arena.
Gideon stepped back and placed distance between him and Cassian. As Cassian lunged forward, Gideon planted his feet firmly, and twisted his entire body as he swung his spear in an attempt to cut right through Cassian's chest.
That's all he needed — one good cut and Cassian would bleed to death. Sadly, he missed. Cassian twirled his own body graciously, but not graciously enough to avoid the wooden end of Gideon's spear across his jaw.
"Who's been teaching you?" Cassian joked. It wasn't funny, nor was it entertaining, but Cassian had to ignore the pain somehow, someway.
Gideon wasn't interested in making conversation at all — he was more disappointed in himself for failing to end the fight quickly. Cassian was a Career — what was Gideon expecting?
"Honestly, you're hyperextending your limbs too much." Gideon was now on the defensive, and bit-by-bit, Cassian was shooting down his confidence. "You have the right idea on how to attack, but your defense is lacking." Cassian swung with one arm now. Gideon, for a brief moment, was distracted long enough for Cassian to land a punch square in his nose. "You don't know how to use all of your body properly at all. Your offense is subpar, and your defense is abysmal. Give up — you're not gonna win."
Gideon couldn't keep up. He was starting to feel lightheaded, continuously being pressured to take a step back. Eventually, Gideon lost his footing and fell flat on his butt. Cassian was dominant beyond belief, and in an act of desperation, Gideon raised his spear in the air to block Cassian's impending swing.
"Cassian! Stop!"
Aether. Cassian turned, a bone-jarring smile plastered on his face — it looked so exaggerated that Cassian's jaw could fall off at any moment. "Why? Do you wanna kill him? Too bad. I beat you to it."
Gideon sprang forward and held his arms up in disbelief. "No! He's not a threat! There's been plenty of deaths already — why can't we just take today off?!"
Cassian couldn't find the right words to say. He nearly let out a haughty laugh. Was this a joke? It had to be. "I'm sorry, but is he your boyfriend or something? Do you realize what you're saying?"
"He deserves to live!" Aether turned the handle of the kusarigama in his hand and drew the weapon out at Cassian. "I am not going to repeat myself."
"Are you really turning on me? Over an outer-district trib—"
Gideon rose up swiftly. Cassian heard him before he saw Gideon move, but couldn't put his block up quick enough to minimize the damage of the spear slicing at his pectoral muscles. The shallow red line quickly turned into a gaping wound that needed to be sutured. Cassian gasped as his blood gushed and took an earthly hue, falling rapidly to the ground and all over Gideon, too.
Shit! Cassian grabbed hold of Gideon's spear in retaliation and slammed the sturdy wooden handle into Gideon's forehead, so roughly that it broke in half. The dizziness took over Gideon's entire body and he lost his footing. Cassian took quick advantage and swept at Gideon's ankles, tripped him, and buried his machete in the boy's heart.
Gideon drifted into death's embrace without realizing.
15th - Cassian Castellan, District Two
Before passing out, Cassian's last memories were Gideon's cannon, and the sound of Aether's gutpunching sobs.
When he awoke, Cassian peered down at the wound in his chest. It wasn't patched up, but the bleeding had stopped. The last of his blood drops had become congealed and stained a brownish-red scab.
Cassian sighed in irritation as he stomped his feet. "Aether, get me out of here!" The two men stared at each other with furious gazes, neither breaking frame. "What's wrong with you?"
Aether's face was tear-stained; the bags under his eyes were heavy as can be, and his eyes were gruesomely bloodshot.
Aether swung a crowbar at Cassian. Every part of Cassian's face was thrashed: his temple, chin, cheeks, scalp and skull.
Cassian was beginning to fall asleep again. His consciousness was a thick static shock, there was an excessive ringing in his ears from the pain that he had endured, and his head was pounding from the damage. It was bizarre that Cassian could fight back mentally.
"You took everything away from me!" Aether walked around Cassian and examined his state. "Why'd you kill him, Cassian? What possessed you to put your hands on Gideon when I specifically told you not to?!"
"Was I supposed to let him kill me..?" Cassian shook himself to keep from drifting off. He didn't want to die. He didn't even want to be at odds with Aether. They could turn back and pretend this never happened — Cassian could be free and get the hell away. He was in no position to fight one-on-one. "He hit a fatal blow, Aether…"
"Because you attacked him first, idiot!" Aether finally broke. The last remaining sliver of hope that he had in him was Gideon — and now that Gideon was dead, there was no saving Aether.
Cassian looked around desperately. He hadn't realized, but they were at the execution base that he and Aether discovered yesterday — and he was strapped in an electric chair.
Aether left the room and came back in. In his hands were firecrackers that he proceeded to litter on the floor. Cassian followed Aether's movements, and watched Aether fasten electrodes to his head and legs.
"Wait a second!" Cassian tried to reason with Aether, saying that the Careers would find out — that Aether would be an outcast and killed immediately. Logically speaking, Cassian was correct — but Aether wasn't listening. Cassian got desperate. He was looking for a more fair result. "Look—! Camille—! She… Camille told me that you had an issue with Gideon..! I didn't know that she lied..! I swear to you, Aether. Please, please, please don't kill me..! I killed him as a joke! As a way to— to take care of your problems for you! Aether!"
Aether pulled the lever, and a burning scent wafted his nostrils immediately. Cassian's hands and feet started to convulse aggressively. The tingles didn't come kindly, either. The currents that pulsed through him traveled down to the imperiling fireworks and set Cassian's entire body ablaze.
Cassian screamed with the most raw form of communication Aether had ever heard. It was agonizing — a scream that called for help immediately — but Aether didn't care.
Aether had left. He watched from a glass window as the dark room lit up with a velvet blaze and electric flow that took Cassian Castellan's life.
14th - Chayona Watt, District Three
The two girls heard the footsteps trailing behind them for hours on end. When they finally got a decent lead ahead, Imogen and Chayona worked together to figure out how to plant the bear traps that they were sponsored.
When one of their contraptions triggered and a masculine voice screamed out, Chayona hopped to her feet and rushed outside of their cabin with her makeshift rod in hand.
Lachlan braced himself as Chayona charged forward. One of Lachlan's legs were trapped, minimizing his movement. The wound wasn't lethal, but Chayona and her rod definitely were.
"I don't wanna fight!" Lachlan ducked the first swing, but the second one caught his shoulder. "Relax..! I was—" He dodged another fast swing. "—just looking for food! Stop!"
Chayona's attacks were sloppy — sloppy enough for Lachlan to defend himself with his rampuri. He waited for another swing to miss, and just as Chayona's attack flew over Lachlan's head, he leapt like a predatory animal and buried his rampuri in Chayona's sternum.
Both tributes rolled around in discomfort and reached the bayou. Chayona couldn't take the pain in her chest anymore, hollering in anguish. Lachlan capitalized on Chayona's incapacity and stabbed her cranium, then proceeded to push the girl off of him.
Chayona's body slumped into the shallow water and she drifted away slowly. The blossoming water forest deepened in a red hue, Chayona's blood spreading like wildfire and permanently staining the marvelous water trees.
Imogen stepped forward and shook her head at Lachlan.
Lachlan braced himself again, expecting another fight. "Why didn't you help her?"
Imogen felt horrible. Much to her consternation, she saw the change in Chayona's personality ever since that night at Mr. Hepiner's estate. Chayona had a glint in her eye and a difference in her speech pattern. It wasn't a duo any longer, but rather Chayona was going to actively look for tributes, and Imogen was going to follow.
"She changed." Deep down, Imogen felt like there would be a point where Chayona would no longer see her as an ally — but rather a hindrance. Chayona wanted to kill; Imogen did not. They were going to clash sooner or later.
"I felt that." Lachlan understood exactly what Imogen meant. He had Malik, she had Chayona; Malik was now dead, and so was Chayona. "Do you wanna team up?"
Imogen was taken aback. Was he serious? When she looked into Lachlan's red-rimmed eyes, she could see that he wasn't kidding. The boy was calm and easygoing, even after killing another tribute, but he desperately needed help. He brought Imogen temporary peace. But no. Upon further inspection, she knew that Lachlan was broken.
The boy was thin and fragile — he wouldn't benefit her. He had a few days left in the arena, maybe, and she wasn't going to take care of him. Now, she had to look out for herself.
Lachlan could tell from Imogen's facial expression that the answer was a cold 'No'. He didn't take it personally, but he did blame her and her dead ally for the damage done to his leg. "Then can you at least help me pry this trap off my leg? You did this to me, too."
