Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Note: And so we reach Beetee, halfway in the line-up of Victors. I had fun writing this one, both adding to the canon facts we know about Beetee's Games and using a new chapter format. I think the final result is pretty good overall, but what do you guys think? Let me know if you get the time. Nothing else to say, so let's begin~!
"We've known Beetee for a while now, but have we ever really asked about his Games? Even once?" Katniss asked.
Peeta shook his head.
"I always thought it'd be pretty insensitive. We don't like talking about our Games… why make another Victor go into detail about their own?" Peeta replied. "I guess we can ask some things later today, but…"
"I guess we'll just judge for ourselves who wants to talk… and if we should even say anything," Katniss concluded.
37th Annual Hunger Games
Name: Beetee Latier
Gender: Male
District: 3
Age: 15
Kills: 6
Once upon a dystopia there were twelve gamblers, born and bred. They'd bet on anything you could imagine; horse races, card games, story arc resolutions in TV shows and even who could fit more than six bean buns in their mouth at once.
But there was one thing above all others that the gamblers loved to bet on and that thing was, of course, the Hunger Games. They'd bet on the victor, on the first District to be eliminated, the order of deaths, who would kill who and which tribute would be the first to cry.
As you can imagine they didn't see the tributes as real people, moreso just characters on TV.
As they did every year for the past ten years the gamblers entered a fancy viewing room of the local casino – The Mendez' Marigold – and prepared to watch the reaping. When it came to betting on the Games, and on the lives of innocent children, many normal gamblers would watch the repeating with careful, perceptive eyes to pick out the best prospects of the batch.
But these gamblers were different. They each had a longstanding loyalty to one particular District who they would bet on before the reapings even happened. Some would say it was a certain brand of high risk high reward gambling.
Some called it a braindead waste of money in case terrible tributes were reaped. But if somebody like Snag could win, who couldn't?
As the reapings began champagne bottles were opened up, food was eaten excessively, and cheers rang out. The typical reactions of each year, of course.
The first gambler was as rich as they came, always distasteful of anything that he did not see as perfection. Even the tiniest flaw was met with hatred and contempt. He saw all the Districts as bug nests in need of harsh, cruel control… but somewhat less so for District One. Rich should not harm rich, after all. That's why this gambler was very pleased when a pair of tall, beautiful warriors volunteered with looks of pure greed in their eyes.
The second gambler was all about violence and loyalty. She'd absolutely loved all the cruelty and torture in the arena ever since she was a wee little thing sitting on her mama's knee. To her, seeing the characters on TV brutalise each other was as fun as life got… extremely! Their capacity to hurt and the fact they willingly bent the knee for their rulers was why the second gambler was forever loyal to District Two. She applauded as two teenage warlords volunteered, viciousness and hatred for all weaker than them filling their muscular forms.
The third gambler was one who appreciated a good, strong mind and felt that District Three simply gave the most useful, entertaining goods and supplies. The man thought the kids who talked in all that silly tech talk were adorable and so was more than happy to sponsor large chunks of money to the pair from the technology district this year; a scrawny boy with coke bottle glasses and an emotionless, tall girl who twitched every few seconds. The third gambler did not miss the way the boy was already muttering to himself, analysing the situation intently.
The fourth gambler liked the unpredictable nature of District Four. Would they offer up wimpy, whiny children or would it be a year where, like Sinbad of the previous Games, they'd have a ruthless and cruel volunteer? It was ever so much fun to try and guess which children would be made to fight, and the gambler felt himself smiling when two burly whalers volunteered to face the arena.
The fifth gambler frequently bought Crimson's company for the night and simply wanted to have another Victor from Five to sleep with. He leered in delight when a stocky power plant worker and an athletic young lady were picked.
The sixth gambler was obsessively loyal to Six and believed their poor luck in the Games was due to straight up riggage. She'd help one of the two tiny orphans make it back home even if it killed her!
