Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Note: Number fifteen already! I have to say, I honestly didn't expect to have gotten so far along in this story by this point. Not that I mind, of course, with how much sheer fun this tale is to write. One can only wonder when it might come crashing down upon me. :D Hopefully not this chapter, but either way let's meet Bear!
"He looks pretty angry," Peeta remarked. "Savage, even."
"Honestly, I like that," Katniss said, a light chuckle crossing out beyond her lips. "I can't imagine many people would feel happy to get reaped for the Games. Seems like Bear here didn't bother putting on a smile."
"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Peeta agreed, glancing away from the face imprinted upon the ground. "Can't get over that savage look in his eyes... we sure he didn't Volunteer?"
"I doubt it, given he's from Eleven," Katniss replied, shrugging. "One look at that face though and you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a Career ready for a battle."
15th Annual Hunger Games
Name: Bear Redfoot
Gender: Male
District: 11
Age: 18
Kills: 5
Bear Redfoot was a bully.
After the Dark Days all of the Districts went under lockdown and had security buffed up to rather mind boggling levels, but none moreso than District Eleven. With it being where the Capitol got most of the food its ravenous, greedy citizens ate one could hardly feel shocked that the place had tons of Peacekeepers, walls and fences.
In all honestly, it was a lot like a gigantic prison.
Exactly like a gigantic prison in fact...
With all the security, brutal enforced work and the deprivation of food that is reserved for the 'generous Capitol' it's no surprise that numerous citizens of Eleven tend to be dirt poor and rely upon the tesserae system for survival. There are so many paper slips that the reaping bowls for Eleven have to have their size expanded from the norm. Poverty is commonplace.
It's exactly the background that Bear comes from. Tesserae rations, water and occasionally a fresh weed torn from the sidewalk make up his diet. One would hardly be blamed for assuming him to be like the helpless, starving youths who grew up around him. But Bear has a few things the others do not have.
Height, muscles inherited from his powerful native ancestors and a sadistic streak over a mile wide.
Life's all about survival to him and he doesn't just excel at surviving through harshness, he embraces it. It starts when he's young and picks fights against those who flaunt the food their somewhat well off parents managed to buy or seeking out the toughest kid on the block and making a brutal go at taking the title for himself. But as he ages things get worse year after year.
Worse for all besides himself, that is.
Starting massive fights on the schoolyard and the streets, stealing the tesserae rations of other kids both his own age and much lower, vandalism of the property people he dislikes own... there's a word for people like Bear and that word is 'douche'. Other words are hellion, brute, asshole, sadist and even monster in the opinion of those not yet at reaping age.
Gangs are not unheard of in Eleven, but Bear has no need for a gang to back him up. Not when he can take care of himself by going solo. Besides, he likes having no allies; it means there's nobody he has to share his ill gotten gains with.
Nobody aside his Ma, the one person in Panem he would admit to having any sort of feelings for. Half of what he earned through violence, or stole through similar violence, went to her. It was a brutal way to live, but one that ensured neither went hungry and that Bear only got stronger while those around him got weaker and more afraid of him as time went by.
Bear hardly even cared about the Hunger Games either. Sure enough, he would support those from Eleven and hardly wanted to be in the arena himself, but he paid it no mind. Why bother over something that he cannot prevent a reaping of and has no intent to volunteer for? He'd saw no reason, instead focusing his time on building up his power and reputation as a madman.
With only seven slips in the bowl on the day of his final reaping, the lowest an eighteen year old could possibly have, Bear feels secure and ready to go about mugging patrons of the bakery over the next few hours. He's accepted the life of crime that awaits him, as have those who stand around him. After all, everybody stands as far apart from him as they can, a fact the cameras do not miss.
As stated in a previous tale, fate has a cruel and twisted sense of justice. A nasty girl from Nine isn't the only person fate intends to pay back today.
When his name is picked everybody breaks out in cheers of delight, laughter and relief. The Bear of Eleven is going away and never coming back!
Bear stands upon the stage, firm and composed in the heavy breeze of the afternoon. A smaller girl stands beside him, perhaps aged fourteen. Bear wonders if she's one of those he's beaten and stolen from in the past, but it's hard to keep track of such a vast number of people. But perhaps he has, judging with the way she eyes him in such contempt.
Bear makes his move, figuring he's got little to lose. The Games have begun. He thus wastes no time grabbing the microphone from the Escort.