"I only knew how to set the device up. I don't even have the physical strength to get it off of your leg. The best I can do is give you some food and water, but you can't have the best of both worlds."
Lachlan rolled his eyes, frustrated. "I'll take it."
Imogen left the boy with tons of dry crackers, blackberries, and one water bottle. After spending the past four days searching for food, this was only going to last Lachlan a few hours.
He should've asked for more.
Aurora and Sota got comfortable. While they didn't tell each other outright, they both hinted at how they felt about killing other tributes. If they were to share their disdain to the task openly, the Capitol wouldn't favor them anymore. These two understood each other well.
Sota was developing into a more serious young man. He just wanted to go home. Back to the Capitol — to Ursula. While he saw Aurora as a friend, and even considered Cassian and the rest of the Careers as companions, they didn't compare to Ursula.
Aurora was cool, though. Sota would protect her, if need be. She understood him. And although he didn't understand her insecurities — how could he? He was Sota Shirai — he understood her emotions.
The more they spoke, the more Aurora laughed at Sota. And it wasn't in a condescending way, either. Sota was a genuinely funny person underneath the Fizzy Pop persona. Sure, he was still arrogant and stupid. Yes, he made excuses for why he had no kills out of the last ten deaths that occured. And yes, his confidence dominated Aurora's personality, but he made her feel valued.
"You're not as bad as you portray yourself to be." Aurora really meant that. She patted Sota on the back and ruffled his hair. "Enough with Fizzy Pop. You're Sota Shirai."
Maybe Aurora was right. Sota made his riches and had his fun. Were the Hunger Games really what he needed to revive his dead career? He hadn't thought it through, but now his immediate family knew of his identity and his location, but they didn't matter. Ursula did. Sota's selfishness could put her in danger, and he hadn't realized. She'd never complained about Sota's choices — she loved and supported him unconditionally.
He was an idiot. In that longing for glory once more, he'd never sat down and actually spoke to himself about the consequences his actions could have. Sota needed to start forming his own opinions. Moving forward, that's what he decided. No longer would he be a slave to the masses.
For tonight, he and Aurora would rest and head back to their departure location tomorrow morning. The two of them didn't trail too far away, so they were in no rush. At worst, they would arrive at the reunion a bit later than the rest.
The rest were only three other Careers instead of four, though. Sota watched in disbelief as Cassian was the first face to appear in the night sky. Sota couldn't believe it. He was obviously more skilled than Cassian, but how could Cassian fall so early?
Aurora didn't speak. She whimpered silently and mourned over her fallen ally with trickling tears. Sota could only stare at her and provide a shoulder to cry on.
Odessa watched Cassian's face disappear, and soon both tributes from Three followed. She wasn't sad or anything, but she had confidence in her ally. Cassian dying before the final ten meant that there was a formidable tribute out there. Or maybe… maybe something happened between him and Aether.
She looked over at Camille, who was feigning a frown. "Come on, we're heading back." Odessa grabbed Camille by the arm and pulled her along. They had a far way to go, but the Careers needed to regroup immediately.
"Do you like being this close to me?" Camille flirted, to no response. "Don't be shy, babe. Get closer."
"Your district partner's dead. Aren't you upset?" Odessa wasn't trying to play with Camille again. She'd been through it the past few days, and although she warmed up to Camille and respected her, this wasn't the time to be joking.
Now that she thought hard about it, maybe Odessa was sad that Cassian died. He was her ally for two weeks — someone that she got to spend time with, got to know, got to understand, and got to train with. He wasn't the most likeable person in the world, but he brought something to the table and Odessa grew to admire him for who he was.
When she eventually lost more of her allies, would she feel the same way?
Camille could sense Odessa's dismay. She liked Odessa; she felt that Odessa grew to respect her, and so Camille didn't see her as someone who needed to be taken out as soon as possible.
Camille would keep scheming and getting things done herself. Cassian was dead, so next in line were Aurora and Sota.
Aether was the only one she couldn't fool, but that was okay. Some more conditioning for Odessa and one careless error from Aether was all Camille needed. The plan was for her and Odessa to remain as the final Careers in the game, and then Camille would do what needed to be done.
This would all be Camille's doing — her and hers only. No more help from outside sources, and when she made it back home to District Two, she, her sisters and Sheri would live lavishly in the Victors' Village. In all her impending success, Camille would be everything her parents were and more. Much more.
She was thinking too far ahead. In the present day, Camille had to focus on taking matters into her own hands and setting motion to the rest of her plan.
Tomorrow was going to be interesting.
Day Ten
The last person to arrive at Harpers Ferry was Aether. He hiked up the coastal trail and joined the remaining four Careers, who observed the railroad junction that confluence the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers.
Aurora felt a sense of relief. Aether looked unharmed, but most importantly, she wouldn't have to carry District One's reputation solely on her back. "You're alright!"
Sota and Odessa turned immediately and simultaneously asked, "What happened?"
Aether paid them all no mind. It was like he only saw red, and Camille had a bad feeling. She took a step back; Aether took multiple steps forward. Aether pounced — and Camille tried to fend him off — but his large hands caught her small throat, and he squeezed.
Camille looked for help, but her allies were stunned in place, confused. She couldn't rely on any of them in this predicament.
"You're a bitch! You know that? You're a fucking bitch!" Aether gripped tighter with his right arm and stopped Camille from reaching for her axe with his left. "Did you think I wasn't going to find out?!"
Camille spat in Aether's face. It wasn't much, but his grip loosened up as his vision obscured. Camille needed only that split second to get her neck out of reach, bite down at Aether's fingers — hard — and get her body free.
She unsheathed her axe quickly, no hesitation in Camille's stride at all. Her right hand grasped the neck of her axe, palm faced away, and with the momentum of her left hand guiding the knob at the end of her axe's handle, Camille sliced down at Aether's collarbone.
Aether didn't give a damn. Camille didn't expect him to ignore the wound — almost as if he were numb to pain — and he reciprocated by dragging his kusarigama in and out of her pelvis. Sota hurried and placed Aether in a headlock, shouting, "The fuck are y'all doing?!"
"She's a damn traitor!" Aether spilled. He let it all out — everything. Camille's conditioning; her hostility towards Aurora and Cassian; her indifference towards Sota; her curiosity towards Aether's mind; and her friendliness towards Odessa. "She's been using all of us and hoping that we'd turn on each other for her own gain! Did you think you'd get away with it?!"
Camille couldn't speak. Her pelvis was spewing blood — she would die if it wasn't tended to. Help! Someone! Odessa!
Camille realized that her plan was doomed when Odessa cried in vexation. "I trusted you! I showed you respect! Was this your game the whole time? Break us from inside out and hope nobody would notice?"
The adrenaline took over Camille's body. While Aurora and Sota didn't look like they were ready to attack, Aether and Odessa were fuming with rage. Camille couldn't win. She ran. She disappeared as Aether was held back and the other three were in a state of conflict. She'd get as far away as possible and take the Appalachian Trail to find a safe distance.
Aether was done — done with life, done with the Games, and certainly done with the Careers. As soon as Sota unhandled him, Aether took as many supplies as he pleased. Maybe he should have known they were all enemies deep down. Maybe he should have known he would never find happiness. Maybe he should have known not to get too attached to another person.
As he left without a word, the other three — Aurora, Sota and Odessa — watched uncomfortably. None of this was supposed to happen, but what could they do now? Their alliance was down to three, and sooner or later, there would only be two, and then one. That's just how things went.
They never got their answer on what happened to Cassian, but deep down, they all knew Aether had killed him.
At the moment, Sota was focused on preserving their alliance, but the best choice of action was to let Aether kill Camille, and then kill Aether. If only he'd known the truth beforehand. This would come back to bite them all in the ass.
Krissy and Eloise became close during their time at war. No, they weren't necessarily allies or friends, but they looked out for each other. Krissy was the healer, and Eloise was the soldier. There was a mutual benefit between the two.
It was almost ironic. Krissy never expected to still be working as a nurse in the arena. She didn't expect her parents' expectations to follow her for all of eternity. But that was fine. In fact, she had been the one to convince Eloise that she had a lot to offer.
Krissy was a people-pleaser. She'd please Eloise, she'd please the people back in her district, she'd please her parents, and she'd please the people in the Capitol.
She'd been in so many sticky situations in the arena, but she was in the final twelve now. There weren't anymore ifs. Krissy could do it — she could make it back home, and all she had to do was let her street smarts carry her as far as they could.
