Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Note: Almost at the end of the decade! Been a bit of a relative drought of career victors, and D2 victors, for this decade, but that somewhat changes now. It's a fact from canon that victor children get reaped, and it's suspiciously often. But, canon doesn't suggest they never win either. So I figured, why not explore a next-gen victor in the form of the offspring of the first career? Hope you guys enjoy this one. I had fun writing it.
Katniss and Peeta were silent for a moment, appraising Rhyder's imprinted face upon the ground.
"He must have had quite a legacy on his shoulders," Peeta said, tapping his chin.
"I guess that's one way to put it," Katniss replied, seeming unsure of how to feel. "The son of the first ever career. I'm sure that made him popular."
"Eh… kind of?" Peeta glanced down at Rhyder's face, sympathetic. "Brutus gave the abridged version when we were training with spears. The careers didn't exactly take to him and the outliers hated him. They blamed Baron for the career pack existing year after year. They wanted his son killed."
"I guess we all have a habit of blaming kids for what their elders did," Katniss muttered, her eyes darkening somewhat.
"Yeah, I guess that's human nature," Peeta agreed, shaking his head. "But the thing is, Rhyder was a rarity in District Two."
"How so?" Katniss asked.
Peeta was silent for a moment.
"He didn't volunteer," the boy with the bread explained. "He was reaped."
39th Annual Hunger Games
Name: Rhyder Overwhill
District: 2
Age: 14
Gender: Male
Kills: 4
District Two was not having a very good decade.
After their impressive showing in the first three decades of the Hunger Games things had taken a bit of a nosedive in the fourth decade. Eight Games gone by already and not a single victor to show for it. Their tributes always got far, of course, so statistically they were the most well performing District… but nobody cared for that when ranks second through to twenty fourth were all the same thing.
The warlike district hated losing and were getting pretty sick of it. Even Dragon, who had been able to enjoy over ten years of the fame and glory that came with being the latest victor of his district was starting to get annoyed and wish for somebody else to move into the Victor Village with him. He needed somebody to actually pose him any sort of a challenge in chess!
Naturally, Olga was disgusted by the distinct lack of courage and valour that the fallen tributes had shown. She mentored one of them per year and, aside from Boris, had mourned none of them. They'd have the odds in their favour and blew it. Their deaths, and the constant losses Two faced, were their faults.
What happened to Boris was not his fault, she told herself. That freak accident was not his fault.
In the end the only ones in Two of any note who did not care about the losing streak or concern themselves with the Hunger Games in general were Baron and Runa. The first victors of the district had far more pressing concerns these days than how well their district was doing in a kiddie death match or how long it'd be until their next victor.
They had a family now.
Just prior to the first Quarter Quell's finale Runa had given birth to their son, Rhyder. Smart, full of wit, something of a handful and with an awareness of just how cruel the Hunger Games truly were per his parents' teachings he was truly what both considered to be their life's work. Every moment spent with their son was a moment Baron and Runa would treasure for as long as they lived.
However, even as the son of two victors, Rhyder's name was in the reaping bowl. Same as anybody else. The boy, of course, had absolutely no intent to volunteer – why would he do that when he wasn't an idiot and had no need nor desire for fame and riches? – and with a pair of careers eager to go all out and fight every year he had no fear of being reaped. His first two reapings were, if anything, boring.
He mainly just went with the training his parents put him through because he found it fun and thought it bought them all together. He didn't fear what they did. The notion that, when he was a bit older, there might be a rigged reaping and the volunteer mysteriously backing out.
Indeed, our story starts just a week before reaping day with the Overwhill family on a hike around the mountains that filled up their district. Rhyder led the way with his mother easily keeping pace while his father bought up the rear. Normally his Grandma would've joined them, but she'd passed two years ago after hanging onto life for a remarkably long time.
His Grandpa never joins them. But to Rhyder that's just fine and nothing he feels remotely upset about.
He always thought the man was kind of an over serious dick.
"Come on, race you to top!" Rhyder shouted, starting to sprint ahead.
In spite of her worry of Rhyder's third reaping Runa couldn't resist a challenge. She smirked, letting her son start to dash ahead of her as she readied herself to get going.
"Mind if I join the race?" Baron asked, chuckling.
"Sure," Runa said, winking. "Thanks, by the way."
"What for?" Baron replied.