The seventh gambler was one of Jack's drinking buddies whenever the thief came by the Capitol for whatever reason and so had a personal sort of bias for the lumber district. She'd do whatever she could to help one of the two powerful lumberjacks make it home… preferably the boy as the girl's nose looked ever so wrong.
The eighth gambler was sick enough to find Woof's actions to the boy from Two in the Sixteenth Games hilarious and hoped to bring home another sicko 'for the lulz'. He didn't think either of the fourteen year old sock makers from District Eight would be sick in the head, but a man could dream.
The ninth gambler gorged on bread all day, every day. The lazy lump felt she owned it to District Nine to reward their bread baking skills and make a solid effort to send in something vital – perhaps a scythe? – to either the tiny boy who worked in the fields or the foul mouthed baker's daughter.
The tenth gambler was a furry and hoped the ranch hands from District Ten were as well. He wasn't a weirdo, dammit!
The eleventh gambler wasn't so much a fan of Eleven as much as she hated the other districts so much more. Due to failed bets, late shipments, personal 'district racism' and other petty reasonings District Eleven had her support by default. As the gambler was a filthy rich woman it seemed the burly harvester and the young fruit picker were in luck.
The twelfth gambler was the biggest risk taker of all. What better risk than providing support for the statistical weakest district of the past few years? Win or lose, and indeed he lost constantly, he simply loved the thrill of making irresponsible bets and was fine to ensure the two starving seam kids would at least get water in the arena.
Bets were made, hands were shook and the gamblers settled to enjoy food, wine and the rest of the opening broadcast. None of them could see what was going on within the judgement buildings, per the norm, but all of them felt confident in their bets.
Perhaps the first gambler may have reconsidered if he saw how foolishly, spitefully arrogant his tributes were. They both assumed they'd won already.
Perhaps the third gambler would have made an even higher bet when the boy from Three, Beetee Latier, was already going over the idea of using some of the wiring that came from the launch tubes. His plan was in motion far before the gong.
Maybe the vile fifth gambler would have not bet if he'd known both his tributes were suicidal after years of suffering and shook hands, welcoming death with open arms.
The eighth gambler might have looked elsewhere if he'd known the Eights were law abiding good kids and that, in fact, it was the girl from Eleven who was secretly a pure sadist.
But… wasn't the mystery part of the fun of betting?
For many of the casuals of the Hunger Games it could be said that the pre-Games events, while patriotic, were kind of always the same thing. The real action was always found within the arena.
But for the hardcore fans, those who had either the money or power to unlock certain 'doors', it was a chance to gain insiders knowledge. The twelve gamblers had, of course, already made their bets by this point and thus there was no bet changing to be done… but who cared? Knowledge was power and they all thirsted for information on their chosen tributes for the year.
The first gambler was incredibly smug. His pair had been tormenting the bugs from the outlying Districts and both scored tens. They were formidable and unbeatable by all aside from each other. He sunk ten thousand more caps into his bet, convinced that things would be going his way. The fact his pair had broken the boy from Three's glasses had him chuckling well into the night. Sure, they'd be replaced, but petty acts like this were what he lived for.
The second gambler laughed as she gobbled up mouthfuls of sugared popcorn, approving the fact one of her tributes had 'accidently' knocked the girl from Ten off the obstacle course and broken the girl's leg. Some would call it a low and cowardly action. She'd call it funny and proof she'd chosen the right District to support.
The third gambler felt curious more than anything else. The girl was doing her best to learn all kinds of new skills and poured over all the books in her free time to keep her mind sharp. The boy was an oddball. Aside the glasses he'd lost, the boy had been almost invisible. Sure, he trained as any tribute would, but the most that he'd said was muttering about how strong the pack were and how, united, nobody stood a chance. It seemed the pack had picked up on this and were always in the same place as each other. The third gambler sighed, it seeming like the boy had sealed his fate and only made the pack becomes more than mere comrades.
The fourth gambler felt ever so pleased that his pair had both been accepted into the career pack. His eagerness only grew when, to his delight, a surprise was revealed – his tributes had been siblings separated at birth. Oh me, oh my, what fun!