Thanks to the pills she'd been given, Krissy didn't feel squeamish watching bodies drop and blood fly. Her high allowed her to focus and succeed, but she'd been starting to become too dependent on them. With plentiful pills left, it would only take so long before she resembled an addict again.
Eloise didn't have a problem with firing her musket. She would kill as many mutts as need be, and Krissy would continue to patch her wounds up. The gamemakers obviously wanted the two girls alive, or else they'd suffer much more problematic injuries.
Although Eloise's shoulder was beginning to tire and the recoil of the gun constantly pushed back against her small body, she would fight. There was something that changed in the girl ever since Darren died. She'd realized that she would never survive by only depending on others, contrary to her current relationship with Krissy.
She couldn't expect to treat anyone else like Darren. He'd looked out for her because he genuinely cared. Krissy didn't — and Eloise knew that. Matter-of-fact, neither of the two girls really cared for each other. After this war ended, they'd probably go their own ways, but for now, they had to have each other's backs.
Killing wasn't something that elated Eloise, but there was a sense of justice. After all the discrimination she'd faced in the past couple of days, she'd finally found a way to relieve her stress. She had a way to quell her frustration — and she was going to use it to her advantage.
Millet ran away from the war. This whole Confederacy vs Union thing was ridiculous. What was this fight even about? Every mutt around him was dying, and it would only be a matter of time before he caught a bullet.
He wasn't sure if Krissy and Eloise caught a glimpse of him, but he saw them. When did they become allies? He could've sworn that Krissy was with Pavel and those kids. As for Eloise, Darren had died.
Millet couldn't afford to think about it too much. He just had to run, because he knew that he wouldn't be able to fight both girls at once. Eloise had a musket, and while Millet had a bayonet to his name, he didn't know which one of them had the better aim — and he wasn't willing to find out.
What did this mean for Millet? He had run away from the task that the gamemakers planned for him. Would they send mutts after him? No, they wouldn't, would they? He'd done too much to please them — too much to have them turn on him this late in the Games.
Okay. Just calm down, Millet thought to himself. If they wanted him dead, he would've been dead as soon as he turned his back on the Confederacy. They had lost Gettysburg, and that was fine by him, as long as he stayed alive.
He needed a chance to catch his breath.
Mackenzie felt that he was wasting time being allied with Sebastian for quite a long time now. Why did he have to share food and water with Sebastian? What had Sebastian done to benefit Mackenzie?
Sebastian was attentive of Mackenzie. Every time he threw a tantrum or blamed Sebastian for why they were running out of supplies, Sebastian had to take a step back and re-evaluate their alliance.
Everything seemed futile in the beginning, but as the cannons boomed and the number of tributes dwindled, Sebastian thought that he could really make it out alive. He was doing something right, if the gamemakers decided to keep him alive for as long as they did.
Mackenzie kept grumbling on and on about how they had run out of food, and it was all Sebastian's fault. Why was Sebastian always so hungry? Why was Sebastian always so thirsty? Why was everything always Sebastian's fault?
He couldn't take it anymore — Sebastian was gone with the wind, before Mackenzie could start swinging and attacking again. The city of Birmingham, Alabama was where Sebastian ran to.
In the industrial and commercial center, not too far from where he had left Mackenzie, Sebastian entered a Baptist Church. The people there were friendly and joyful — they radiated nothing but happiness and peace, and they sang about faith. Faith.
It was a strange word to Sebastian, but he found relief. He never showed too much care towards anything, but deep down, Sebastian cared a lot.
He cared for his life. He cared for a better life. Maybe he would be able to achieve that.
13th - Lachlan Smith, District Six
His luck hadn't been the best these past few days. Lachlan did everything he could, but being pushed face-to-face with Camille Lussier from District Two was the worst thing that could have happened to him.
He laughed. What were the gamemakers expecting — for Lachlan to pull some sort of miracle from his ass and win this fight? He couldn't. Camille's pelvis was torn, but Lachlan's foot was a mess. Camille was fueling with adrenaline, but Lachlan had barely extinguished his hunger. Camille was prepared to kill anyone, but Lachlan didn't have the guts to take a third life.
Camille was too fast for Lachlan. She took advantage of his leg, and with surprising power, cut it off cleanly. Lachlan lost his balance immediately and fell to the floor. His rampuri dropped, and now Lachlan Smith was entirely defenseless.
Without a trace of hesitation, Camille gave him no time to think and swung overhead, burying her axe into Lachlan's abdomen. Lachlan twitched once, coughed out blood, and caught another axe swing right to the underside of his jaw.
The loss of blood made him lose vision quickly — too quickly. He didn't mind. He just wanted to close his eyes and rest.
He knew what would happen if he decided to sleep, but what more could he do? Nothing.
Lachlan wanted to apologize — apologize to Bree for failing her; certainly apologize for leaving his parents behind; and he wanted to apologize to Alpina for never being able to console her ever again.
It wasn't his fault. He hoped they understood.
12th - Sebastian Hammond, District Five
There was a terrible echo that bounced off of the church walls, and soon after came an explosion that seared the air.
Anguished cries rang out everywhere. What was going on? Sebastian began coughing as smoke took over his lungs. The walls and floor tremored, bringing way for every pew and chandelier to crash. Some screams were silenced immediately, while most began to fade.
An explosion. There was a chain reaction, and every material inside of the church fell. Why? Who? Sebastian couldn't think.
The smoking powder in the air increasingly began to choke him. The air warmed to a smoldering hot, and his skin burned. Sebastian could only drop to the floor and hold his hands over his head. It'd be over soon — he wouldn't be in pain.
The rumbling of the church was so loud — so painful to his ears. His lungs were invaded and filled with dryness. Sebastian's head was light and empty. He had to run. But where? He couldn't move; he couldn't see; he couldn't breathe.
Why'd this have to happen when he was just gaining hope?
Pavel watched in disbelief. He had caught sight of his two former allies and wanted to regroup, but when Sebastian ran in the opposite direction of Mackenzie, he knew something was up.
He saw the whole thing: Mackenzie's sponsor dynamite, the letter, and then the kill. All warmth in Pavel's body left him cold, shivering in spite of the warm flames emitting from the church, and he retched.
Mackenzie turned around, surprised. "Pavel!" Mackenzie was elated to see his former ally — the only one he cared for. To his surprise, Pavel shook his head and turned away from Mackenzie.
Deep down in Pavel, he knew that Mackenzie needed to be killed immediately. He'd just watched the boy murder Sebastian without a care in the world. There was no remorse in Mackenzie's eyes, but Pavel couldn't bring himself to do it.
Mackenzie reminded him so much of Solon.
"What's wrong?" Mackenzie inquired. He'd been using Pavel for the entirety of the Games, but he didn't want to be separated again. He actually missed Pavel. "Talk to me!"
Pavel took a deep sigh. He refused to look at Mackenzie, and he refused his mind from convincing him that Mackenzie was innocent. It broke Pavel's heart, but he could only utter the words, "You're a monster," before he began to run away and cry in remembrance of Sebastian.
Mackenzie couldn't believe his ears. There was no warning at all, which made his outburst all that more ferocious.
He vented, spewing hateful and hurtful words. He screamed uncontrollably, he cried uncontrollably, and he cursed Pavel uncontrollably.
What was the point? He'd killed Sebastian just like he was instructed to, and when things started to look like they were going in his favor again, Mackenzie was left with nothing. Had Mackenzie failed?
After everything he'd been through, Mackenzie was left with blood on his hands and nothing to show for it.
Day Eleven
"It's you," Millet whispered. He let the door creak shut behind him and approached the girl in front of him with passionate steps. "You're the one who killed Cherokee."
Great. Camille frowned. Some nobody who'd been lucky enough to survive this long was accusing her of something she knew nothing about. "Who?" Camille questioned.
"My district partner!" Millet bellowed as he charged with his bayonet rifle. Really, he should've just shot Camille and got it over with, but he wanted her to feel the same way that Cherokee felt when Camille slashed her axe across the young girl's back. "You killed her!"
Camille blocked the sword at the end of Millet's gun with her own axe, but her movements were limited. She felt her breath hitch, and the pain only intensified everytime she moved her hips.
Still, that was no problem. She could take Millet on easily. He wasn't anything special — Camille could see right through him.
11th - Camille Lussier, District Two
As Camille fended off Millet, she paid no attention to what was going on outside. She didn't see the tall figure making his way into the deckhouse, and neither did Millet. How could they? They were too occupied trying to rip each other apart.
When Aether grabbed Millet by the shoulders and threw the boy off of Camille, both of their weapons went flying out of their hands due to the shock value of Aether's sudden appearance.