"For volunteering to lose to me," Runa added, teasingly.
Runa was off like a rocket along the mountain trail after that, her muscular legs just as powerful as when she was a teenager at the quarries, if not moreso. Baron charged after her as well, not willing to lose without fighting for the victory first.
Rhyder knew he was fast, but he'd underestimated just how physically adept his parents were even after so many years since their victories. One moment he was in the lead, the next moment his parents had both rocketed past him. Had anybody been there to see it they'd have probably laughed at the way his usually lively eyes practically bulged out of their sockets.
"What the hell?!" he exclaimed, stunned.
"No using the h word!" Runa called back to him, laughing. "Try to keep up, son!"
Rhyder did his best, swiftly leaping across rocks that diverted from the main path in an attempt to take a shortcut. Alas, there was just no way that he could keep up with Baron and Runa. He eventually reached the finish line, wheezing for breath, while his parents sat on a boulder in the heat of a rather playful argument.
"I won," Baron said, smirking.
"No, dear, I won and you know it," Runa replied, crossing her arms and giving an exaggerated huff.
"I think you'll find I won by a nose," Baron stated, starting to lightly laugh.
"Is today opposite day? I thought the Capitol banned that as well," Runa said, smug.
The pair soon shared a fine laugh and leaned in to kiss, the act of which had Rhyder looking away with a gag. He never was the sort of boy who understood the bare minimum of even slightly anything about romance.
As the family of three sat on boulders, watching the distant sunset, Rhyder's eyes trailed to the cliff wall near them. At the top of it was a flat surface, the true peak of the mountain. Before he could even get a word out he'd already been cut off.
"No, that's too dangerous of a climb for you right now. Even I would think twice about doing it," Baron stated.
"I wouldn't," Runa said, crossing one leg over the other.
"You climbed on top of your arena, you hardly count," Baron said, not missing a beat.
"Oh come on, please," Rhyder insisted. "We could, uh, think of it as training? Yeah, that."
Baron was adamant though, claiming that Rhyder was still a bit young for that kind of a massive climb at this point in his life. It was, after all, not even his fourteenth birthday yet.
"Maybe when you're a bit older," Baron assured him. "Now, remember the plan?"
"No volunteering, I know. I'm not crazy dad," Rhyder replied, as if reading from a script. "I'm not that brute who got the spot. Bastion, I think?"
"Just making sure," Baron said, trying to relax and enjoy the sunset with his family.
This was all too common for the Overwhill family. A nice family day out, happy memories made… but even with their lack of care about the Games, there was always that nagging fear that Rhyder would end up going down the same deadly path his parents walked. It wouldn't be able to go away forever, not until Rhyder's final reaping came and went. Until then they could only hope for the best.
That, and make the most of every single day they had together. Baron and Runa had survived the arenas they were both respectively in over the twenty three opponents they'd been forced alongside and weren't going to give up the tentative peace they had earned without a seriously good fight.
Runa felt mostly fine about this reaping. Rumour had it the boy the Overwhill Academy picked out, Bastion, was an even bigger monster than Sword of her own Games. Though unable to suppress a shudder at the thought of the vile boy, the first rapist the Games had ever seen, it seemed the male slot had been officially claimed.
Baron was less certain. Sure, logically his wife was probably right – she did, after all, have her late Grandpa's level headed wisdom – but he just couldn't feel secure for Rhyder's first few reapings like she mostly did.
Not when Olga had such an influence over the generations of children in Two and voiced a dislike of the pair of victors who came before her.
Not when his damn old dad was still in charge of the Overwhill Academy, very old but as cruel as he ever was.
Elias Overwhill was having a bad day.
The District was getting increasingly annoyed at the losing streak they had been going on as of late and who better to blame than the man in charge of the academy that turned teenagers into bloodthirsty warriors? Apparently not the tributes who killed them or the gamemakers that set off the traps…
He pinched the bridge of his wrinkled nose, knocking back a mild beer in a shot glass. How was any of this his fault? If anything, it was because of him they'd gotten here to begin with. He fathered the first victor they'd ever gotten!
How was it his fault that idiot punk from Six made the arena collapse?
How was it his fault that one tribute mutated into a beast from the depths of hell?
How was it his fault the whelp from Seven won due to the mass hand grenade explosion?