The fifth gambler felt annoyed that his pair did little aside from sit together, talk and hold hands. Apparently they even prayed together one time. He felt bitter; how was he supposed to fuck them after they won if they didn't learn any skills?
The sixth gambler learnt that her pair were skilled pickpockets and had stolen over ten tribute tokens before being asked to stop. That kind of skills made her sure that Chassis would finally have another victor to keep him company.
The seventh victor was told facts of what happened… she just couldn't remember them at all because she got totally smashed when she went out drinking with Jack. Her wallet also went mysteriously missing.
The eighth gambler felt pissed off that his pair hadn't been toxic, but rather had extended an olive branch of peace to the Nines and formed an alliance of sorts. He ended up watching Woof violating Valour on loop for three hours.
The ninth gambler just gorged on bread, near oblivious to all going on around him. If he was happy that his pair had an alliance or how the boy had scored a ten he did not show it. It would appear bread came first, forever and always.
The tenth gambler sulked in his fursuit. Yet again District Ten had produced a total of zero furries. What did it matter that the boy was a beast with the lasso or that the girl started a crazy food fight? They still weren't furries!
The eleventh gambler heard that the girl had needed to be sedated after trying to stab the girl from Three in the bathroom. It had been a very near miss, one that had the gambler all the more eager for the blood that would be spilt soon enough.
The twelfth gambler hears that all the miners have done is cry, whimper and sob off in a dark corner of the training centre. All he can think of is the amazing pay-out the 75-1 odds will give him if one of his pair can pull off a darkhorse victory. If Snag could, why not these two?
The gamblers go to sleep a little after midnight, each of them convinced that – even if their tributes might suck, in some cases – their bets will be certain to pay off and leave them swimming in money.
Beetee, meanwhile, stays awake until 3AM studying all the books that his escort could get for him about arena construction, facts about wiring and the top one hundred best ways to make a powerful, reliable circuit. All it took was a bit of flattery and tempting the escort with how this knowledge could help Beetee win and, thus, make them famous.
If this technical outside interference lands the escort into serious trouble Beetee doesn't care. His own life comes first and foremost. It just has to.
Money changes hands and the sixth gambler is left feeling smug as the arena comes into view for the first time. The sky is covered in rainclouds, the ground is squishy and coated in a layer of twigs and leaves. Lightning flashes loud and proud. The tributes gaze around in mixed fear and wonder at the massive trees that tower in all directions, spreading out for miles upon miles.
It's a rainforest. There's no poison at all unlike the toxic island of the previous year and with several eroded temple buildings around the island for plenty of variety, mystery and intrigue it's a place the Capitol citizens are eager to see the Games played out in. The teasing glimpse of a ferocious tiger one of the cameras gives only further increases the excitement.
Everybody notices and gasps over how the Cornucopia is not gold this year, but rather a chromatic sort of silver. Partly as President Snow wants to save gold for his own personal interests. Partly as he's cementing his role as president for, he intends, the rest of his life and wants to mark his power to all of the nation. The era of Snow will contain silver Cornucopias and much, much more.
Halfway through the countdown the pair from Five lock eyes, smile and share a salute to each other from their side by side pedestals.
"Fuck the Capitol! May it burn in hell!"
With that, the pair jump to the landmines and are blown to pieces. The fifth gambler screams and swears until his face is blue and his lungs are empty. He screams at how unfair it is. He lost money and two potential whores! He believes it cannot get any worse than that.
He storms off to get a strong bottle of wine to chug down right as the gong rings, the remaining twenty two tributes making their move, whether it's closer to the horn of plenty or off into the massive rainforest.
The first gambler laughs uproariously as his pair reach the Cornucopia first and lay claim to a pair of serrated swords. His laughter is met with the frustrated groans of the sixth and twelfth gamblers as the girls from Six and Twelve are swiftly murdered.
The second gambler fans herself, eagerly watching her boy mutilate the life out of the newly-crippled girl from Ten. Her begging only excites the second gambler even more.
The ninth gambler doesn't even notice that his boy was ganged up on by the Fours and the girl from Two, too busy wolfing down more bread.