"Remember this, I will be coming back," Bear spits, his eyes narrowed hatefully. "One always comes back and this year it'll be me. Then we'll see who is laughing!"
This intimidates the laughing, cheering youths into silence. They know that, on the off-chance Bear wins, they're going to all be in deep shit. The girl on stage, Crow, knows this too and already makes a plan of action.
Being reaped doesn't make Bear's horrendous behaviour any better. If anything, the fact a massive deathmatch looms near has him acting out far more than usual.
It occurs to him that they cannot do anything to him beyond what they've already got in store for him, so he doesn't see a damn reason why he can't unleash his hatred and sadism upon the Capitol.
In the first hour of the train ride alone the table has been overturned, plates smashed, the Escort punched out and Bear's frightened District Partner has locked herself in her room, shaking. He gives it no mind, thoroughly enjoying his rampage.
The television, complete with a cracked screen, shows all the other tributes that will be locked within the arena alongside Bear. The satisfaction he gets when he sees himself address the crowd back in Eleven feels incredibly hollow when he sees the vicious looking tributes from One and Two as well as the lecherous looking young man from Nine who merely smirks when he is reaped.
He doesn't give it much more thought, mainly as he's suddenly shot with a tranq dart from behind by a Peacekeeper. He falls amongst the centre of the site of his rampage, silenced for now.
Most tributes either wave and appeal to the crowd during the parade or at least try to make themselves appear likeable in some way. They all know by now that a well timed sponsor can mean the difference between life and death. Even the most Capitol hating of tributes try to suck it up and give at least a short wave.
Bear is not among them.
He scowls at the crowd, not bother to wave for a moment. All he gives them are rude gestures, vicious snarls and outright aggression. He makes it clear he's not their friend and he's not going to be a good little tribute.
...And they love it. After two years of 'good girls' winning the Games and most tributes trying to be polite, the audience finds a thrill in watching the 'bad boy' of the Fifteenth Hunger Games show off his bad attitude, as unlike Marlin of the 11th Games he's not throwing anything at them aside a scowl. Already several women swoon over the deadly young man, wondering what his story might be and just how he became so tough and dashing.
When the Peacekeeper in charge of overseeing the District Eleven tributes suggests he play that as his angle Bear damn near tears his arm off and orders the man to fuck off. He's got no patience for anybody aside himself and his Ma, Hunger Games or not.
When training starts Bear beats the Careers to the punch, both towards the weapon stations and in tormenting the younger, weaker tributes. Bear has no issues making his opponents feel small, alone and terrified as it only serves to better his own chances and if he doesn't do it, somebody else will anyway.
He's never been the kind to leave things in the hands of another, so he spends the morning going back and forth between making mincemeat of dummies using clubs and maces and harassing the tributes from Nine, Ten and Twelve until they wail for their parents... except the orphan girl from Twelve who just wails for mercy.
His formidable nature makes the four Careers deem him an obvious choice to allow into their pack and so it's Maximus from District Two who approaches Bear shortly before lunch on the first day and gives him the offer to join their alliance.
Before any Peacekeepers or staff can react Bear has snapped three of Maximus' fingers and told him to get the hell away from him, having no interest in allies he'd only grow to detest anyway.
While the other twenty three tributes head off for lunch, and in Maximus' case a medical examination, Bear is dragged off by the Peacekeepers for breaking the rule about no fighting before the arena arrives.
His confidence is broken when he sees just how merciless the punishment for his rampage thus far truly is. Even a hellion like him can't help sweating when the Head Gamemaker of this time – a previous Capitol architect by the name of Ronnigan Dratt – points to a Peacekeeper with a bonesaw and another with a syringe.
"I think it's time you were reminded who is in charge and just how bad things can get if the wise Capitol is pushed enough," Ronnigan says in a soft, smug whisper. "Your choice, of course. Bonesaw or the syringe?"
One moment spent thinking of the saw cutting into his flesh and bones has Bear quickly decide on the syringe. He's sent away unharmed, informed that his choice will be administered at a later time and to not push them any further or he'll get both the syringe and the saw.
The Fifteenth Games were the ones where training was extended from two days to the usual three that most modern Games enthusiasts would be familiar with as it was deemed that more training would make for better better, longer fights. Due to this, it meant more time where Bear had to keep himself under control or face an even worse penalty than he was already going to be given soon enough.
