Please submit!
The next morning, Maxxy woke up to something screaming at him. It wasn't Callista.
"Maximilian Otherson! You better get yourself out of that bed now, you lazy bum!"
Ouch. "Hostile mode" on the alarm was no joke. Even Callista usually didn't resort to name calling.
"Did your parents bring you into this world in order for you to waste your life away lying in bed?"
He groaned. Callista's voice rang out, cutting through the verbal abuse as the lights came on. "Alarm off."
He looked up to find her in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her hair, her hand on the light switch.
She smiled. "It's time to get up."
He peeled himself off the bed and forced himself to get ready. Half an hour later, he stumbled into a taxi beside Callista, clinging to his cup of coffee. She was in her regular work garb, though she had already swapped the golden stars in her hair for blue ones because she "wanted to be in the spirit of the Games but didn't have time to re-dye her hair." She, however, wore a backpack instead of her usual purse. It contained Maxxy's disguise. He had insisted on carrying it himself, but it would arouse less suspicion for security for her to have it.
He sipped on his coffee all the way to the Gamemaker building. He hated the flavor, but he had to do something lest he fall asleep. Even with all the sugar he had added, it was still appalling. The ride was theoretically much shorter since there was no traffic, but the anticipation made the minutes drag. His skin crawled as the streets led them closer. He had pulled off small tricks before, but he had never tried something on this level of illegal.
Before they entered the building, Callista pulled him aside in the dark. "Let's review the plan. We go in—"
"And then I take your backpack," he said, "I go to the second floor bathroom in the back corner of the building to change."
"And then…"
"Then I put the backpack back on and take it to you, under the guise of delivering this coffee cup."
"Good. Do you know where you can see the tributes?"
"I take the underground tunnel to the Tribute Center, right?" he said. The Gamemaker Building and the Tribute Center were connected to allow Gamemakers easy access to watching the tributes train. "Either I'll deliver stuff to the Gamemaker booth and observe from there, or I'll take the back hallway, where there are windows looking down."
"Good," she said, straightening her clothes. "Gosh, I'm nervous. I've never done anything like this before."
"You've never done anything illegal in your life."
"So this better go smoothly," she said, "I don't want this to go on my record…"
"It won't," he said, "This technically isn't illegal—you're allowed to bring your spouse… The only questionable part is me pretending to be an intern and watching the tributes, and it's not your fault if your stupid husband runs off and gets himself in trouble."
She nodded slowly. "…Okay. Remind me—why are you so insistent on seeing the tributes?"
He hadn't told her. In the alcohol-induced moment of the night before, she hadn't asked. "Well… call it a gut feeling. I'll tell you if my suspicions are correct."
In the early morning twilight, he could see her eyes narrow. "I'm risking a lot for this gut feeling."
"Relax," he said. "You'll be fine. Besides, I'm already known for being an idiot, right? No one will take me seriously, even if I get caught."
She laughed nervously. "Okay. Let's do this."
The two walked up to the security booth, where the Peacekeeper seemed surprised to see anyone that early. Most Capitolites preferred to sleep in late. The guard showed no signs of suspicion, and the two passed the double doors into the lobby where they had been the day before.
In the early morning, the Gamemaker building felt more like a tomb than a cathedral. Every door was shut, every window dark. He followed her up the stairs and into a large, circular room, where the white seats and desks were arranged in circles around a central holostage—similar to a holoscreen but with 3D capabilities. He'd seen it before on television. The Gamemakers could use it to see anything happening in the Arena in full 3D. On television, it had looked cool, but there was no one else there at the moment and the room felt like it was anticipating disaster. The eeriness of it all sucked the words out of him.
"Here's my spot," Callista said, sitting down. She took her purse out of the backpack and handed the backpack to him.
He grabbed it wordlessly, keeping his eyes up about the room.
"Are you okay?"
He blinked. "Oh! Yes, I'm fine… This entire building is really… unnerving when there's no one else here."
She looked around. "I guess it's a bit intimidating. But it's my home away from home now. Now hurry up! We can't let anyone see you like this!"
He scurried out of the room, backpack in tow, and tiptoed down the hallways per Callista's directions. Two lefts and two rights, down to the corner bathroom. Once he was in, he unzipped the backpack. It was time for his transformation.
First to go was his normal, slicked-back blue hair, which he covered with a bald cap and then a curly brown wig. Then were his natural brown eyes, hidden by a pair of blue-eye contacts. Off went the nice jacket and t-shirt—designer brands that marked him as part of the upper class—and on came the simple button-up and bland tie. He looked at himself in the mirror and grasped exaggeratedly to entertain himself. He looked horrendous. Not that simple styles were ugly; this base level of dress would never fit a man like him.
He took a deep breath. Gone was Maximilian Otherson, the rich and lazy Capitol aristocrat, replaced by… by…
In his excited fervor, he hadn't named his new persona. He would be… aw shuck. Naming was too much effort. He'd come up with one if he needed one. He glanced at the watch on his wrist; it'd been almost an hour and a half since they left the condo. Training started at nine, so he had another hour and a half before he would be able to check on his target of investigation.
Before he left the bathroom, he adjusted the curls of the wig to see if there was a way he could look a little less like a low-life try-hard, but he gave up. He could eat his pride for one day. Oh, and remove his watch. The golden sheen marked him as a rich boy through and through.
When he returned to the Gamemaker central room, carrying the coffee cup in a paper cup holder, there were a few other Gamemakers, settling down in their seats and chatting. Callista glanced back in his direction, but she didn't show any indication if she noticed him. He descended the stairs until he reached her station.
"The coffee you ordered?" he said, winking.
She continued her typing, almost as if he weren't there. "Oh, thank you," she said, not even giving him a glance, "You can leave it right there on the table."