Camille gasped, the color draining from her face. All of the adrenaline that was running through her veins disappeared. Too incapacitated with fear, Camille's facial features morphed from confident to doubtful real quick.
Aether dragged Camille to the fireplace, holding both of her arms back while he took one step on her head to force her face into the fire, and then another step on her injured pelvis to keep her in place.
Camille thrashed desperately, her screams muffled by the incinerating heat that engulfed her head quickly. Millet watched in horror as Aether grinned, like he was enjoying putting Camille through pain.
There was something wrong with Aether — he was savoring the moment. Millet couldn't interfere; no, he was too shocked to help. All he could do was watch the torture continue and wonder why a Career was killing another Career.
Millet nearly spoiled himself when he saw the maniacal expression on Aether's face and heard the words, "I'll break you."
10th - Millet Arrowroot, District Nine
He was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Aether was liberated. He no longer cared about utopia or peace or harmony — none of it existed. It would never exist. And Millet would cease to exist.
Even though he already had a weapon, Aether grabbed the bayonet rifle before Millet managed to scramble his way over to it. Millet had a vigorous desire to live, but he was backed into a corner with no way to protect himself.
Frantically, he stumbled, trying to reason with Aether to spare him. He looked at the tribute from One with pleading eyes, attempting to stop him from committing another vicious murder. "Let's talk about—"
"Shut up." Aether plunged the bayonet's sword into Millet's neck and blew a hole in his chest.
9th - Mackenzie Ellesmere, District Ten
The remainder of the Career Alliance found Mackenzie off guard. He had no more TNT to attack with, so he was stuck there — at their complete and utter mercy.
While none of them would say it outloud, nobody had wanted to kill a kid. Aurora took a step back and removed herself from the equation. Odessa kept her cold exterior up, but she felt for the child. He had a family back at home and didn't deserve to be in the Hunger Games. He hadn't even had a choice. She knew it wasn't fair.
Mackenzie began to scream, louder and sharper than ever before. After all he'd done, nothing was going his way. The gamemakers used him and now they were trying to get rid of him like a used pair of batteries that no longer worked.
It was Sota who put a silence to the boy's cries, with an arrow to the heart. Mackenzie fell backwards, his eyes glazed over and face contorted with dissatisfaction.
Every conflicted feeling that Sota felt when he'd killed Cherokee resurfaced when Mackenzie's cannon blew with the wind.
Day Twelve
It was about time to wrap things up. Addison Chevel announced the Feast.
"All of you need something to help you win this year's Hunger Games. For the benefit of yourself and your District, I highly recommend that you all attend the Feast. La di, da, di, da, di, all you kids please join the party!"
The Feast wasn't being held at the Cornucopia, however. When Krissy saw no bags, she assumed that either someone had sabotaged everybody else and taken everything, or…
...or the arena was getting smaller.
She'd realized just in time. The soldiers about one thousand feet away kept marching in unison. Up. Down. With their battle rifles in hand, they could blow Krissy to smithereens. But they didn't. They wanted Krissy to move, but where?
Forward. She had to move forward.
Krissy hopped over the wooden fence and, to her surprise, everything from the beginning of the Games was gone, the auction sites replaced with a sea fort that was a mile away.
Directly to the right of her was a boat. It was obvious now. As soon as both of her feet planted and she took a seat, the boat drove on autopilot and guided Krissy through the dangerous waters.
Her only job was to make it in one piece to Fort Sumter, Sullivan's Island. Krissy was stressed. This was it. If she'd been forced to move, then that certainly meant that the other six tributes remaining were headed to the same location.
She removed a bottle from her pocket and swallowed a laudanum pill. Everything was starting to get better. Krissy could enjoy the ride without fear, pressure and stress adding weight to her adventure.
This was what she needed — her wonder drug.
Eloise was the first to arrive. The ferry ride took her probably about thirty minutes, but it was worth it when she realized that nobody else had touched foot on the island yet.
The fort that she'd entered on the artificial island was huge. Left and right of her were many multi-storey buildings, but in the center — where the holy grail resided — was a table that had bags, and five canons sat behind the table.
One, Four, Five, Eight, Thirteen.
Eloise grabbed her bag and immediately searched through it, finding food and paper cartridges. Were those supposed to be bullets? Had she run out of ammo for her musket and not realized? She didn't even know how to reload the gun, and nobody in the arena would teach her willingly — especially if they knewthat she had this weapon of mass destruction in her small hands.
It's okay, she still had her cleaver. It wasn't as safe, nor did it give her as much range, but she could still make this work.
Actually, you know what? Eloise had an idea.
Aurora, Odessa and Sota arrived at the party late because, for some reason, their ferry ride decided it no longer wanted to work.
That wasn't an issue as they all could swim — Aurora a lot worse than the other two — but what was an issue was that District Eight and Thirteen's bags were gone. Krissy and Pavel were both alive, and so was Eloise — which means they'd missed out on dwindling the competition.
Aurora rummaged through her district bag only to be disappointed. There was nothing in it that she needed. Everything inside was medically-based, for someone who'd been injured. Aurora wasn't injured. This was for Aether. They didn't care about her — she hadn't done anything in a week and fell out of the crowd's favor.
Neither Sota or Odessa were excited to open their bags. They only came to the Feast to do what needed to be done. What did they really need? Neither were hurt in any sort of way.
Food, definitely. They had been starving since running out two days ago. Both of them were thinking of something more important, though. They'd known who four of the other tributes were, including Aether, but...
...Who was the tribute from Five? Sebastian had died, so that meant… Imogen. She wasn't fortunate enough to arrive before the Careers like the other three, which meant that she was easy pickings, but where was she? If she'd failed to catch a ferry ride, she'd either have drowned or been killed by the soldiers already. There weren't any cannons, so Imogen had to have been on the island. Where in the hell could she be?
"Aether!" Aurora cried.
While holding his clavicle to ease the neverending pain, Aether approached the remaining Careers and demanded, "Give me the bag, Aurora."
Aurora looked at Aether, then back at Sota and Odessa. Just then, Odessa tore her district bag to pieces and found four interesting items: two towels, a refilled quiver of arrows, and a three-pronged trident.
Odessa tossed Sota the quiver and discarded her current spear, along with the rest of their district bag, to the side. They were armed heavily and stood no disadvantage. And with Aurora by their side…
Sota saw Aurora haul her district bag over her shoulder and back away before Odessa did. With a head shake, Aurora apologized, turned, and ran away from all of her former allies. Aether threw a knife and missed, cutting through their district bag and nearly spilling all of the contents inside.
If nothing in the bag benefited her, what was the point of running off with it? Maybe she'd thought of Aether as a monster and didn't want him to stand a chance. Maybe she was hoping that the three of them were going to kill each other and pave the way for her victory. She had the right idea.
Sota sucked his teeth. He didn't blame Aurora, not really. He understood. District loyalty and all that other stuff, but she had turned her back on him. On them. He wouldn't forgive her.
Whatever. If — no, when — he made it out of this fight alive and ran into her again, he'd kill her.
Although, right here, right now, it was two against one. He and Odessa couldn't lose.
Aether didn't have any intentions on fighting Sota and Odessa, but when they'd drawn their weapons, he'd realized that there was no point in speaking. If they wanted to get in his way, then he'd give 'em hell.
Imogen didn't know what to do. Everybody was moving so fast.
The Careers were brawling two against one, while the last one took off racing in the opposite direction. But how did nobody else see Eloise hiding behind the cannons?
Just then, Krissy made her way out into the field, but she halted. Imogen carefully paid attention to the girl from Thirteen, analyzing her body language. Krissy looked sluggish and slow, like she was in an extremely relaxed state.
Krissy's district bag hadn't been there. Her district partner couldn't have taken it, though, because Imogen was right behind Pavel on the ferry ride, and they'd arrived only a few seconds apart. Where had he gone?
What was Imogen supposed to do? She couldn't make her way past the open field to retrieve her district bag, or else she'd get mixed in the ongoing fight. Edge around, maybe? No, that wouldn't work — Eloise would see her coming.
Almost with perfect timing, Eloise called out, "Yoohoo! Over here!" The youngest tribute remaining waved the District Thirteen bag in the air and went running in the same direction that Aurora went.
Krissy followed right after her, and in the corner of Imogen's eye, she saw Pavel running along the fort's rampart, following the two girls from above.
Everybody was playing the game — they all had a role that fulfilled the Capitol's entertainment quota, but Imogen was idle.