He tried keeping to himself, training hard, but the way several of the Peacekeepers on guard now had bonesaws visibly poking out from in their pockets or syringes in hand kept him pale faced and more than a little distracted.
Some of the Outliers noticed that the monster from Eleven had backed off, though nobody dared push him. Not when he might have been trying to lull them into a false sense of security for all they knew.
The Careers, meanwhile, knew exactly what was going on. Having Olga for a Mentor meant that Maximus was close to the one person trusted enough to be told what had been done to the brute from Eleven. All it took was standing near the door in the next room over to hear for himself what was in store.
From, there he had told his District Partner Shayla and both had decided to tell Ruby and Rose from District One. At that point, the four felt a bit of payback was both fair and sure to be enjoyable.
"Heard you got yourself into a bit of trouble, Cub," Maximus said with a sneer. "Heard that if you do anything else the bonesaw will be used."
It was a struggle, but Bear didn't respond to the four Careers. He merely scowled, something he knew he was still permitted to do.
"One more toe out of line and your toe may be sawed off. Maybe a few of them," Maxiumus said as he and his alliance circled around Bear. "What do you think Shayla, think we can make him lose it one more time?"
"I think we can," Shayla said, smirking coldly. "I don't mind taking a hit from him if it means this Capitol hater gets a hand sawn off before the arena."
"You can't do anything to me," Bear said, coldly. "You're held by the same rules."
His only response, at first, was laughter.
"Oh really?" Maxiumus asks. "True enough, there are rules we have to obey until the gong rings... but who is the one on their last warning? Who has the Capitol favourite as their mentor? I think we both know who has more freedom."
Maximus spat upon Bear, shoving him backwards. Not a single Peacekeeper on duty reacted despite how obvious the move had been. But when Bear got back up, fists ready to bring into action, they took out the bonesaws.
Bear paled as he stood still, hit with one nasty realisation.
He was trapped. For the first time in his short, hate filled life he was the prey on the bottom of the pile and others held the power to do whatever they wanted with him. More spitting and shoving followed before the Careers took their leave to resume training, their point having been made.
Bear, furious, humiliated and perhaps even a bit intimidated, tried to get back to training and sending angry looks at whoever came past him, but one thing seemed clear to him.
Nobody was wary of him anymore. At least, not in any way that compared to the Careers or any of the particularly powerful Outliers in the mix. Even the creepy boy from Nine seemed to garner a bit more fear than he did.
Bear told himself it was just a setback and that he'd regain power before long.
Things got worse after lunch on the second day.
The Careers came back, now flanked with another member. Bear was surprised to say the least when his own District Partner, Crow, stood against him alongside the lapdogs. Hatred burned in her eyes like fire from the sun.
"Your partner told us some interesting stories," Maximus said, smirking. "Told us how you've tormented people in your District for years. Stealing tesserae and going out of your way to attack people who stand against you or who you just don't like."
"What of it?" Bear grunted.
"Turns out that Crow here is missing a little brother... did you know he starved to death because you stole the food that Crow was taking to him?" Maximus asked, shaking his head. "Our recruit certainly told us a lot."
Bear feels like the floor under him has vanished, dropping him into a hellish, grisly free fall. The knowledge that he's been responsible for the death of a little boy, possibly others, shakes him something fierce. He was ready to kill to go home, sure enough, but this knowledge... this hurts.
It gets worse when Maximus and his cronies tell Bear that Crow has told them all of the strengths and weaknesses she can think of that apply to her brute of a District Partner. His fast speed, his muscles, the way he is exceptionally good at knife fighting, his phobia of rodents, the way he thirsts a little faster than most his age do, the fact he'd go into a mindless rampage if his Ma were mocked.
The small girl has sold him out, doing her best to ensure he can never win.
"Get ready for the arena, Cub," Maximum says with a final spit. "I'll be fair and lay it out now; if we catch you, you're getting tortured."
The Careers soon leave, preferring to make the rest of their points clear once the Games actually start. Bear, for the first time in his life, is reduced to begging. He pleads with Crow to help him, trying to play the card of District Loyalty.
She laughs in his face.
"Loyalty? What loyalty?" she asks simply. "Where was District loyalty when you caused my little brother to starve?"
There's no answer he can give, none whatsoever. The real twist of the knife comes when he warns Crow, correctly in fact, she cannot win if she intends to stick with the Careers for the Games.
"I don't care about winning. I've accepted my fate," she says, calm and icy.