The eleventh gambler curses when her girl is killed midway through torturing the little boy from Six by the big lad from Four.
It soon becomes a frenzy of cheering, shouting and gibberish as the action becomes too frantic to properly keep track of. Indeed, once the thirteen cannons fire they start to replay the bloodbath in slow motion to get a proper look at the best bits and to be certain of who still has a chance of their bet paying off.
The sixth, tenth, eleventh and twelfth gamblers join the fifth gambler over at the wine table, their tributes laying dead in pools of blood, entrails and other bodily fluids. They'll always be next year, but losing money always sucks.
The first, second, fourth and seventh gamblers remain smug and eager. Their tributes made it through mostly unscathed and each of them made at least one kill. The odds are in favour of them winning back their money and then some.
The third, eighth and ninth gamblers are neither big winners nor big losers. One of their tributes remains alive and at least somewhat-well. The real Games are beginning now and all remain confident in their bets.
The tributes are all shown on screen before long. The careers high five, laugh and prepare for their first hunt. Having been set on the path to friendship by the foolish boy from Three they forgo having a guard and plan to hunt as one big unit.
The Sevens stick together and flee towards a distant temple, hoping that it's safe. Even if it's not, both want to get out of the rain. The boy from Eight and girl from Nine keep their pre-Games alliance and run without a plan, hoping to be able to hide away deep in the rainforest. For now they seem to be alright.
Everybody, especially the third gambler, is confused by what Beetee has chosen to do. He ran from the very start… right towards a large tree which he spent the bloodbath climbing up while everybody was distracted either dying or murdering others. He remains concealed by the canopy of the rainforest, hidden from the vicious pack on the ground not even fifth meters from himself.
"Come on, come on…" Beetee mutters, gazing down at the pack.
Beetee bides his time in the tree for three hours. At last the pack head out to hunt, loudly traipsing towards the north laughing and chattering together. They don't look back as Beetee quickly makes his way down from the tree, almost losing his grip four times.
The gamblers expect him to load up on supplies and run for his life in the opposite direction of the careers. What he does leaves them all stunned.
Who could've bet that he would use a pickaxe and crowbar to strike at one of the launch pedestals until the outer covering was broken and the wires underneath revealed? Using a particularly thick and, most importantly, dry rag as insulation Beetee tears the lengths of wire free and stuffs them into the pockets of his jacket.
No sooner has he gathered up a backpack full of food, water, tools and some choice medical supplies he sets off into the rainforest…
…In the same direction that the careers headed off mere minutes prior.
The commentators have no idea what to make of it. The second gambler claims the boy must be suicidal while the twelfth gambler guesses he must be a born risk taker… or an idiot. Money is laid on the table as bets are made on his fate.
For the first time ever the third gambler is left very unsure of his bet. He's not no idea what the boy is thinking right now.
All he knows is that Beetee has a look of grim determination on his face.
By day two over three dozen bets had been won and lost by the time the pair from Seven took down the ferocious tiger mutt. The beast was slain, and impressively too, but both tributes were wounded. Indeed, the girl from Seven had been left with a limp and her left arm mangled. The boy barely had time to wrap a few bandages around it before more trouble arrived.
The career pack were by no means quiet, especially with the cracking of twigs under their heavy boots, but the noise of the fight had covered up their approach. They laughed and cheered as they swarmed and murdered the poor lumberjack girl like she was an animal up for slaughter. The boy from Seven met the same fate not long after that, though not before sinking his knife right into the shoulder of the boy from Two. Alas, the wound was not fatal… just painful as shit.
The seventh gambler cursed and drowned her frustration with four cans of expensive beer. The first, second and fourth gamblers only laughed with more smugness than before, all certain they would emerge victorious.
The eight gambler lay passed out, drugged. He'd lost interest in watching the boy from Eight being a gentlemen to the girl from Nine instead of doing something interesting (rape or murder were what the eighth gambler prayed for). The ninth gambler was awake, but instead of watching his remaining tribute and her ally exploring the large temple and barely dodging traps he was more interested in gorging on ten loafs of bread, using a drink to vomit it all up and then eat even more.