Elias could only scowl, as filled with hatred and fury at the age of 91 as he was back in his youth as a small time schoolyard bully. He had money, he was known by all… and yet he wasn't respected. In his view money and fame did not matter without people's approval.
If he had another victor then perhaps his troubles would all go away. The latest two tributes chosen looked promising, but then… so had all of those ever since Dragon won over ten years prior. What would it take to get another damn victor.
Just as he was ready to phone up his son and ask him where the hell he and his wife were – they and all the victors of Two were due to attend a banquet with visiting Capitol governors, after all – the TV over at the far side of the room began to emit a beeping sound on and off.
"On screen," Elias said, knowing better than to make the caller wait. "Good evening President."
"Good evening Elias," Snow said, briefly smiling at the elderly warlord. "How's life been since our last transmission?"
"Oh, more or less fine," Elias replied, crossing his arms. "I have hope that my district wins this year. I believe it's been too long since we won."
"Tell that to District Twelve," Snow replied, smirking. "Still, I quite agree. After the attempts on my life throughout the year I'd appreciate a loyal District winning the Games this year."
The two talked pleasantly for a short time, though Elias knew it wasn't what Snow wanted. Still, it felt nice to get things off of his chest to the president of the country. He was one of the few men he figured he could trust these days.
Snow soon laid it all out for Elias. He had a job for one, a job that if fulfilled could easily land him the respect he desired. A seat of power alongside some of Panem's finest and his name etched into assured greatness. A plan that left the possibility of District Two winning still valid.
A plan that meant a male victor would not be happening.
"Hold up, sir… you want me to rig my grandson into this?" Elias frowned, raising an eyebrow.
"Is that a problem?" Snow asked, sounding about as warm as a black hole.
Elias thought of all the vicious arguments between himself and his son Baron. How Baron called him a despicable, disgusting person for the whole academy idea and poisoning the minds of the youth within Two. The beatings when he was a boy.
He thought about how he fired back at Baron's hypocrisy for having volunteered before any other tribute in history. For how he killed eight tributes without mercy. For how he wasted his chance for greatness and chose love over legacy. He thought of how they had not spoken in years unless Elias was calling him to order him towards some kind of an event.
He thought of how Rhyder had sent him crashing over with a tripwire prank.
"No problem at all," Elias replied, calm. "I only wondered why, and how. We have a brute ready to step up already."
"The why is simple. Many victors are showing signs of discontent, of rebellious ideas, of not knowing their place. The message is twofold; their children, if ever they have any, are just as much at risk as anybody else… and that disregard, disdain and disgust for the Capitol and its Games will never go unpunished. Baron and Runa have made it a bit too clear how they feel. The citizens within the Capitol have been asking questions. Having Rhyder in the arena should work as a firm reminder for them to bend the knee."
"Brilliant, sir," Elias said, nodding. "I suppose my part is to get him into the arena?"
"Exactly that. Let the female volunteer do as she wants, it's of no matter to me. She'd be a fine victor," Snow said, pouring himself out a glass of wine. "Just get Rhyder into his role as a tribute. Poison any would-be volunteer, make up new rules, give the chosen boy an even better offer. Whatever works."
Snow paused, taking a deep gulp of his wine. With a final word of how the public would be told that reaping day would be delayed for a month due to arena construction – an obvious cover to give Elias more time to work with – the call ended and all was silent in Elias' office once again.
The old man wasted no time leaving the room and heading off for the banquet. He'd let Baron and Runa stay away. Let them have their evening with their boy while they still could.
He needed to get the banquet over with and start working out how he'd perform the task set for him that would, at last, grant him his deepest desires after so many decades.
A place in legend comes before family, at least to the Headmaster of the Academy.
By the time reaping day arrives there have been quite a few changes throughout District Two. The countdown to the reaping of the Thirty Ninth Hunger Games has been one twist and frenzy after another through the district of masonry.
The delay in itself had the district all the louder and more aggressive as the weeks snailed by to what they hoped to be a year of victory.
Bastion had withdrawn from the running of being a tribute, tempted with an offer of being a captain amongst the Peacekeepers within the walls of the Capitol that he just couldn't pass up.
Many of the hopeful boys who battled to take his place had ended up falling violently ill. Not fatally, but far too ill to take part in the Hunger Games. The official reason was put down to contaminated meat from District Ten. The real reason, obvious only to those in power, was the boys having their drinks spiked with some nasty chemicals.