Maybe she could try it. Maybe, just maybe, Imogen could grab her bag and get out of there. As Imogen avoided the three sweaty bodies a couple of feet away from her, she successfully grabbed her district bag and made an attempt to step away from the fight.
Boom! A ball went flying directly over Imogen's head, whistling in the wind. She turned, but the Careers were still fighting. Maybe District Thirteen got the jump on Eloise? A second boom now and it came right from behind Imogen. This time, the cannonball landed a few feet away from her, tearing away at the earth.
Think… Think… Think, Imogen..!
Nobody was dead. Unless Eloise managed to kill both tributes from Thirteen, this was all mindgames. What could it be?
Imogen rummaged through her bag and found all sorts of traps: foothold traps, deadfall traps, pitfall traps, and snare traps. Those would all be helpful. The remaining tributes weren't idiots, but Imogen was smarter than all of them — she could disguise the traps and make them work.
Deeper in the bag, inside of a sheath, was a hunting knife.
Okay… She understood, but Imogen would greatly prefer if the scenario was different. The traps were her reward for later, if she survived a fight at the Feast. And the only fight that she could participate in… had three Careers involved.
She sighed.
She didn't have much time to choose — who was she going to help? Join the pair from Four and hope they let her leave as thanks, or even the fight and side with the man from One?
It didn't take her long to decide.
Aether circled around and pushed Odessa backwards toward Sota. With his kusarigama and her trident clashing, he knew that Sota wouldn't let an arrow fly if the angle wasn't perfect.
Even though he was getting jumped, Aether held the advantage. He was capable — maybe even more capable than both of them, but his silence never made them suspect a thing.
In his peripheral vision he saw Imogen pushing him. Aether spun away from Odessa and caught the knife in the palm of his hand, squeezing and trying to rip the weapon away from Imogen's grasp.
The length of Odessa's trident proved to be a problem, but the trio's unspoken alliance and Imogen's lack of skill made the fight more complicated than it needed to be.
Aether stepped aside and pushed Imogen flat on her back, right in front of Odessa's feet, causing Odessa to trip. The sequence of events brought a clear enough chance for Sota to send an arrow from his crossbow. Aether brought his weapon up just in time to send Sota's arrow clanking.
Now was the best time to rush the long-ranged fighter, but Odessa was a pest. She kept getting up, and quite frankly, Aether was tired of it. She was too focused on the fight — too in the zone. When she got up and planted her feet, Aether didn't let her get the chance to swing.
Instead, Aether attacked first. He swung the steel ball of his weapon at her gut, knocking all of the wind out of Odessa. Aether was growing tired. Three against one took its toll on him, and although they hadn't done any significant damage to him, he was aching from his previous injury.
There was a glacial, burning anger in Odessa's half-closed eyes. She wouldn't stop. She started punching at Aether's clavicle and sinking her fingers into his open wound. Aether howled and staggered, pain overriding his functioning.
He punched Odessa in the face once, twice, a third time… before her grip let loose. With a quick step, Aether picked Odessa up over his head and slammed her six feet in the air. Odessa braced for impact, realizing that she was falling headfirst, and couldn't twist her body quick enough to avoid a nearly fatal landing.
A splat resonated in the air.
"Shit!" Sota pulled back another arrow as Aether approached. He missed. The second one, Aether blocked. The third one—
Sota didn't get a chance. Aether was on him quickly and wrapped the kusarigama chains around his arms, tying them together. Sota tried to force himself away by fumbling, but Aether pulled forward and elbowed. Once, twice, three times, four times.
Sota lost count. It was over and over and over again until Aether's elbow was stained with crimson red. Sota's diaphragm constantly relaxed and failed to vacuum air into his lungs. He couldn't do anything about the perpetual beatdown, and he didn't have any power to avoid Aether's blade from cutting nearly the entire right half of his face.
From his jaw to his forehead, Sota was cut and profusely gushed out a sickening amount of arched blood. He was down an eye, no longer could feel his face, and felt tired. So, so incredibly tired.
Two Careers down and only Imogen was felt. Aether wasn't stupid. He turned and grabbed Imogen's wrist before the young woman even had a chance to attack. She should have run. She should have done anything but try to attack him.
Her lack of self-control had been because of fear. Whatever plan she had composed in her brain failed her, and now she was desperate. Aether could see the stress on her face, feel the weakening of her muscles, and hear the trembling in her audible breaths.
8th - Imogen Pryor, District Five
It was unsettling. The quelch that Imogen heard. The wetness slowly seeping out of her body. Everything was starting to become a blur.
All she could feel was the radiating heat coming from the bodies in front of and behind her — Aether and Odessa.
Finally, she decided to look down and saw the three-pronged trident protruding out of the entirety of her abdomen and connecting her to Aether.
She wouldn't cry, though. Imogen wasn't a crier. Everything was going to be alright. Back at home, her family and friends would continue to live. Her father would continue to be the caring, goofy man that he was, and eventually he'd stop getting distracted every so often. Her mother… Imogen had faith in her mother. The alcohol battle would be won, Imogen was sure of it. Regardless of her passing, Imogen had confidence that her family would carry on fine.
She looked up to the sky, watching the white-edged clouds begin to darken. I'm dying.
In her own nerdy way, Imogen stretched her thin lips, grinned, and showed every tooth. A final goodbye.
7th - Aether Cynephris, District One
"Sota, get up!"
Aether let the blood spill from the three shallow holes in his core. All three Careers were beaten badly.
Bloody. Fatigued. Aching. Impatient. They all felt the same. Aether paid close attention to Odessa. Her left arm hung limply at her side, kind of like Odessa couldn't move it…
Aether parried her swings and sloppily maneuvered to get rid of her right arm, as well. Odessa saw red — Aether was running on empty.
She jumped and unexpectedly bit Aether on the neck, right on his hyoid bone. Aether clawed at her head, prying Odessa away. Both of their hearts couldn't have been any more void.
He got up, ready to strike with his weapon, but the sharp pain a few inches away from his heart paused Aether's movements. He stared down, saw the arrow, and let out a hoarse, incomprehensible sentence.
It was ironic. Sota, who'd lost an eye and missed all of his shots beforehand, hit the most important one when he was at his worst.
Aether dropped his weapon and pulled the arrow out. Blood dripped from his mouth. He blinked. She wasn't there before, but when he opened his eyes, Odessa connected her trident perfectly with the three holes that were already in Aether's core, and this time it went all the way through.
Odessa pushed until the trident exited Aether completely. He looked to his left — Odessa had knocked out from exhaustion. He looked to his right — Sota's tiniest ounce of adrenaline had worn off. He looked down, and there were many gaping, traumatic holes in his ghostly body.
There was nothing he could do. Oxygen rapidly ripped from his lungs, his time clock ticking. Aether shook his head. He didn't have any regrets. Everything was going to be okay now.
He had an escape, and that was all that mattered. His loveless relationship, his unhappiness, his bitterness, his masochism, his emotional turmoil. It was all going to disappear.
No longer did he have to cope with his feelings. At the end, he'd found his utopia.
"Catch!"
Aurora put her guard up and snatched the bag that was hurled towards her. She looked up and saw Eloise. Nearly losing her footing, Eloise rushed away from Aurora as quickly as she could.
She'd made threats to Aurora back during training, but she never wanted to follow through with them — she'd never wanted to cross paths with Aurora.
Aurora was determined, but she held no grudges against Eloise. She wanted the Games to end, but killing wasn't her thing. Bloodshed… wasn't her thing. How else was she supposed to get out of there, though?
"I think you have my bag." Krissy hovered above the seated Aurora, pupils pinpoint and hand outstretched.
Aurora looked Krissy up and down. The girl was almost stick-like and skeletal. Her face was devoid of any sign that a functioning, living girl would possess. Whatever toll the Games took on Krissy, they were apparent.
Krissy took a step forward, never taking her eyes off the bag. "Could you hand it to me?"
This was Aurora's chance. Krissy might even be the biggest competitor in her way. Two cannons had been shot a few hours ago. Whatever the aftermath of her former allies' battle had been, Aurora was the only one who wasn't scathed, which meant... victory was in her hands — all she had to do was act.
All she had to do was kill Krissy, and the four that were left. Whichever one of her former allies remained couldn't pose a logical threat.
Aurora stood up and gripped her chain whip, knuckles white against the steel. It was now or never.
6th - Krissy McCoy, District Thirteen
Boom.
Aurora was stunned. The girls didn't fight. Aurora hadn't even responded to Krissy, and yet there she was on the floor, dead.