She leans in close, her empty eyes an inch from Bear's shaken own.
"...But so long as you die, and die horribly, then I'll pass away feeling as good as a Victor," she says, turning on her heel and leaving Bear to his fate.
Bear doesn't cry at all that night, but it's an extremely close thing.
It isn't just terror that fills the young monster. This time something else stirs and feels even worse.
Guilt.
His private training session starts off well, Bear putting all of his anger and bitterness into tearing apart all in his way. But one look at the Gamemakers observing him has him feeling particularly shaken and off of his game.
He doesn't miss how a few of them have taken out bonesaws and syringes. A firm reminder that he's by no means off of the hook for breaking the rules.
He stumbles after that, his sure-fire score of ten falling down to a score of six.
Crow somehow manages a seven and laughs in his face. For the first time, Bear doesn't have it in him to respond with immediate aggression.
The interview is a nightmare. With all eyes on him, especially the Gamemakers and their bonesaws always kept in hand, Bear's confidence has broken and only one scared husk of a boy remains. The Capitol citizens pout, huff and whine over the fact their bad boy has lost his touch while the other tributes feel particularly pleased that the one who went around tormenting them on the first day of training has been seemingly tamed and broken.
When Mortimer finishes the failure of an interview by asking Bear if he thinks he can win the once brutal boy can hardly choke out a response.
Especially as Crow, who went right before him, announced in detail exactly what her allies were planning to do to Bear if they got their hands on him.
Things go from bad to awful when Bear dresses in his tribute outfit for the arena. Chocolate brown as always for District Eleven and a sleeveless thing, the fabric rather thin. The outfit doesn't bother Bear, it being irrelevant in his eyes and nothing to what is terrifying him at the current moment.
He stumbles back, roaring in pain as his Stylist suddenly jams a syringe into his left arm.
"An extra condition, ordered by our very own Head Gamemaker Ronnigan," she says with a cheerful smile. "A slow working poison. It will kill you in exactly one hundred hours, so don't dilly dally. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour!"
Bear barely resists the urge to breakdown and murder his Stylist, instead barrelling into the tube that will take him to his fate. The sooner he can get started, the better.
He becomes keenly aware of every passing second and suddenly every little itch or cramp from within his body has his panic worsen, as if the poison suddenly worked way too fast and ended his life prematurely.
"Gonna kill them all, make them pay, make them sorry," he mutters, fast and mad. "Won't take long, gonna kill them."
He tries to ignore the guilt that flares up again, hurting more than the rough stab from the syringe.
The tributes are met with an unpleasant rainfall from the moment they are launched into place. Thick, grey clouds fill the sky and cast a rainstorm down to the miles wide arena below. Before the countdown is half over several tributes are soaked and some among them feel their skin getting a little raw from all the rain hitting them. It's clearly a year of nasty weather that awaits them.
The clearing where the Cornucopia is located, a hundred and fifty feet across in all directions, is surrounded by miles and miles and miles of wheat. The arena is really just a gargantuan wheat field in all directions, one that is sure to drag the Games out and provide plenty of places to hide. Beyond the wheat are rocky mountains at the arena's edge, looming over the wheat field like an intimidating border.
Bear curses, realising just how strict his deadline is. If too many escape the bloodbath, he's done for. He's not bright, but knows well enough that a death by poison is slow and painful. Once it flairs up at the hundredth hour a stretch of purest agony is all that will await him.
All of this, he comes to see, is a punishment for a lifetime of tormenting and brutalising innocents.
The guilt is agony, but he's still not enough fight in him to rise up and fight for his life. When the gong rings, he is one of the twenty two who charges into the fray, ready for the fight of his life.
A man driven by desperation is a fierce fighter and Bear is even more desperate than the other twenty three tributes, a number lowered by one when he smashes the girl from Nine with a large club.
Bear fights hard and fast, but he lacks the numbers and coordination that the Careers and Crow have got. They slaughter six tributes in not even two minutes and leave others fleeing the area with bruises and even a stab wound or two. Bear doesn't care at first, as every death and injury upon the competition helps his terrible odds look a little less awful.
He suddenly cares a lot more when the Careers turn their attention towards him. Having five people charging with weapons in hand has him fleeing a battle for the first time in his life, scared like a trapped rat.
He flees into the wheat and continues his escape into the depths of the gigantic wheat field with only a club and a backpack to his name. Despite the terror that rises within him he manages to leave the Careers behind as well as the thirteen corpses scattered around in blood soaked heaps by the Cornucopia, two of them laying dead due to his own club.