Olga had been officially announced as Elias' future successor as the Head of the Academy. Elias did not feel concerned, knowing Olga wouldn't dare try anything to remove him. The Capitol wanted him in power and she would never disobey the government she was essentially the mascot of. Even the events of the Thirty First, Thirty Second and Thirty Fourth Games had not managed to truly shake the trust she had in the Capitol's wisdom.
Time had officially run out to chose a male volunteer. The stage was wide open for anybody to mount, but all of those at the academy had been informed a suitable tribute had been found and to not dare volunteer if they'd not been told they were that boy, lest they lose the Games. Nobody wanted to call the bluff and see how real it was.
Rhyder had his fourteenth birthday and thought it was the best day of his life. Baron and Runa were inclined to agree that it had truly been a day to remember. After all, who didn't love chocolate cake and a movie marathon of The Thirst Activities?
Reaping day, on the other hand, fucking sucked.
The girl who volunteered, Ichibod, was as powerful a warrior as they came, flexing and roaring to the ground. She was not one to be trifled with. Olga eyed her, smirking to herself as she gazed upon who she considered Two's best tribute in years.
The district when deadly silent as the escort – dressed up as a chair, as could be expected – reached into the boys' reaping bowl and took out a paper slip. Baron and Runa silently reached to hold hands, praying for the reaping to spare Rhyder over for another year.
"Rhyder Overwhill!"
The two victors were stunned into a silence of purest horror as Rhyder approached the stage, taking his place beside Ichibod. The girl spared him only a single glance, assuming a volunteer would step up.
…But nobody came.
For the first time in so long there was no male volunteer for District Two, a rarity that would only ever happen one more time many years later, and Rhyder's fate as a tribute was sealed.
Much like Jack from almost twenty years ago it was a soft fix. Rhyder was going to be given a chance, at least for now. Let the reactions be drawn out for bigger pay-off and such.
Snow knew how to make things particularly nasty for the Overwhills.
Baron and Runa knew that their time to shine as mentors and parents had arrived. Fighting back screams, panic and a strong urge to be sick they exchanged a single nod. They knew what to do.
Rhyder knew that somewhere out there the God of Luck hated him. But, he wasn't about to take this lying down. He had several tricks up his sleeve…
Training was a nightmare.
Rhyder was far more capable than a typical fourteen year old. Thanks to all the training his parents has given him as a precaution for this exact occurrence he was able to keep pace with the older tributes just fine. Ichibod was without a doubt stronger than him, but this didn't bother him too much as he swung around the monkey bars like one of their namesakes.
No, the thing that bothered him was the stares sent his way by all of the other tributes. While hope and love were powerful things, especially when put into a stare, the other tributes were putting something else into their gazes. Especially the outliers.
Hatred.
For the first half of the day he tried to just ignore it and keep himself going through the long, wild work-out as he passed by various training stations to brush up on old skills or pick up a few new ones. But, eventually, the hateful staring was just getting to be a bit much for him. Too much for him to make a quip about being so handsome that people just had to look at him.
The answer he got from the powerful boy from Ten filled him with nothing aside pure dread.
"Your father is the reason that careers exist," the boy said, scowling awfully. "We can't kill him, but you'll do just fine."
The boy from Eleven and the rat faced girl from Seven both agreed, snarling at Rhyder like he were a rodent and they were vicious cats. It seemed all of the outliers shared their opinion. That or they just wanted to stay out of the way and thus offered no help at all.
The careers were no help either. Ichibod had no real opinion and just let her allies from One make the choice on what to do. They both collectively decided that Rhyder would just get all the sponsors that they needed and it was better for them to eliminate him fast. That and they just did not want to have a kid with them.
All alone and with nobody to turn to for help, aside his parents who would be unable to be there for him in the arena, Rhyder was up late that night in a desperate attempt to hold in all of his tears.
He failed.
Runa was there for him, doing her best to calm down her son and provide some kind of reassurance. For the first time in many years, she felt lost. It was possibly to come from a career district and win – Crown was proof of this after all – but it was going to be tough. Far harder than the era of the Games she and her husband had emerged victorious from.
"Focus on what you're good at," Runa told her son. "You're good at so many things. You only need one of them to work. Tributes have done more with less."