She could never have noticed the acceleration of Krissy's heartbeat. She could have never seen the ghoul that Krissy became. She could have never felt that Krissy died without worry, and never had a chance to apologize to her family back at home.
Aurora tore through Krissy's feast bag. What she saw shocked her — medication. Medication specifically for drugs… Krissy had found a bottle of laudanum pills that the gamemakers planted for her — to further entertain themselves — and to keep her alive, they provided her with medication that would reverse an opioid overdose. Krissy wasn't fast enough. Aurora had inadvertently snatched Krissy's life away.
She didn't know Krissy personally, but she remembers conversations about recruiting Krissy to the Careers for medical expertise. She remembers being slightly jealous that there was a tribute who was possibly more useful than she was. She remembers…
Grief washed over Aurora. She felt no more hope. There was eventually light at the end of the tunnel, but she'd never reach it. The Hunger Games was never it. The Hunger Games were never the solution to her problems, and seeing Krissy dead made her realize that.
All of this was evil. The Games, District One, the Capitol, her parents. None of them understood that the Games weren't an honor. They were a curse.
In a weird, twisted, symbolic sort of way, both Krissy and Aurora were the exact same. They'd both been set up for bright futures by their families, and neither could capitalize. Their paths were different, yet they aligned perfectly. If those two women switched lives at birth, would anything have been different?
Wasted potential. Krissy and Aurora were human representations of wasted potential.
5th - Aurora Maran, District One
Pavel arrived at the scene early enough to catch Aurora before she left, but too late to save Krissy from death.
He saw her standing over Krissy's body, chain whip in hand, and District Thirteen's feast bag in the other. Open. Empty.
The deafening silence created an even larger chasm between the two. Pavel said nothing. Aurora said nothing. Both were emotional, though. While Aurora wept quietly and bit back her sobs, Pavel pinched the bridge of his nose and exuded animosity.
Aurora's silence only made the misunderstanding much worse. Pavel's steam wouldn't dissipate. His suppressed rage made him snap — and whatever Aurora did only made his wicked temper worse.
All of the rampage that Pavel had held in from these last days of misery found its victim in Aurora. She was more skilled than him, but he was larger and stronger than she was. His passion was burning like acid — slicing, redoubtable and dynamic — but she was questioning everything.
There was nothing Aurora could do to stop Pavel from pinning her to the ground, picking up one of Krissy's tactical knives, and silencing her ear-piercing screams with a stab to the throat.
She was so sorry — sorry for leaving Karia behind; sorry for picking the Hunger Games over her passion, ballet; and she was so sorry that the wanting of her parents' admiration ended her relationship with Jameson. Maybe she was ungrateful, in the end.
Now, where was she going to end up?
4th - Pavel Elsbeth, District Thirteen
Two people were dead because of him.
Maybe Pavel could become a peacekeeper. He had it in him to take a life; all he needed was a bit of a shove and maybe he'd become corrupt enough. Maybe the Hunger Games experience would allow him to actually pass the next test he took, if he made it back home — if he was still interested.
Right now, Pavel didn't care about any of that. He was so close to making it back to Thirteen. Three more people, was it? All Pavel wanted to do was return to Asim, Solon and Omid, give them a better life in District Thirteen, and never look back.
He ran, blindly, across the upper floor of the building that he was in. How was he supposed to make it back to the rampart that he came in from? The building was so wide and spacious, Pavel had no idea where to go.
Keep running, keep running, keep running..!
His body collided with something petite.
Pang!
Pavel was lost. His world was spinning and he wanted only to sit down. Pang! Something was denying him from continuing. Pang! A sinking despair overcame him as he realized that he'd been filled with bullet holes.
He fell to his knees, breath failing, then looked forward. Little Eloise was slowly inching towards him with a musket in her trembling hands.
Pavel's brain was defocusing to allow him to enter a dream-like state. It was only when he looked into her eyes did it become salient that she was killing him.
Say something, Pavel… Do something, Pavel..!
Every cell in Pavel's body was dying. It wouldn't be long before his heart stopped beating.
Pavel could only pray for his mother to step up and properly take care of Asim, Solon and Omid. He'd resented her silently, but he only wished for her to get herself together. His brothers had to be taken care of, please..!
Even if Pavel was going to die, he wished for the boys to grow up safely and with no more harm involved in their lives. All of them would make fine young men in the future if they were put on the right path. All of them deserved happiness, even if Pavel wouldn't be there to experience that joy with them.
Eloise lifted the muzzle of her musket to Pavel's forehead, ready to pull the trigger once more, but Pavel slid forward and dropped dead.
She wasn't sure of what to do now. She wasn't the Victor — not yet. Eloise had been hoping that Pavel was the last person alive, but he wasn't. How many cannons even shot, anyway? Who was left?
Eloise dragged her musket across the metallic floor beneath her. The space around her was so empty… so dead. Figuring out how to reload her musket was the best thing she could have accomplished under pressure. Really, there was no point in using her cleaver if she could master her aim.
What other advantages could she hold over whoever was left?
The feast bags.
Pavel wasn't carrying his district's with him, so that meant either Krissy or Aurora — whichever one of the two was alive — had items that would last them a couple more days. Were both of them even alive? There were so many variables to consider: the Career fight, Krissy, Aurora, and even the tribute from Five, Imogen.
Did Eloise want to go hunting, though..? Considering that she had a musket and nobody else did, she could.
No. She decided that she long as she was careful, nobody would get the jump on her. Whatever happened between Krissy and Aurora, it couldn't have been pretty.
When Eloise stepped foot on the first floor, she was slack-jawed to see both girls dead. The old Eloise would've thrown up immediately. The old Eloise would've looked away and avoided the bodies altogether.
The new Eloise — the one who wanted to win — stepped over both of their corpses and began searching for anything of use to her. Most items that she found were medical-based, but Eloise didn't need them.
She was at the end of the Games, so there would be no opportunity to use medicine and gauze bandages if she were in the middle of a fight. Her only option now was to win.
Luckily, Aurora still had some extra food on her. Everything was cold, but it was better than nothing. Eloise devoured cookies, nutrition bars, anything that her hands made contact with. She was overstuffing herself, but she'd needed it after so long.
Maybe she could find a safe room to sleep in tonight and eat. There'd been enough action today, and she even killed someone. Pavel's face would haunt her for the rest of eternity, but it wasn't something Eloise had done out of malice — like everybody else, she wanted to go home, too.
That allowed Eloise to relax. Throughout her stay in the arena, she'd never lost her vision or her confidence. Everyone who entered the arena had a chance to win, and here Eloise was, in the finale with whoever remained.
Her inner flower began to bloom. All it took was for some death, mayhem, murder and madness to surround her.
Back in District Eight, she was a hero. Whatever negative emotions the rest of the viewers in Panem had towards her, Eloise had to keep it pushing — she wasn't worried about the mad folks.
With her sparkling self-assurance, Eloise was sure that she would make it back home.
Sota was a mess. So much for being the best Career in the Games, when it was clearly Aether. Beside him, Odessa woke up with a moan and winced when she tried to move her left arm.
"I wouldn't recommend moving. Your arm's probably done for," he warned. Sota grabbed the grass underneath him and sighed in humility. "He beat the goofy out of us."
"He beat the goofy out of you," Odessa corrected with a cough. "If you didn't miss so many shots, you'd still have your eye."
"That means you'd still have a functioning arm. I wasn't willing to risk that." Sota cocked his head to the side with a grin. Odessa gave in and responded with genuine laughter. She wasn't upset with him or his joke. Quite frankly, she'd just been happy to be alive. Happy that they'd been alive.
Her laugh was so contagious, Sota burst with laughter himself, so sweet and pure. Even though both individuals were killers, they looked like children.
When the two finally settled down, silence covered them like a blanket. They ran out of adrenaline, had no need for their towels anymore, and, honestly, were just tired. "Catch." Sota threw a pack of cookies that he'd pocketed from Imogen's corpse. Odessa ripped into them. "Damn."
With a full mouth and a humiliated blush, Odessa replied, "I'm hungry!" Sota shrugged and handed her more. After fighting so hard, both of them really did deserve to eat. To rest. To do something other than kill.
After a few minutes of silence, Sota carelessly said, "We're pawns, Odessa."
It was crazy. Sota realized it back when he'd killed Cherokee, and Odessa felt that same way after watching the altercation between Aether and Camille. The Capitol and Career districts didn't understand the mental repercussions that the Hunger Games came with.
Everything was propaganda. In the Career districts, you grew up thinking that the Games were everything. Not only would you benefit your family and become a celebrity, but you'd bring happiness and prosperity to your district.