Stumbling through the wheat and rain he eventually has to stop that night. His supplies are meagre, but passable. He gets a sponsor parachute, one containing only a small stopwatch.
He has ninety hours left.
Bear doesn't sleep at all for the first night, too paranoid about wasting his limited time. Stumbling around in fatigue does him no good though, only leading to some tics in the wheat biting his left arm.
But still, he continued.
All the marching through the rain ends up making him slip over and break one of his fingers. He flinches, the pain surging through him horribly for several searing hot seconds.
But still, he continued.
All the rapid movement within the seemingly endless expanse of wheat makes him stumble over several times, leaving him mud stained over much of his skin and clothing.
But still, he continued.
Shivering in the pouring rain that kept up through the night had his chattering teeth and ended with him biting his own tongue thrice, drawing blood.
But still, he continued.
The rainfall turned a fair portion of the dirt into mud, leaving Bear squelching with every step he took. He slipped over, hitting his head on the ground and knocking himself out for a time.
At last, he did not continue.
While the Career Pack head south, following the only lead they have – some bloodsoaked wheat that was nothing to do with any of them – Bear ambles around the north with his club in hand and a shaken grimace on his face. His face drains of colour more and more with every glance that he takes at his stopwatch, the seconds to his doom seeming to pass every faster.
Seventy hours are left and nobody else has died since the bloodbath.
"Fuck, fuck," Bear mutters, swallowing hard on his own fear as a cold sweat runs down his face. "Where are they?"
Bear tries to stop thinking about the arena, about the poison, about how everybody back in Eleven is surely cheering over the situation he has landed in. He finds it impossible to not shiver, harder still to hold back every last broken tear, when he recalls all the cheers that went up when his name was pulled from the damn reaping bowl.
The idea of his death before knowing what awaited him had them cheering wildly. Now that they are seeing it broadcast it can only mean even more laughter.
He starts to realise this is exactly the thing he liked seeing happen to those he deemed as weak, as prey, as obstacles to step on.
He starts to see what a monster he must have been and how calling it survival doesn't justify it.
Even so, the moment he lays eyes on the small boy from Ten he doesn't hesitate to charge for him to keep himself ahead of the death clock. The small boy is fast though and soon vanishes from sight. Bear storms around for over an hour, desperate to find his prey, oblivious to the fact the boy has curled up in a ball on the ground and remains perfectly still and silent. Bear never comes close to him for even a moment.
Sundown approaches all too fast and Bear is no closer to beating the clock. The cameras are all too eager to broadcast his meltdown to the nation and comment on his poor odds and the 'strange symptoms' that his vitals are showing.
Hours into the night, laying on his back from sheer exhaustion from the mental torment and fruitless hunt a cannon goes off. Bear practically jumps for joy until the anthem, displayed mere minutes later, shows it was just the obese boy from Five. Literally the easiest person in the arena to find.
Bear had never come close to him.
He sleeps badly that night, keenly aware that less than sixty hours are left.
Catching raindrops in an empty bottle fills up a stretch of Bear's ever more limited time, but he can't afford to let dehydration slow him down. He sucks it up, holding the bottle in the air until his tic bitten arm aches something dreadful. A gulp and then the cycle continues over and over.
A cannon booms halfway through the third day when the Careers manage to catch the boy from Three after a lengthy chase mixed with hide and seek in the wheat, but Bear's surge of joy is very short lived.
Luklerr from Nine crosses paths with him and is more than willing to fight. In fact, the boy seems rather happy about it.
"A good thing you found me, honestly, " he says as he holds his large sickle firmly. "I was getting dreadfully bored, you know? Let's go."
And go they do. Bear is vicious with every swing, driven fast and hard by sheer desperation of how time ticks ever lower for him. Luklerr seems to find it funny, the strange boy dodging with all kinds of odd and sometimes visually off-putting flexible movements. He bends back further than a normal spine should allow to dodge what would've been a fatal blow and sweep kicks Bear over.
"Giving up?" Luklerr asks. "How boring."
Bear is soon back up, roaring ever more desperately. But desperation becomes agony when Luklerr makes a solid blow into his shoulder with the large sickle and blood is splattered around. As Bear howls in pain Luklerr smiles, almost serenely, as he traces a singer along the splatter of Bear's blood that ended up on his face.