It was the worst night of Rhyder's life and for his parents too. Baron was barely stable, blaming himself for the fate that had been forced upon Rhyder. He wanted to mentor him flawlessly, he wanted to go after whoever had set this whole thing up.
But with the eyes of the Capitol upon him he was restricted in much of what he could do, lest one wrong toe out of line send the wrath of the Gamemakers down upon his son. All he and Runa could do was fight the fear, mentor Rhyder just as well as they had parented him and hope beyond hope things would turn out alright.
Rhyder ended up scoring a nine once training came to an end. This and the sponsors that were all eagerly lining up to give their financial support to the son of two victors gave him some reassurance.
On the other hand he failed to score a single ally and the fact nearly all of the other tributes wanted him dead more than anybody else this year took away any reassurance he'd gotten from his score and left him shaking.
He forced himself to think of what he was best at doing. A skill that he could pull off any time it was needed.
He came up with something.
The interviews were both his easiest hurdle to clear and toughest mountain to climb, so far at least. Sure, the Capitol citizens were eager to see him in a person, and in action within the arena, but the other tributes were all out for his blood and that became clearer by the minute as the night went by.
Even Caesar visibly winced for a moment when the boy from Ten, Hoss, described his desire to tear out Rhyder's innards.
Rhyder watched his interview on a rerun shortly after, watching his past-self talk to Caesar about his interests (holo-games, hiking and pranks) and his plans for the arena (grab the biggest sword from the Cornucopia, probably try to run for the high ground and try to poison people's food). The former was all true, the latter was a load of crap.
Baron and Runa explained that sometimes an interview is not about truth, just misdirection. Feed his many enemies false information and then when he does something they do not expect he'll have bought himself a few seconds of precious time.
Time was exactly what Rhyder did not have enough of. He wanted the final night with his family to be endless, but it seemed to pass impossibly fast. All too soon the Overwhills were saying goodbye – hopefully just goodbye for a week or two – on the roof of the training centre.
"Fight hard," Baron said, desperate.
"Fight smart," Runa said, pleading.
Rhyder responded with a tight, desperate hug.
He was keenly aware of how, once inside the hovercraft, the other twenty three tributes were all looking his way. How many of them had sadism and hatred in their eyes. How even Ichibod clearly had no qualms about killing him if she had to.
He remembered the interviews, flinching most of all at those of the Ones, the boy from Three, the girl from Five, the boy from Six, the girl from Eight and the boy from Ten. Death was ever so likely and the odds of it being quick and painless were a big, fat zero.
But with the right arena, maybe he had a chance…
The tributes rise and all is dark, smells of fresh soil and the very dimly lit clearing has numerous tunnels leading off.
A few have distant screeches, chitters and creeks coming from down them.
It takes Rhyder until halfway through the countdown to realise what the arena most likely is, though even then he cannot say for certain. All he knows is that the tributes closest to him are eyeing him like he were some kind of a meal.
Rhyder readied himself to make the charge towards the Cornucopia, the tributes beside him preparing to cut him off – and cut him down – on his way there.
The gong rang and Rhyder lunged forwards… and threw himself down, gripping the edge of the launch pedestal and flipping himself one hundred and eighty degrees. He's sprinting off towards one of the many tunnels before his would-be killers realise what he has done.
Tricked them with a fake plan and made them waste time.
Rhyder makes a desperate sprint down the nearest tunnel, Flash from Three chasing him down and preparing to kill him with just his bare hands. As the chase goes by neither keep track of where the Cornucopia is nor focus on any of the distant screams.
They don't have any idea that that the Fours and Fives have engaged in a brutal melee that left all of them dead, nor that the career pack went to work and left all six of the tributes under the age of fifteen, aside Rhyder himself, laying dead like animals in a slaughterhouse.
"Get back here!" Flash roared, disgusted. "Your old man started careers and careers have already killed two of my family members! Your life is a fair trade!"
Rhyder didn't bother replying, instead running to the side of the dirt tunnel and managing to run right up the wall, soon clutching the dirt ceiling and staying out of reach of Flash. The boy from Three stared up at Rhyder, unimpressed as he tried to catch his breath.
"You've got to come down sometime," Flash said.
"Do I?" Rhyder asked, almost innocently. "I've been climbing up stuff for years back home. This is nothing. I can do this for three, maybe four hours."
