Muttations come in many shapes and sizes. They started out as regular animals that were mutated by the Capitol and combined with other, similar animals for the optimal weapon. They're mutated mongrels, hence the name, and a large part of the reason the Capitol was able to win the war and establish dominance over the districts again. After the war, the Capitol removed the dangerous mutts around themselves so no one would get hurt but didn't bother with the ones by the districts. They're yet another incentive for people to stay within the fences.
Jabberjays are birds were originally created to spy on enemy conversations by accurately mimicking human voices and conversations, but too soon the districts caught on to that trick and were used to turn the tables on the Capitol. The Capitol released them into the wild to die once they were useful anymore, but they mated with mockingbirds and created mockingjays. Jabberjays aren't deadly and neither are mockingbirds. They're probably the only mutts that aren't.
Trackerjackers are another kind of mutt. Like jabberjays, the killer wasps were spawned in labs and strategically placed so as to wreak the most havoc to the rebels. The poison they inject into their victims by way of stinging is horrifically painful and can cause hallucinations that lead to madness. Most of the time it takes more than one sting for someone to succumb to either madness or death, but depending on the size of both the mutt and the person getting stung, death can result after just one sting. They also chase after people who disturb their nests, hence the 'tracker' part of their name.
Dean has seen some other variations of mutts in previous Games, but none that have names. Butterflies that can sting, monkeys that have switchblade-like claws, flesh-eating rats—if it's an animal, chances are the Capitol has, or at least will, mutated it. Probably into something painful and deadly. They love to brag about their weapons. It won't be long before they've started to mutate people too, and who will be able to stop them?
No other muttations can compare to hellhounds, though. Dogs as big as people with jet-black fur, able to track scents for miles, razor-sharp claws, hind legs so powerful they can jump as high as the Cornucopia and outrun even the fastest horse, fur so thick it just swallows up small knives and takes multiple heavy weapons to even scratch it. They're anyone's nightmare.
And Dean's staring one right in the face.
For one tense second, he and the dog look each other in the eyes. Maybe it won't attack him, right? Maybe it won't—
The hellhound snarls and scratches at the concrete roof. It's nearly five meters away from Dean but he's seen them leap that distance in less than a second from other games.
Dean turns tail and jumps right back onto the roof he'd come from. Maybe that's the very edge of their section and it won't follow him. Maybe he'll get lucky for the first time in days. Maybe—
The hellhound leaps after him.
A plethora of curses fall from Dean's mouth as he scrambles toward the door that leads to the building's staircase. Gravel and loose rocks churn under his shoes, nearly making him lose balance. Behind him is the sound of claws scratching at the concrete and goring large cuts in the material as it folds like butter. The hellhound barks, a sound so loud it nearly stops Dean's heart, and he dives into the staircase, knocking his bad arm in the process, and slams the door shut, locks it. He doesn't wait around to see if the door will hold. It won't.
He throws himself down the stairs, sometimes just jumping down four or five at a time. He ignores the way his lungs screaming for breath. He ignores the way his forearm is aching yet again (he should have had Jo put some of that medical cream on the cut as well, but oh well; when he finds her later he'll ask her to do so. Infection is dangerous in the Games but he'd been distracted).
Pant. Stomp. Pant. Stomp. Pant. Stomp. Pant. Stomp. Pant. Stomp. Pant. Stomp. Pant. Stomp.
Five more floors to go.
For a moment he considers ducking into one of the single rooms each floor of the building is made of, but then he thinks about what he would do if the hound followed him into the room. He'd be trapped. Sure, Dean has a few knives, and if he gets in a few good swipes he might even kill the hound. But nobody ever comes out of a close-range fight with a hellhound better than the hound.
Despite his panting breaths, the blood rushing in his ears, and the thumping of his feet as they hit the ground, he can hear the hellhound scratch at the door, throw itself at it, and eventually crash right through it. He can hear the exact moment the door crumbles and the hound howls triumphantly. If the other tributes hadn't known that there's a hound, surely they will now.