The third gambler watched the screens, smiling as he started to understand what Beetee was doing. Well, part of it anyway. By following behind the careers from a safe distance he was keeping himself out of their way in areas they had assumed to be clear of any tributes. They had no reason to double back due to how much gear they were carrying around.
Of course, his plan to evade them didn't explain why he'd vandalised the launch tube and claimed the wires within. Technically there was no rule against it, but it had the Gamemakers a little bit on edge for what the boy had in mind.
It seemed that, whatever he had in mind, it would be revealed soon enough. The careers were closing in on the boy from Eight and the girl from Nine. After that, it'd be just Beetee and the pack. No way would the Gamemakers let him evade them for more than a day.
If Beetee was worried about his rapidly depleting time limit he did not show it. Indeed, his grimly determined look seemed to give way to genuine confidence when he saw how the six members of the career pack a hundred meters ahead of him walked close together in tight formation.
The scrawny nerd smirked.
Dawn arrived and was marked by the screams of despair and pain from the boy from Eight and girl from Nine. The careers made a real meal of killing them, leaving them as hardly resembling people. As they exchanged hi-fives and chest slams all around the first, second and fourth gamblers toasted together; they were certain one of them was going to win the bet.
Each knew it'd be they who won the big money, of course.
As they upped the stakes even more with extra money in the prize pot the third gambler focused on the screen, wondering what Beetee was going to do next. He'd held back as the pack ran into the temple and landed their latest kills a few hundred meters away.
If he was going to act, it was now or never. The Gamemakers had activated a cloud of poisonous fog that surrounded the area, looping around just outside the boundaries of the rainforest temple.
The gamblers watched as Beetee carefully observed the ceiling that had, by now, collected three days of rain above itself.
The genius boy pinpointed the weakest spot of the ceiling and acted fast. A few hard tosses of several rocks was all it took for the heavily eroded ceiling to gain a hole and start to leak water into the temple, gradually filling the hallway.
Beetee wiped away his sweat with a rag, taking out the wires he'd collected. Acting with great care, even as the distant footsteps of the careers started to get closer, he took out a battery he'd swiped from the Cornucopia and got to work with connected everything together.
The wire became live just as the boy from One audibly asked, from a mere two corridors away, if he they could use just their bare fists on Beetee to draw out the last kill before their perfect alliance won. His allies all agreed to this, laughing like old friends.
The first gambler was smug.
The second gambler drooled at the thought of the violence and suffering.
The fourth gambler bounced in his seat at the thought of all the money he'd win.
The third gambler gulped, hoping he'd not put himself halfway to bankruptcy.
Beetee narrowed his eyes.
A shock to all, he didn't run or even crouch down behind some rubble to hide. He let out a loud shout. He quickly shouted twenty five decimals of pi.
The career pack were quickly after him and ran into view hardly ten seconds later. They all grinned eagerly at the sight of the small nerd standing at the far side of the hallway.
They noticed Beetee's light smirk.
By then it was far, far too late to do a thing as he jumped out the doorframe to the rainstorm outside and tosses his electrical gizmo behind him.
As Beetee landed roughly and rolled a few times before coming to a stop in a patch of very damp moss screams of agony filled the air. Each of the six careers were being filled with tens of thousands of electric volts, helpless to do a thing to get away. Their boots were not shock proof and thus there was no escape from the electrified water filling the old hallway.
The electricity only stopped when the battery exploded from the pressure put upon it, leaving the hallway smelling of smokey, charred flesh as the careers collapsed in a heap to the ground, their bodies still lightly twitching.
The cannons fired.
The first gambler tore out his hair, screaming and snarling at how it was 'rigged'.
The second gambler ranted and raved over the awful finale and how there wasn't any bloodshed at all.
The fourth gambler was torn between feeling furious that his bet had failed and how amazingly unforeseen the finale was.