"I can sit here just as long," Flash said, sitting down to start doing exactly that. "Let's begin."
Without warning Rhyder threw himself down from the ceiling and sent his entire body weight right at Flash's head. In a moment the boy lay moaning and struggling, a concussion already forming. In under a minute he wasn't moving anymore, several punches to his neck being all that Rhyder had to do.
"I'd love to stay and talk," Rhyder began, mainly playing to the cameras. "But I can't linger. Don't want the rest of my fans catching up."
Already tired and feeling like he was about to throw up his entire innards Rhyder jogged off down the tunnel and off into the darkness. He wanted to find the darkest spot of the arena around so he could start crying with nobody to see him doing it.
The death anthem that year was played on the wristwatches that all of the tributes had been given. The dark tunnels made it impractical to do it any other way.
Most of the budget that would've gone towards a better method instead went towards ensuring nobody could repeat the kick that Chassis' did years earlier and bring the arena crashing down.
Day one in the arena ended with eleven tributes killed. The remaining thirteen had spread out far across the winding dirt tunnels of the arena. Rhyder had found an alcove to hide in, one raised above ground level. The odds of being found by a tribute were pretty low, so he felt safe to try and get some sleep.
He got none whatsoever, hunger and thirst gnawing at his whole body inside and out. It was just as well really, because in the early hours of the second day the mutts were unleashed. When one of them came towards Rhyder, hunger in its beady eyes, it confirmed to him what he had suspected.
The arena was the interior of a massive ant hill.
Rhyder spent the better part of the day fleeing from numerous giant ant mutts that roamed through the tunnels around the arena. Every time he evaded one of them it was only a short matter of time before another one would find him and start the chase all over again.
This and the lack of any sleep, food or water was starting to drive Rhyder's mental health out of the 'safe zone'. By the time the second day ended, and three tributes had been eaten by the any mutts – including the boy from One – he was twitching like somebody who had been given a particularly nasty electrocution.
"Please… please, I need help," he whispered, desperately praying that a camera had seen him.
At long last, a sponsor gift arrived. Snow could prevent it no longer and claimed technical difficulties were why it had been delayed. Baron knew this was a load of shit, but dared not step out of line just yet. He contented himself by watching as a medium sized backpack full of bread, meat and several bottles of waters was dropped down from a hatch within the ceiling, the spoils within quickly stabilising his son's vitals… for now.
Both parents knew that, even with the sponsor funds they had gotten, it would take time to send down gifts to Baron. Ichibod had so such delay. It was hard to look Olga in her smug eyes and not say something that'd get Rhyder killed.
All Rhyder could do was ration his food and explore the ant hill, waiting for inspiration to strike him.
All Baron and Runa could do was watch and hope for the best.
All Elias could do was wait for Rhyder to bite it and gets the payoff for his decades of loyal, fanatical service to the Capitol.
By the fourth day Rhyder had taken to doing what the Capitolites were calling 'doing the spider'. With his expert climbing and how the dirt tunnels were fairly easy to keep hold of Rhyder had taken to crawling along the ceilings of the tunnels, moving steadily and upside-down much like a spider. More than once he'd crawled right over a patrolling, mindless ant mutt.
Tributes always watched their backs, but they did not always look above themselves. Sword didn't do so in the Seventh Hunger Games when Runa jumped him from above and in this point in time neither did Neev from Eight when Rhyder dropped onto her.
Quick and clean, same as Rhyder's first kill. Tormented and sickened at himself as was, he felt something else within himself.
Relief. Not just for what little food and water Neev had been carrying, but also for how she'd been carrying a shiny knife. One that was easily sharp enough to kill.
Rhyder soon sped on his way, an ant mutt in hot pursuit. Armed or not, he wasn't going to take chances with the terrible mutts roaming through the darkness.
Days passed slowly, during which Rhyder took down the blind girl from Eleven who had somehow lasted this long on pure luck alone.
The Capitolites assumed he was sick simply due to the smell of blood, something they deemed understandable.
Baron and Runa knew it to be the feeling anybody who commits murder gets – one who possesses any sort of a conscious at least – when they lose their innocence, start losing their own sense of self, start treading past the border between sanity and madness.
"He's lasting longer than I thought," Olga remarked, popping open a bottle of vodka. A gift from a fan, she claimed. "You raised him well. His sacrifice won't ever be forgotten so long as this great country may exist."