Dean's two floors down—four more to go—when the hound breaks through and he wishes he was miles away. The hound will cover that distance in half the time Dean had. He can only hope the smooth surface of the stairs and the sharp turns will buy him a couple seconds.
Even floors away, he can hear the horrible grunts and the sharp sound of claws on the floor the hellhound makes. It slams into something, probably the wall from a sharp turn, and the growl it emits sends shivers up Dean's spine.
Dean spots a spare chair and topples it behind him. It won't make any difference; the hound will just jump over it, but maybe it'll trip it up. Maybe. Maybe he'll get lucky. But when has he ever gotten lucky?
He could escape to the metal staircase on the outside of the building. He could crouch on that and listen as the hound runs by him and let the other tributes finish the hound off. But what if they can't? What if it corners him on the narrow metal walkway? His knives wouldn't be enough to kill it, he doesn't think. Worse, what if it kills all the tributes and goes off to hunt the others? It would be Dean's fault if the hound gets Jo or Krissy.
Besides, the hound could just follow him out onto the metal staircase too. It's less probable than cornering him in a room. Still, though, the thought that Dean will be able to outrun a hellhound is laughable.
The hound barks again, the sound deafening as it echoes around the stairs. Dean leaps down the next floor of stairs altogether—two more to go—using the handrails to swing himself around. He tries to ignore the shockwaves of pain that radiate up his shins as he lands.
Dimly, he recognizes the sounds of people shouting and the pounding of feet, besides his own, of course. Are the tributes so dim they haven't noticed the hound howling? Are they seriously trying to attack Dean right now?
Dean swings himself around and down another flight of stairs—one more to go—and stops short at the sight of the Careers standing just below him on the staircase. For a moment everyone blinks, stunned. Dean's surprised they're trying to attack him and not running from the hound. The Careers are stunned he'd decided to confront them, outnumbered as he is.
There's the sound of a massive thump and the Careers turn their gazes to up. It would be comical, except— "Hellhound!" Dean bawls and uses his momentum to crash through the ranks, leading the charge away from the monster. If the others weren't so panicked, they might take advantage of his turned back, but even Wendy Igo is rendered panicked at the mere mention of the deadliest muttation the Capitol's produced. She and Constance overtake him easily and bolt out the door. Rugaru's just behind them and holds it open for Dean. Well, Bela; since they're allies, but Dean just happens to be there too and not even Rugaru is callous enough to lock him in a room with an angry hellhound.
In another life, maybe, he and Dean could have been friends; he's intelligent and obviously caring if he's bothering to stop and wait for Bela. He's probably not waiting for Dean, but enemy of my enemy, right? It just wasn't the right time. Too late to get to know each other, now that they're both going to be ripped to shreds by the hellhound.
Bela stumbles after them, fumbling with the weapon in her waistband.
"Don't waste your ammunition!" Dean barks. "You don't know how to use it—give it to me!" He's struck with a violent sort of hope. A gun could take care of the hellhound. If he hits it in the eye. Well, a lot of things could take the hound out if you hit it in the eye. But a bullet will finish the job rather than a knife, which will probably only get the hound angrier if you don't stab it hard enough.
Bela shakes her head resolutely, eyeing his outstretched hand like he's trying to hand her nightlock. "What, and let you kill us all?"
Dean gapes at her. "What—the hound is going to kill us! Unless you give me that gun—"
"Bela—" Rugaru tries but the hound appears, slamming right into the wall of the first landing. Apparently racing down six floors hadn't helped it perfect the art of taking sharp turns. All the crash has done is made it very angry.
For a moment Dean's mouth falls open as he looks at the animal. Seeing it on the television is one thing. Seeing it in person is a whole other feat, and it should be an accomplishment in itself that he doesn't faint right at the spot.