"Beautiful," he remarks, softly chuckling. "Gonna keep fighting? We've only been at it for an hour now. Maybe an hour and ten."
The reminder of his ever tight deadline and how he's got less than fifty hours left before the poison works its dreadful effects through his body gives Bear one final burst of energy. One that leaves him upon Luklurr, beating the boy's head right in with his bare hands.
Bear walks away from the kill zone with only seven opponents left to take down, but now he only has a little over forty eight hours. This and the entire Career pack is still alive and his right shoulder is looking horrible, soaked with blood and flaring with agony.
For once Bear feels no thrill, satisfaction or indifference to the violence he committed.
He feels shaken.
"Nnggggghhh..." he shudders, clenching his jaw. "I did this shit to people back home... what the fuck... how the fuck could I even..."
Bear ambles around, utterly lost and starting to feel like he is going mad as the sun rises on the fourth day in the arena. By now only twenty five hours are left and there are still seven other tributes who remain in the mortal world. Bear is starting to forget who they are and what District they belong to.
He is jolted somewhat back to life when, just after he is down to twenty two hours, a cannon booms to mark the death of the deaf boy from Eight.
The thing that really has his attention is that, when he strains his ears, he can make out a very faint cheer towards the south. The thought of finding somebody else has him make a beeline for the source of the kill that just occurred.
The murderer of whoever died may still be around and wounded. As easy a kill as he'll be able to get. Time runs low and he has nothing to lose.
Screams fill the air and suddenly have him moving much faster than before. He knows that scream, or at least recognises the voice of its owner.
Crow.
He gets there too late, the rest of the pack having split off and scattered around the gigantic wheat field. Clearly something had to give and it was Crow's life. She lays bloodied and mangled, staring up at Bear as he staggers up and knees beside her.
The words are past his lips before he can really consider them.
"What happened to you? Who did this? I'll make them pay!"
Crow is far gone, but still finds it in her to laugh in Bear's face, coughing up blood.
"You're gonna die in here," she says, bitter. "When they catch you, you're gonna wish you'd never been born..."
After everything, be it the knowledge of how he caused Crow's little brother to starve, the pain in his nasty wounds, the horrible fear of his ever lower death clock, the agonising remorse for the life he has lived or even the vivid nightmares, Bear only chokes out two words.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, shaking.
Crow spits in his face with her last energy.
"I don't forgive you," she wheezes, pain filling her last breath. "I hate you... sleep on that..."
Bear wanders on, feeling light all over. It somehow feels worse than the wound in his shoulder, the knowledge somebody lay dying in their own blood and used their final moments to rub in their hatred for him.
Even the boom of the cannon, one that he sees later that night belonged to Ruby – the boy having fell upon a nest of angry tics – doesn't make him feel remotely better in spite of how it means only four opponents remain in the arena.
He has only fifteen hours left by this point and no idea where the boys and girls are. The idea of violence is starting to freak him out as is the howl of the wind.
After collapsing for a while he's awoken by the announcement of a Feast by the Cornucopia just as the faintest rays of the sun begin to appear in the gloomy sky.
With eight hours left he makes a desperate sprint in the direction that the pillar of light points out to him. It starts at midday, by which point he'll have just two hours left.
As he kneels, hidden within the large mass of wheat, Bear finds it impossible to stop shaking and shuddering non-stop. So little time is left. It's a wonder he doesn't pass out then and there from pure shock.
Only four remain now after Rose and Shayla's duel in the rainstorm led to the latter girl crumbled in the mud with stab marks from sai blades all over her chest.
Bear doesn't feel any response to the fact so few are left and likely to be in the same place. He's about ready to have a heart attack, tears filling his utterly broken, pained eyes.
If even one of them doesn't come to the Feast then he is as good as dead.
He's keenly aware of just how many people, whether from the Districts of his opponents or his own District, will be cheering as he dies. The agony of just how hated he is drains much of the fight from him.
All the same, he won't give up.
The Feast begins as the table of food and water raises out of the ground in front of the Cornucopia. Rose and Maximus make a charge for it and quickly begin devouring the bread and drinking from the goblets of water.
They stand, weapons poses and no attempt made on each other's lives. Unlike past careers, they're not going to jump the gun and leave themselves outnumbered or lacking back-up.
Having literally nothing left to lose and no reason to hesitate besides the chance for a few more minutes of a painful existence Bear charges out of the wheat and towards the pair of trained killers.