Baron and Runa ignored her completely. Olga just shrugged, muttered something about the pair losing the spark they once had and knocked back the drink.
All the while Rhyder shivered as he crawled along the ceiling of another tunnel, aware of how distant tunnels were collapsing to draw the last six tributes together slowly and surely.
Inspiration finally struck Rhyder when he climbed through a small hole in the ceiling of the tunnel, skipping tons of time and coming out on the next 'floor' of the arena.
"Ant hills… they're full of ants, filled with winding tunnels… they have an entrance and exit at the very top," Rhyder whispered, lightly gasping. "Of course!"
Rhyder's exclamation earned him a terrifying twenty minute chase from an ant mutt, but gave him a plan for how he could win the Games, or at least last a few more days. The only question was… where was the exit? It'd have to be somewhere with actual light and nod just the glowing pebbles that occasionally filled the seemingly endless hallways. A place where a tribute could move through the dim light without fumbling and…
…Of course, he realised.
The Cornucopia. The one place that seemed a bit brighter than anywhere else and where he'd not been around long enough to look upwards.
It was another day of crawling around the dark ceilings before Rhyder managed to make it towards the horn of plenty, the silver structure lowly gleaming in the dim underground room. It hadn't been an easy journey and he knew it was really luck that he had made it here at all, let alone when nobody else was around.
His only clue was his inner hunch to follow the tunnels marked with more human footsteps than the rest. Surely the tunnels closest to the site of the bloodbath would have more footsteps in them, right?
Right. It was why he'd gotten there first. He worked fast, aware that the other tributes – all of them much bigger than him – could have dashed from any of the dark tunnels at any moment. Tripwires were set in front of each tunnel, practically invisible, and so Rhyder felt he had enough time to take care of his hunger and thirst.
The nation watched, bemused, as Rhyder gorged himself on several bottles of water and three entire loafs of bread. In spite of themselves even Baron and Runa had to faintly smile.
"Life is beautiful!" the boy wailed, tears welling up in his eyes as he ate a thick slice of bread with all the desperation of a starving, cornered rat.
As soon as he swallowed the bread five yells rang out, followed swiftly by five thuds. The tripwires had worked as intended, but now all of the tunnels leading out of the clearing were blocked off by his remaining opponents.
Rarity from One, Ichibod from his own District, Hilda from Seven, Hoss from Ten and Carmine from Twelve. They rose up, dusted themselves up and stared at the smaller boy in the centre of the room.
For a moment there was silent. Then there was shouting, roaring and battle cries as the five charged towards Rhyder. The son of two victors, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat and began to climb up the wall at the side of the clearing.
For a few precious seconds the five other tributes stopped, sizing each other up.
"Kill him first!" Hoss spat. "He might get lucky and get out of here if we go for each other first. Too many people win that way!"
"On it," Rarity said, starting to climb after Hoss in hot pursuit of Rhyder. "Mom and dad aren't here to save you, kid!"
Rhyder responded by kicking down a sprinkle of dirt onto Rarity's face.
"Asshole!" she shouted.
In the mentorl room Baron and Runa practically bounced on their heels, shouting and pleading for their son to climb. To climb for his life! He was good, sure, but those below him were bigger, stronger and the sheer adrenaline was helping their efforts to catch up to Rhyder. All the while the ant mutts were starting to swarm at the base of the cavernous clearing. Falling would be a death sentence.
"Go! Go! Go!" Runa yelled, pale faced and tears of sheer fear starting to fill her eyes.
Baron recalled how mere weeks ago he'd told Rhyder that cliff wall was too much for him. It seemed like nothing in comparison to the climb he was taking part in now. He prayed that he'd underestimated his son and that he truly had what it took to reach the top.
As the tributes climbed closer to the light above Hoss took the chance to ditch his large backpack of gear, no longer needing any of it aside from the knives in his belt. The backpack fell below, both lightening his own load and smacking Ichibod right in the face. She fell, screaming for her mother as the ants devoured her.
Olga pounded the desk of her own mentoring station with her fist, seething.
"Outlier scum!" she shouted, pouring herself another drink. "This was our year!"
"It still might be," Baron said, barely above a whisper. "Rhyder can still win this."