The hound's fur is black on television, but in real life it's not just black. It's an absence of color. It's like the hellhound is just a black hole. A black hole with pearly white teeth and pink gums. Dean stares at those teeth. The smallest one is the size of his middle finger and looks to be able to bite through metal. He's never seen it happen during previous Games, but you never know.
The gun falls out of Bela's shaking hands and Dean dives for it. His hands close around the weapon—his weapon—and he's already loading the chamber, aiming, and firing before he's stopped sliding across the smooth floor. He can imagine the uproar that's happening in the Capitol right now.
The hound had started to leap as Dean dove, but the impact of the bullet affects it. It changes course very suddenly midair and lands heavily.
The bullet hits the hound exactly where Dean had wanted it to. Right in the shoulder. That should slow it down, but he can't take it out without help, and he especially can't take it down from where he's laying on the ground.
"Come on!" Dean becomes distantly aware of Rugaru bellowing. He scrambles up and away from the enraged muttation. The hound barks after his retreating back but Dean simply dives out of the door and pivots back around, gun pointed with steady hands (how can they be steady, he wonders, because he's more terrified than he's ever been in his life) at the door. Rugaru slams the door shut with a sigh of relief.
"Let's get out of here," Constance says shakily. None of the tributes have any intention of killing the others at this present moment. They're too shaken and relieved by their brush with death. Apparently escaping hellhounds can create truces even with the most bloodthirsty killers. At the present moment they're just too preoccupied with getting away from the hound's section of the arena.
"Hold on," Wendy says slowly. "Where's—"
Bela screams behind them. Something hits the door (from the inside) that Rugaru had closed, the hellhound barks and snarls (the sounds of a predator), and then the screams cut off too quickly. They're replaced with horrible gurgling sounds like someone choking (on their own blood).
And a cannon goes off.
Dean and Rugaru whirl around. At first their expressions are identical; shock and horror. But Dean's expression melts into a fierce determination. Rugaru wears a mask of quiet resignation. They'd been the ones to shut the door and lock Bela in there.
"Don't—" Rugaru starts when Dean moves to open the door. But Dean can't hear him over the rushing of blood in his ears, making his face feel hot and his feet strangely weightless. The door crashes open, making everyone cringe, but the hellhound is gone. The only thing left in the room is an alarming amount of blood on the walls and a crumpled form on the floor.
Dean's feet give out. He falls, still clutching the gun like that will be able to save him, like it could still save Bela, like it can save him from the rest of the arena. But his arm is aching, his lungs are sore from breathing in smoke, and a girl his own age was torn apart by a monster that shouldn't exist.
He'd been the one to lock her in with the hound. He'd killed her. This is his and Rugaru's shared kill.
Dean doesn't hear the muffled talking behind him. He doesn't feel Rugaru pat him on the back—a short moment of shared understanding.
He doesn't see Ava Wilson watching the whole exchange from a safe perch high in the sky.
He just… stares. He doesn't see.
Sam had been wound up so tight during the hellhound encounter he'd thought he was about to snap (and he would have, if Dean had been hurt). But the hellhound disappears, heading back up the stairs at a much slower pace now that it's killed a tribute and gotten injured. Surely it'll reappear the next time someone enters its section. Dean's been watching the Games long enough to know about sections, right?
He does, Sam reminds himself. Dean knows everything. Dean had been the only person to hurt the hound instead of senselessly running or freezing. A bubble of pride swells in Sam's chest at the thought. Everyone else had been paralyzed with fear and running away, but Dean had kept a cool head and injured a hellhound. 'Flaming Sword' indeed.
And now he's got a gun!
"Dean's coming home," Sam says for the first time aloud, tasting the words on his tongue. They taste sweet. They taste like relief. They taste like home. They allow him to unwind, to relax more and more as each tribute flees the scene of Bela's death without picking any more fights.
John looks at Sam sharply. "It's too soon to say for sure, Sam."