He's forgotten who the other one left is, only that the sooner these two are dead the more time he has to find the final tribute.
The battle is absolutely savage with blood and flesh splattered and torn. The Careers have numbers and training, but Bear has a life of violence and a tiny time limit before certain death to keep him going. He's beaten black and blue, his filthy outfit stained a nasty shade of red. The Careers don't look much better but refuse to give up.
As they fight the small, starving boy from Ten runs out of the wheat to grab some bread and flee back to safety. Rose pursues him to try and take him out fast and to get a distance away from Bear.
She easily slices the boy from Ten but not before he's able to stab her right in the heart with a dagger, a cannon firing a moment later.
"Feels fitting, doesn't it?" Maximum asks as he and Bear circle each other around the table. "Us, the first two to fight that one time in training and now we're the ones in the final fight of these Games. Ready to die?"
"No," Bear hisses, hardly holding himself together at this point. He's exhausted, utterly destroyed on the inside and his death clock shows he's got just barely under an hour at this point in the battle. "No, no, no!"
"Yes, yes, yes," Maximus says as he continues to try and strike Bear with his sword.
The duel moves away from the table and into the thick, rancid mud at their feet. Both are hurt, but Bear is in worse shape by this point.
"Didn't have to be this way," Maximus continues. "We could've been allies. I was fine to make it happen, but you ruined it. You broke my fingers; doesn't matter to me if the Capitol fixed them right up. You bought everything upon yourself! Everything!"
Bear wheezes, running out of ability to fight. He's well aware that Maximus is correct on all accounts.
"Now what was it Crow said?" he whispers, taking a moment to catch his breath and holding Bear back with his sword. "About your weaknesses? About your Ma?"
As broken as Bear is in all manner of ways, the mention of his Ma has him bristling.
"What?" he mutters, gasping out for air.
"Does she feel ashamed of you? Hate you? Wish you'd never been born?" Maximus says, eyes firm and narrowed. "Does she feel bad to have mothered such a brute? If Crow is right, your mother fucked over District Eleven because she brought you into this world!"
Bear knows Maximus might be correct, but either way he uses his last strength to barrel towards the powerful young man. As Maximum expected, it makes it easy to hit Bear with his sword.
But, he'd massively underestimated just how high Bear's pain resistance is in such extreme situations. Or perhaps he just overestimated his own power and ability to hold the thug back.
"What?! How?!" Maximus hisses, struggling violently and landing more punches upon Bear.
"Don't talk shit about Ma," Bear says, sounding more tired than anything else.
One swing of the club and it's over as the cannon booms... or so it appears to be. A few minutes of silence makes Bear sit and realise only two cannons fired during the Feast. With forty minutes left he checks over the bodies of Rose and the boy from Ten. Sure enough, the small Outlier is faintly breathing, though wounded and unconscious.
Bear doesn't bother hiding all the tears anymore. It's impossible after the sheer nightmare of karmic backlash he's been through. Weeping, his bad boy image forever destroyed, he makes it quick.
He kneels over soon after, the guilt that consumes him as he is lifted out of the arena feeling worse than a hundred sharp knives digging into his broken body.
At the after party Bear sits on a chair in a fancy suit, staring out blankly into space. Long gone is his malicious smirk or the one sadistic glint in his eyes. A broken stare is all he can muster now, even with the poison easily removed from his system.
He hardly says a word to anybody who comes his way, too traumatised from the experience in the arena to bring himself to get into the simplest of conversations.
The footage of Eleven's reaction to his victory plagues his mind. Cries of sheer disappointment.
Mortimer had been more than happy to point this out and 'innocently' ask why everybody seemed so upset that he'd avoided a deadly fate within the arena.
Bear was too broken to have it in him to punch the man.
He sits for a long time, he doesn't know how long exactly, as the after-party at the President's Mansion goes on around him. Eventually one of the other Victors comes over to speak to him, one whom he doesn't remember the name of. The one with the deformity.
"Anything I can do for you?" she asks him softly. "We're all Victors after the Games, whoever we were before. We're a family."
Bear is barely able to choke out a request to be left alone.
"Leave you alone to suffer? I should think not," Gwenith says, her voice ever so quiet. "Sure, you seemed like quite the bully before the arena, but that doesn't matter now. Two years in a row now a girl who tricked me under volunteering got reaped and I tried my best to save them anyway. After the Games... what came before no longer seems important."