The third gambler collected all of the prize money, laughing and cheering at the massive earnings that would easily last him for over a week. It was always good to feel like a winner, just like the tributes who survived to the end.
The other gamblers were varied amounts of pissed off about the money they had lost… but, at least there would always be next year. There would always be more Hunger Games.
Beetee didn't know any of this. As far as he was concerned he was just glad to be alive and that his plan had worked out better than he could have ever hoped for; ensure the pack became close to keep them in one place, grab all the electric equipment from by the cornucopia, follow the pack around as they mowed down the others and then strike them when they were all together just at the end.
Honorius, from the mentor control room, was just glad to have saved another tribute. Then again, he mused, had he really done anything? Beetee had never been sent a single gift, per his insistence as it would've given his location away. This one was all on the boy's genius, brilliant mind… and, as both would agree, a bit of luck as well.
Both sat quietly on the train ride home several days later, silently watching a rerun of Fiona and Lawrence on the TV. Despite how heavy the mood was and how Beetee was shaken by the fact he'd ended six lives so easily, there was one thing both victors agreed on.
One bet that both of them were certain would end in their favour.
They bet that Pi, wherever she was in the unknown beyond the grave, would've been glad that another child from District Three had made it home at last.
The pair held their silence for a while, their respect for the genius victor from Three ever so clear.
"Glad you made it here with us Beetee," Peeta whispered.
The pair continued on their way further down the street and only a few paces later they came to the next face imprinted upon the sidewalk. A girl with short hair that barely reached her neck looked back at them, freckles across her face and a look of cunning in her eyes. Notably, she had a neckbrace on from her shoulders to around her forehead.
"No mistaking that neck brace," Peeta said, wincing. "That'll be Porter Tripp."
"How did she get that spinal injury again?" Katniss asked, curious.
"I honestly couldn't tell you," Peeta replied, shuddering. "I just know it was apparently one of the most brutal finales of its day."
"Who told you that?" Katniss asked.
"The man from Five who died in the Quell. Neon, I think," Peeta stated. "Heard him mention it while he was training drunk."
The pair went silent, paying respect.
And there we are, that was Beetee! I thought this was a fun sort of format to work with; it's long been a known thing that people make big bets on the Hunger Games, but the gamblers haven't ever exactly gotten 'top billing' in something. Hope you guys enjoyed seeing the reactions and thoughts of the greedy gamblers… and that it didn't take attention away from Beetee himself? I tried to ensure it didn't. Either way, another canon up next! Granted, a canon that we only know due to supplementary materials, but a canon regardless. What tale may Porter have lived through? …Stay tuned to find out!
Stats
District 1: Peridot Gaudy (8th Games), Crystal McCree (14th Games), Bronze Marley (19th Games), Crown Martins (24th Games), Dollar Dettwieller (32nd Games)
District 2: Baron Overwhill (4th Games), Runa Peace (7th Games), Olga Machete (10th Games), Rook Valiant (17th Games), Boulder Atherston (20th Games), Vercingetorix Carnby (25th Games), Dragon Batofel (27th Games)
District 3: Honorius Perthshire (5th Games), Pi Orbit (22nd Games), Beetee Latier (37th Games)
District 4: Museida Selkirk (3rd Games), Mags Flanagan (11th Games), Tide Luther (23rd Games), Librae Ogilvy (35th Games)
District 5: Shunt Gaspar (12th Games), Isobel Sparks (18th Games), Crimson Flanders (29th Games)
District 6: Chassis Macalister (31st Games)
District 7: Pliny Aransio (2nd Games), Fir Buzz (9th Games), Jack Tylos (21st Games), Snag Nakamura (34th Games)
District 8: Woof Casino (16th Games), Paige Murphy (30th Games)
District 9: Mizar Aldjoy (1st Games), Gwenith Rosebud (13th Games), Teff Withers (28th Games), Laurel Flamsteel (36th Games)
District 10: Stallion March (26th Games)
District 11: Bear Redfoot (15th Games), Seeder Howell (33rd Games)
District 12: Duke Saint-Rose (6th Games)