"But he is!" Sam insists. "Dean promised. And now he's got a gun! He hurt a hellhound! He'll be getting so many sponsors—"
"Sam," John interrupts with a growl. "You shouldn't get your hopes up." And he gets up and leaves Sam sitting there on the couch, mouth open wide with indignation.
"It's okay," Ellen says from across the room. Her voice, already husky, is even raspier from the copious amounts of alcohol she's chugging. "Dean will be fine. Your daddy trained him up well."
Sam smiles up at her. She's an adult. If she says Dean will be okay, then he'll definitely be okay.
He hears the door open and the low hum of voices. Ellen gets up to greet whoever's arrived.
Sam doesn't bother to take his eyes off the television as it changes from the boring shots of Dean sitting down to the other tributes. The group of the three Careers left are just walking, so the shot quickly changes to show Dae Mon and Mary Worthington from District 4. They're holed up together in a building. Dae is trying to bust open a chest by hitting the lock with a large rock. He must have figured out that there are supplies in the chests, just like Dean had.
Mary Worthington puts her hand on her stomach just as it rumbles. Obviously some of the tributes haven't been doing as well as Dean.
The shot then changes to Lycan Thorpe from District 8. He looks like he's stalking something. For a moment, Sam thinks he's hunting an animal, though he hasn't seen any large animals in the arena. Then the camera pans out to show Krissy Chambers and Jo.
"Ellen?" Sam calls, his voice cracking. "Jo's on."
Ellen enters the room hastily. Ruby's right behind her. While Ellen just stands behind the couch, knuckles white as she watches her daughter on the screen, Ruby walks around to sit next to Sam.
"So Dean clipped a hellhound, huh?" she asks quietly, brushing her stick-straight blonde hair out of her face. She's obviously from the Town, not the Road. Maybe she's even from another district. She's so much brighter than most of the people in District 5. "That's very impressive."
"He's the Flaming Sword," Sam says in agreement, nodding.
Ruby cocks her head. "Where'd you hear that?"
"I heard some people in town saying it," Sam explains.
"That's good," she murmurs. "That's very good."
"What's good?"
Ellen's gasp cuts Ruby off from responding. Sam's head whips around. Lycan had lunged at the girls. Krissy Chambers goes flying and hits the side of a building—hard. Jo draws her knife, quick as a whip, and lowers herself into a crouch. Her eyes narrow into angry slits as Lycan brandishes his own knife. A weird noise filters through the television and after a second Sam realizes that Lycan is growling.
"Ellen, is she okay?" John asks, entering the room. Azazel is right behind him. It must be another rebellion meeting.
Ellen doesn't respond, her wide eyes glued to the television screen. Lycan lunges, waving the knife wildly, and Jo ducks out of the way. Lycan might be big and strong but Jo is strong, right? Still, Sam stiffens as he watches the fight.
Lycan chases after Jo, but she's always one step in front of him. Whether he be throwing punches or waving the knife, the only thing that happens is Jo runs. At one point he clips her chin with his fist, but Jo rolls with the impact and sweeps her feet under his. Lycan hits the ground hard.
John puts his hand over Sam's eyes just as Jo brings the knife down.
"Dad!" Sam complains, pulling the fingers away, but the damage is done. Lycan is already dead. Jo is wiping the knife clean of blood on his shirt and a cannon fires. "Come on!"
"Go to your room, Sam," John says gruffly, avoiding his eyes.
"Oh, what's the harm, Johnny?" Azazel asks, grinning at Sam. Those weird golden eyes blink at him like coins shining in the sun. "Soon everyone will know about what we're planning. It's better if he's in the know already."
Sam swallows under the intense gaze the Peacekeeper is leveling at him.
"Sam will play a key part in the rebellion," Azazel continues, shocking everyone in the room. John's eyes narrow and he tries to reach out for Sam, but the younger boy is already sitting up with excitement.
"Really?"