While she didn't know the reasoning behind her allies' volunteering, Odessa simply wanted to make ends meet for her family. The Games were the quickest and most prosperous option. Had she known that she'd regret this decision, would she have volunteered in the first place?
All Sota wanted to do was revive his dead career. Now, he didn't care about any of that. Fizzy Pop was dead — he was Sota Shirai. All he wanted now was to go back to Ursula and repay her for everything she'd done for him.
Every Career entered the Games arrogant and blindsided. They all thought that the solution to their problems was killing. The way these two were feeling now, had that been what the outer-district tributes felt this entire time?
Sota wrapped his arms around Odessa's shoulder and brought her closer to him. The old Odessa would have snarled at him and clawed away, but not the new Odessa.
The new Odessa calmly pinched Sota's side, took authority and switched positions. "Personal space, Sota. Only I can do that. Heard?"
Sota smiled. To Odessa's shock, the boy began singing, something she'd never heard from him before. Sota's voice was so powerful yet soothing. Despite all the taunts and idiotic comments he would make, this was one of the few times that Odessa wished he kept his mouth open.
His voice was music and grace put together. Men's voices aren't usually beautiful, but Sota's was. He was so gifted — so magical. Everything about the young man's voice was a blessing.
Boom.
Both tributes ignored the cannon.
Boom.
Sota kept singing. They had time. He knew that the last cannon meant that there were still four tributes alive.
Boom.
Sota stopped. Odessa looked at him. "I guess this is the finale. Sounds like Aurora went on a rampage," Sota laughed. The laugh was forced, they both knew, but what else could either of them do?
Odessa picked herself up and walked over to Imogen's body. Gently, she closed the girls eyes and apologized for blindly attacking her in pursuit of Aether.
Turning back to Sota, Odessa studied both of their conditions. Odessa's left arm was unresponsive and bent awkwardly; and Sota lost an eye and a substantial amount of blood. Both were unconscious for hours. Nobody knew how their fight would go back in the beginning, when both tributes were fresh and ready. Now, Panem would find out how their fight would conclude when both tributes were a shell of their former selves.
Eloise ran as the entirety of her building tremored.
She dodged pieces of the ceiling that were collapsing, landing a few inches away from her every now and then. "Seriously?!"
Were they pushing her towards the tributes that were left? Of course they were, there couldn't be another reason why she was running for her life.
A small, loose portion of the collapsing building hit Eloise on the leg, causing her to lose balance and go skidding across the floor. The scrapes on the palm of her hands burned miserably, but she couldn't afford to pay attention to the pain that she felt — she had to run.
For some reason, Eloise felt lighter. With a backwards glance, Eloise watched her cleaver disappear in the smoke, and her mom's grease-stained butcher shop flier followed soon after.
Eloise shook her head and exited the derelict building, continuing to run away from the sound of crashing. When she made it home, she'd have plenty of time to get another one. And with her status as Victor, her mom's shop would be the most popular joint in town. It's not like they'd need the money from the rest of Eight, but it'd still be nice to see her mom's business booming.
Her legs kept pumping despite how tired she was. When she'd finally decided to stop, Eloise found herself at the battlefield of the Careers, and staring at her were…
...both tributes from District Four..?
She stopped. Both tributes looked at each other, then back at Eloise. Eloise looked at them, one at a time, and then laughed.
This was her defensive mechanism to protect herself. It's like the gamemakers gave her false hope by providing her with a green light, but now she was at a halting red. The only way it'd turn green again is if she were to complete her due diligence and kill — not one — two Careers, from the same District.
Her legs crossed. The glances were uneasy.
The battlefield these three sat on was going to be a graveyard for two of them. A bitter wind swept away all of the dust and dirt, allowing a clean environment for the afternoon sun to glisten against. Every meadow flower was noticeable, ready to spring and bloom for their Victor.
The tension was becoming too much for Eloise. She avoided eye-contact with the other two, looking every which way unceremoniously. She shifted awkwardly, tracing her sweaty, nervous fingers over her musket. Both of the other tributes looked awful. He was missing an eye, and she had a broken arm and busted lip — maybe that was enough for Eloise to overcome this uphill fight.
"Can we…" Eloise started, scared. "Can— Let's… Please, let's get this over with already, okay? I wanna go home."
Readying his crossbow, Sota asked, "Can you aim that thing from a distance?"
"Ask the boy from Thirteen," she breathed, not as confidently as she'd been hoping.
Eloise raised her musket and pulled the trigger as quickly as she could, trying to get the element of surprise on her opponents. The fire rate of her weapon was slow, though. Every twenty seconds or so, give or take. She'd managed to kill Pavel because she hit her first shot.
In this fight, she didn't have that luxury.
3rd - Eloise Allegro, District Eight
She let bullets fly. He let arrows soar.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
She kept shooting. The recoil of her gun pushed against her body, hurting her, but she had to keep going. How many rounds had it been? Four? One more and she'd need to reload her musket. Whatever shots she had left, she had to make them count.
It wasn't long before she noticed that Sota stopped aiming. Had she hit him? Eloise started crying — this was all ridiculously bogus. Why'd she have to be the one fighting from the bottom up?
Maybe she could do it.
Click! Click! Click..! She had to reload.
Sota was just standing there. He was probably having a tough time registering the bullets that hit him. Eloise was winning… She had the upper hand, she was sure of it.
The three arrows in her chest told another story. Eloise fell, slumped over, twitching. She cried silent tears, hair disheveled as she desperately searched for a camera.
Someone save me… She hadn't entered the arena damaged, but now she had been.
The Capitol — Panem, as a whole — was to blame for Eloise's death.
They'd given her a dream too big to achieve.
As soon as the cannon sounded, Sota took multiple steps back to further distance himself from Odessa. Distance had saved him from dying to Eloise. Distance would favor him over Odessa.
He had arrows to spare; she had a trident. If she were to lose her weapon, she'd be dead almost immediately. However, Sota's missing eye was a big problem. He'd hit important shots prior to this fight, but Odessa was exclusively positioning herself to the right side of his body. He wasn't going to be able to track her with perfect accuracy.
Both tributes were fast. Odessa juked the first couple of arrows, but Sota's drawing speed was lightning-quick.
Thunk!
"Shit!" Sota cursed. The arrow missed Odessa by a few millimeters and only scratched the side of her right lumbar, barely missing a direct hit to her gallbladder.
The closer Odessa got, the larger the steps Sota took to get away. If push came to shove and he had to fight her up close and personal, her trident would prove deadly.
In that fight against Aether, Sota had finally realized that he wasn't the best. He wasn't the star that he thought he was — and he wasn't a thousand times more skilled than any of his former allies.
Finally thinking logically was the best decision he could have ever made. If it weren't for that, he'd have lost this fight moments ago.
Sota pulled back on the string of his crossbow with a thwish, and the arrow fshed directly into Odessa's left thigh. Bingo. He pulled back another arrow, quickly, as Odessa cursed and lost her momentum.
As soon as he was ready to line his shot up to his target, Odessa hauled her trident at Sota. "What the—!" Sota threw both of his arms up to block, but he was going to get impaled regardless of his defensive stance.
The trident stuck deep into his arms and sent him recoiling against the grassy terrain. Too occupied with the pain in his arms, Sota didn't see Odessa rushing him. She sent a knee to his gut and tumbled forward, dragging Sota down with her.
Both tributes rolled around, mercilessness. Eventually, the quiver of arrows emptied due to the rapid movement of both of their bodies. Odessa yanked her trident from Sota's limbs, but he wasn't done fighting. With nothing but desperation controlling all of his movements, Sota smacked his crossbow at the side of Odessa's head.
She leaned over slightly and cried out. She wasn't heavy, but how forceful she was on top of Sota gave him trouble. As soon as she shook the dizziness from her head, Odessa regained control by punching Sota in the neck.
Instinctively, Sota brought his hands back and clutched at his larynx. As quick as possible, Odessa plunged her trident at Sota's head. He dodged the first attack, still coughing, and then dodged the second one.
"Stop moving!" Odessa was growing impatient, tired. Sota grabbed Odessa's useless arm and flung her off of him. With Sota in control, she had no chance of fighting back.
Without letting go, Sota dictated Odessa's movements and lined her up for many crossbow hits to the nose. Without his arrows, Sota could only stall until he could make sure that Odessa wouldn't get back up immediately.