Gwenith politely doesn't bring up the fact Bear smashed Kernelly's brains in with his massive club.
"Please, us Victors want to help you," she says, almost gently. "Well, most of us anyway. No such luck with Peridot and Olga."
Bear remains almost catatonic, up to when Gwenith asks him a question he'd not particularly expected.
She asks him to dance.
"Lots of people are," she says, gesturing to the colourful dance floor. "See the Victors?"
She points past the dancing Capitolites upon the dance floor and to where several of the the Victors get a groove of sorts on. Fir wildly dances with Mizar, laughing in glee despite how flustered and alarmed the original Victor looks. Mags has dragged Museida to the dance floor for a short boogie. Crystal slow dances with Harp, not that Bear recognises the latter. Duke busts a move with a young man from the merchant side of Twelve. Baron and Runa steal the show with their energetic, lively dance moves they put in in perfect sync with each other.
"Care to join me? Might take your mind off of everything for a while at least," Gwenith says, forcing a smile. She knows how Bear feels and, two years after her own Games, still feels plenty of pain from the memories of her own arena.
"...No, just wanna be alone," Bear says, quickly rising and leaving to the garden area outside of the mansion.
He spends the night under the constant, smug gaze of the Head Gamemaker. He wishes he'd just accepted Gwenith's offer and danced with her.
He wishes he'd not been such a sadist to the point where his home District are upset he didn't die. Upset that this was their year.
Bear sits all alone on the train side back home to District Eleven. His Escort is afraid of him and hides several train cars away. The Peacekeeper assigned to watch over the tributes from Eleven remained at the Capitol, his duty served. Crow is dead in a casket a few train cars from his current spot. He's alone and, for once, he doesn't like it.
Bully. Sadist. Thug. Fiend. Murderer. The words all bounce around in hi head until he's sure he's already gone mad. He's not expecting a warm welcome home, not after the life he has lived.
Crow's final words to him torment him most of all.
After a night of sitting in silence, blankly staring at the dormant TV, he finally reaches an epiphany when Eleven is only a mile away.
"No more," he mutters to himself, his hands covering his face. "No more of this life I'm living. It's time to change."
As Bear exits the train to loud booing and screaming several minutes later he leaves his past sadism and violent conduct behind. He wonders if anybody will even care or if it'll matter.
He decides to try anyway.
Bear Redfoot was a bully.
"Looking at this guy's scowl makes me want to know what his story was," Katniss admitted, looking intrigued. "Think anybody may know? I mean, at the party?"
"Maybe. An early Victor probably had years to make an impression of those who came after," Peeta said. He thought for a moment. "Seeder and Chaff are gone, but there was one more Victor from Eleven. Spud, that was his name? If he survived then maybe we can ask him."
"A big if, that," Katniss said, a small frown adorning her face. "It's strange. Seventy three people we're going to be seeing and only nineteen are left. We gonna start making guesses on who is left?"
"Fifty Caps on Pasture," Peeta said, lightly smirking.
His smirk vanished when he saw Katniss' dull frown.
"I was only kidding," Peeta said as he and Katniss moved on.
The pair soon came to the next face down the sidewalk, one that got a reaction of familiarity out of them both. The fairly blank, perfectly neutral face of Woof Casino looked back up at them.
"Woof seemed nice... you know, in the very short time we knew him," Peeta said, glancing up at the sunny sky.
"I most remember him for trying to eat poisonous bugs," Katniss admitted.
And there we go, that was the first Victor of D11; Bear! On the one hand I think the story of going from a completely sadistic thug to a guy attempting to not be quite so violent after the shitload of karmic backlash he just went through was a good read. Indeed, the hundred hour time limit was something I found to be a cool addition. On the other hand though, perhaps a bit too on the nose? IDK, I guess I just have very lofty standards for my writing and ponder it may have been laid on a bit too thick? What do you guys think? In any case, we've reached the second canon Victor! What could Woof's origin story be like? Stay tuned to find out!
Stats
District 1: Peridot Gaudy (8th Games), Crystal McCree (14th Games)
District 2: Baron Overwhill (4th Games), Runa Peace (7th Games), Olga Machete (10th Games)
District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games)
District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games)
District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games)
District 6: N/A
District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games)
District 8: N/A
District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games)
District 10: N/A
District 11: Bear Redfoot (15th Game)
District 12: Duke Saint-Rose (6th Games)