Gosh, this stranger-acting was getting to him. He set the cup down and stared at her. "So… is there anything else?"
She met his stare, and she patted her back and then pointed to the open space under her desk. "Maybe check in with the resources department?"
Duly noted. He discreetly slipped the backpack off his back and slid it underneath the desk. "Where is…"
"Figure it out. Can't you see I'm busy?" she snapped, going back to her work.
"Fine then…" he said, rolling his eyes at her. He could've swore he noticed the corner of her lip curl. He patted the map in his pocket; he'd figure it out.
When he stepped out of the room, he looked down the hallways to his left and to his right. They appeared identical. He studied his map. It was… a left? He ambled down the hallway until it look like he was supposed to take a left, and then another left. Gosh… weren't the elevator doors supposed to be here? Where was he? How long had he spent wandering the halls, lost? Too bad his watch was buried in the backpack with Callista.
Firm, fast footsteps echoed down the hallway. Someone was on their way. He checked both directions. There was nowhere to hide. Best to walk by whoever was coming and pretend like he knew where he was going.
When he rounded the corner, he recognized the face of the older man headed his way. He did a double take. Adrastus Beaufleur. Head Gamemaker. He stared straight ahead, desperately hoping Head Gamemaker Beaufleur wouldn't look at him.
"Why, good morning," the Gamemaker said, "Are you new here?"
"Me?" Maxxy sputtered. Idiot. Who else was around? "Oh—of course, sir! I'm a new intern."
"Don't interns usually come in a bit later?"
His heart stopped beating. "Well… I just don't want to be late today. It's such a big day!"
"That's good. I like it when you young people work hard."
He relaxed. He wasn't found out, after all.
"Are you lost?"
"I— well…" His shoulders seized up again. "…Yes? How did you know?"
Mr. Beaufleur smiled. "The only rooms back there are reserved for the Head Gamemaker."
He blushed deep red. "I was looking for the… resources department?"
"Ah, to check in? I'm surprised you got in this far without your intern's pass. There's no one there right now, so I'll take you."
He followed him through the winding hallways to the elevators he'd been looking for earlier, but when they climbed in, the Gamemaker pressed the button labelled "5."
"We're going up?" Maxxy asked.
"Yes—I'll get you in from my office, Mr…. pardon, I forgot to ask your name."
He should've come up with a name back in the bathroom. "I'm… Remus," he said, picking the fastest generic name he could think of, "Remus Other… Otherton."
"Otherton? I wasn't aware that there was a young man of your age in the Otherton family—other than Maximilian, of course, but I don't expect to see him here anytime soon."
He gulped at the backhanded insult and smiled. "Otherton, sir. Not Otherson."
The Gamemaker nodded, touching the palm of his hand to his forehead. "Of course! I'm sorry; my memory slipped."
Maxxy followed him out of the elevator and into a suite, where the Gamemaker led him into a beautiful office, full of orchids and illuminated by the morning light.
"Here's the pass," Mr. Beaufleur said, sliding a green and blue card out of his desk. "It will only work for one day, though, so do be sure to get an official one once the Resource department opens up."
"Thank you, sir." He turned to leave, but he heard the man call again from behind him.
"Mr. Otherton!"
"Yes?"
He handed him a stack of sealed envelopes. "These need to be delivered to various departments," he said.
The stack was huge. It'd take him forever to get it done, especially with his horrible sense of direction. "Yes, sir…"
"Good luck, and don't get lost."
"Of course, sir," Maxxy choked out, "Thank you."
He was in for a long day.
After running around for hours making deliveries and sorting folders, Maxxy was relieved to be in the elevator of his condominium complex, returning home. Callista was full of questions.
"How was your first day?" she said, a sparkle in her eye.
He leaned his head back against the walls of the elevator, and through his hair—his real hair—he could feel the cold metal. "You already know. I bet you loved every last moment of it."
"Of course I did!" she said. "But did you discover anything?"
"No…" he said, "It's hard to go snooping when you constantly have a message to deliver or viewer data to sort." He rolled his eyes at her. "Or a drink order to fill."
She chuckled. "Guilty as charged." She didn't even really want the drink; she just enjoyed telling him to go buy it. "Are you coming back tomorrow? I have another coffee I want to try, but I never have the time to go out of my way to get it."
He looked at her with dead eyes.
She laughed as they passed through the front door. "Okay, okay. I'll be in the bathroom."
He zombie-walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. What a wasted day. He only saw the tributes three times—and for two of those times, he was carrying boxes, trying to get a glance at the tributes through a window while keeping up with the Gamemakers the boxes were for. The only other time, he'd actually had a few minutes to observe. Mariam wasn't with the other stars from One, Two, and Four—she was actually with little twelve-year-old Willow from Seven. Was she not invited to join the other stars of the show? Did she turn them down? Nothing made sense at all. For a moment, he had seen her eyes again when she happened to stare off into the distance in his direction, and his gut grew queasy. It was hard to tell whether it was the aura or his late lunch break.
No, this wasn't going to work. He needed to be up close, somewhere he could directly see the tributes as well as the equipment they worked with. What could he do? He wasn't fit to be a trainer; even if his connections got him in the door, everyone would quickly realize how little he knew about survival. The only other people that ever entered the training room were the cleaning staff, and all the janitors were…
He gulped down the rest of the wine and grabbed his phone. He had no other option. If he thought that posing as a middle-class Capitolite had been demeaning, he was about to go from one to a hundred.
He was going to go undercover as an Avox.
A/N Well well well… what's Maxxy getting himself into?
On a different note, my SYOT was supposed to close tomorrow, but there's no way that'll happen, considering I have one submission. The deadline has been extended to next Friday. Please submit!