When Sota reeled Odessa back in again, she spat blood directly into his remaining eye. Neither of these two really even wanted to fight each other, but they both wanted to make it back home. Sota let out a shout, harboring an emotion mixed with fear and melancholy.
As a last-ditch attempt to save himself, Sota shook the blood away from his eye, scooped an arrow from the ground, and hurried to set it in place. Odessa was a bit too quick. With a vicious, animalistic gesture, she cut the string of his crossbow and, with unbalanced impulse, punctured his abdomen walls with her trident.
Sota wasn't mad at all. A bit disappointed, but he wasn't mad. Odessa slowly slid her trident out of Sota, removing the prongs from deep within his abdomen and gently easing her district partner on his back.
She watched, upset, as the garish scarlet flowed out of him. "I'm sorry…"
Maybe him dying was for the best. If he'd gone back to Ursula after victory, there'd be questions surrounding his relationship with his stylist. Sota would free her from the lingering fear of being discovered by the Capitol, and nobody would ever know what she did for him.
In fact, Sota came to terms with this. All of this was for the better. He'd made his mark on Panem, and he made his mark on the Hunger Games. What else did Sota have left to accomplish? In multiple ways, he was a star. Probably the most special tribute in Hunger Games history.
That, at least, put a smile on his face. Sota just wanted to know what came next. The afterlife was something that he couldn't comprehend — everything that was materialistic and important to him, he couldn't take. Sweat trickled down his face, his breathing failing to regain rhythm.
"I… I probably should've k— killed you earlier… before you woke up."
Odessa smiled with ambivalence. "Probably. You would've won."
"God damn— I'm— sorry..."
That one was for Ursula. He'd see her again, somewhere in the distant future, but for now, all he wanted to do was rest.
One last time, he let his heart beat. Sota Shirai closed his eyes as he left everything behind.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present the Victor of the One Hundred Seventy-Seventh Annual Hunger Games: Odessa Adria!"
During her games, Odessa suffered a burner injury in which the nerves in her neck and shoulder were outstretched while landing in an awkward position on impact.
It was her brachial plexus, more specifically. Had her nerves only compressed, she would have regained functioning of her left arm — but since her nerves ripped, she was now paralyzed in one limb.
Odessa would have no more use in that arm, but it wasn't an issue for her. For President Bengel, it was a slight problem. Sure, they had plenty of attractive Victors, but who didn't love fresh meat? Odessa would have been the most popular Victor to sell to Capitolites, but she was no longer perfect.
Broken, just a bit.
Regardless of her injury, Odessa would remain as forever young in the Capitol's eyes. She had brought them some of the most entertaining fights during this year's Games, and for that, they would forever be thankful.
She was a celebrity. A superstar. This was what she'd always dreamed of. She hadn't realized how much she was brainwashed until it was too late, thinking that the Games were going to be the source to her happiness.
In the end, she'd managed to help her family — August and Calliope didn't have to worry about eating sleep for dinner anymore, and her parents could finally stop working. Now, she would grow a relationship with all of them. She'd won the Games and knew what they entailed, so there was no reason for her siblings to grow up wanting to achieve Odessa's accomplishments.
Branson's family welcomed Odessa home with loving arms. With all of the fortune that Odessa made, she would repay them by moving them into her home in the Victors' Village. It was a beautiful parallel to what they'd done for her. Anything they wanted, they could have.
Branson cried tears of joy upon reuniting with his best friend. All of those years, all of that training — it finally amounted to the most glorious ending they could ask for. Their relationship only grew, and it wasn't long before they were lovers.
She could confide her feelings in Branson — about killing, about her mental health, about how much she felt she changed. Branson understood Odessa. Although he hadn't been in the Games himself, watching Odessa's tendencies revise made him suspect that the Games weren't all that they'd been made out to be by the Career districts.
He didn't love her any less for her irreconcilable views. Even with PTSD and the lack of a functioning arm, Branson was patient and willing to walk through these difficult steps of life with her. Her love for him only prospered.
Even though she was promised nothing to do with the Games after her victory, Odessa would be mentoring for a couple of years before she was eligible to decline. During her time as a mentor, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't let her tributes enter the Games blind.
Whatever knowledge and experience she'd gained from her Games, she'd hammer it into the skulls of her volunteers. She wasn't as prepared as she'd thought — but everyone under her supervision would be.
Odessa was approached by previous Victors who wanted her to be the face of their uprising against the Capitol. She and Bree from District Six had it. Together, along with supporting Victors and rebellious districts, they could change Panem.
Odessa declined. She had too much to lose — too much that she loved. While Odessa was disgusted by the Games, she wasn't a rebel. She was a woman who grew up with nothing to her family name, was indoctrinated as a child into thinking that the Games were her saving grace, and was only taught how to murder.
The best choice for Odessa was to remain indifferent and continue to appreciate what she had. After Odessa's honest supervision, it was likely that one of the four warriors that she brought home over the next decade would pick up the mantle of a rebellious leader.
Throughout the years, she'd watch her siblings grow up healthy and prominent in District Four. Her parents adored their children, especially Odessa who took matters into her own hands and delivered on her promise. She and Branson would get engaged, eventually married, and had a daughter of their own. It wasn't long before they were expecting a son.
At her baby shower, when August and Calliope were fashionably late, she wasn't upset. Knowing that her loved ones were alive and well brought Odessa all the joy in the world — and she was just glad that they could make it.
Odessa had a damaged, crooked soul, but she'd developed out of her former arrogance. She was a bright example of a Victor who could recover from her trauma without relying on drugs and alcohol. It was a hard road to peace, but Odessa walked the path of faith.
She was a rose growing upwards from the concrete — one that would stand out among the rest and forever be protected.
It's been a minute since I've updated this story. I wanna start off by apologzing. I didn't mean to abandon this story, and I'm sorry for leaving it alone for nearly three years. My last update, I was a 17-year-old jit about to start his first semester in College, and my last words were literally, "See y'all in a bit". Now, I'm a junior interning in a hospital, ready to hurry up and graduate. Pretty crazy. I had high hopes for this story, honestly. For me, it was supposed to be the best I'd written, and I was only more hype when I'd received the submissions. Going back and reading all of the forms that I accepted made me smile because they brought back that feeling of wanting to make a cool, little piece of my own art that I thought was going to be amazing. If I'm being honest, I don't know what happened. I can't blame school and my personal life because I wasn't busy all day, every single day of the past two and a half years. Things came up here and there, but I'd always thought about finishing this story. Unfortunately, a summary is the way to go. I was always upset when stories that I enjoyed got summarized, but I get it. Bro, I really do. Shit comes up, and sometimes you just fall out of the flow and don't really want to write anymore. I enjoy writing and reading creative shit like SYOTs. They're gas, and I'd much rather write these than a 15-paged essay.
Then again, I always felt like I didn't have an excuse to leave this story just floating about. Some of you are married, have 9-5s, and are literally in the same situation as me with school, but are still dedicated to your craft. I still get the notifications every now and then that a lot of writers are still going strong. And props to everyone who's continuing, good for y'all. I truly mean that. I really did think about picking this story back up, but during the current time, it's just not possible. This summary brought a lot of motivation to pick up SYOTs again, but I'd rather wait until the semester ends before putting another task on my plate. I enjoy writing, but I enjoy playing basketball a lot more. I enjoy spending my free time relaxing, listening to music, and just vibing. It's my laziness along with prioritizing other things in my life that mainly made finishing this story so difficult. I really do apologize.
To everyone who submitted, thank you. I appreciate the support that this story got while it was running. I wouldn't be surprised if some of these tributes were resubmitted — I got a lot of fire ass submissions. Accept your tribute's placement, decline it, it is what it is. I'd be lying if I said this was what I originally had planned for the story. I wanted to dive deeper and go to the extremes, mentally develop and change everyone, and really just see how far I could end up pushing this whole slave idea that I had before being like, "Nah, chill out, that's enough." Everyone in this Feast was a Victor at some point or another in the past two years. Sota was really close. Eloise was insanely close. But I decided Odessa in the end. I enjoyed writing her a lot, and she was one of the tributes I had the biggest plans for, when I was thinking about continuing this story seriously. Congrats, sock-feet-and-stirring-sand, if you're willing to accept Odessa's dub, it's all yours.
I'd always wanted to write a Victors' Games with District Thirteen involved. And a Career-only Games, too. Like I said, when the semester ends, if this motivation is still here, I'd love to pick a SYOT up again and see where it goes. But yeah, that's probably all. To anyone who stumbles upon this chapter and reads it, 'preciate you. Y'all stay safe now and enjoy yourselves.