Olga never cared for Baron or Runa and especially not their son. She'd never forgiven the time he made her slip over a banana peel of all things. But, her loyalty was to the Capitol and towards Two. If he won, as far as she was concerned they all won. She'd support him.
But she sure as hell was not gonna cheer him on.
Terror was all that filled Rhyder's mind as he desperately clawed at the dirt wall, hauling himself further to the daylight above.
All it would take was a Gamemaker triggered trap to make him fall. One push of a button.
"Come on, please," whispered the boy as he made his way ever higher.
He dared not look down. Not when Hoss and Rarity were so close nor at Carmine further below and his most likely vicious glare. Especially not Hilda and how he face was covered in the blood of someone, or something, else.
He remained all the more committed to his resolve to not look down when he heard the sound of a despairing scream, a thud and Carmine being eaten by the ant mutts. The boom of the cannon caused dust and dirt to fall, though not enough to make any of the last four tributes fall.
For a moment Rhyder wondered if he was going to die of a heart attack instead of falling to the nasty mutts far below.
Snow watched the finale of the Games from the privacy of his personal office. The only one who was with him was his mostly silent, incredibly deadly assassin 'The Grim'. The beasty man stood to attention while Snow calmly sipped his wine.
"That's it, fall," Snow whispered. "You know you want to. You know that you're so very exhausted."
Snow didn't react in the slightest when Hilda fell to her death and became ant food. As soon as the cannon fired he simply called up Paris and ordered her to ensure Rhyder lost, either by making him fall or ensuring the other two were able to reach the top.
As soon as he hung up the phone the dirt wall near Rhyder began to crumble.
Rhyder yelped and shouted as his hands started to meet thin air. It was only a matter of seconds until he fell to what was sure to be among the most agonising deaths in the history of the Games. He tried his hardest to keep his grip and climb the last few meters, but it was clearly hopeless.
He briefly recalled something his mother had told him.
Fight smart.
Rhyder snapped from using his brawn to using his head. He jabbed one of his daggers into the wall, ceasing his inevitable fall. He used the other one for the same purpose a moment later. With his daggers in hand he began to claw his way into the daylight above.
Having been unbothered by the Gamemakers it was no issue for Hoss and Rarity to keep going, almost close enough to grab the smaller boy above them.
Baron and Runa watched, hardly able to breath as Rhyder hauled himself out onto the outside ground of the anthill. For a square half-mile there was only a simple field of grass, bordered off by thick trees and the force field. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.
Baron could hardly watch and Runa felt like she was going to be sick. Nonetheless they forced themselves to watch as Rhyder wheezed, choked and gasped to fill his empty lungs up with precious air.
He didn't have long to fight for his breath before Rarity and Hoss began to haul themselves up as well. With only enough time to get one of them Rhyder acted on instinct alone and threw his dagger right towards Rarity.
The girl from One fell lifelessly, the dagger wedged right between her eyes, as Hoss got onto solid ground and wheezed much like his last opponent was.
For a minute or two the remaining tributes were too worn out to fight, simply breathing deeply and groaning in pain. In that time Baron and Runa did not calm down in the slightest nor think of a single relaxing thought. Their boy had to either kill the fearsome butcher boy or die. Those were his choices.
Olga just let out a rather foul Russian curse word, seeing the outcome as inevitable when seeing the tributes side by side.
"Congratulations Stallion," Olga said, grumbling.
"Thank you kindly," Stallion replied, polite as always.
Two sponsors were sent in by the capitol citizens at the last moment that was allowed. Stallion's, of course, fell at a much faster pace and soon the butcher had discarded his knife down the ant hill and replaced it with a deadly looking sword. He smirked, giving a few experimental strikes across the air.
Rhyder looked up helplessly as his own parachute fell at a teasingly slow rate. It'd be at least two minutes before it came down.
Hoss charged and Rhyder ran for his life around the grassy field.
"Come on, just do it," Snow muttered, starting to look very impatient.
All the measures had been taken for the message to be carried out. The message of Rhyder';s death and all it would symbolise. He just needed the butcher to land one hit and that'd be that.
If Hoss failed, well, he knew a certain man in Two who was near retirement as it was. He always had back-up plans, just in case. He merely hoped to not have to use them, having zero tolerance for failure.
He relaxed, smirking as Hoss slashed his sword across Rhyder's back. Not particularly deep, but it was a very good start.
"How's that feel?" Hoss spat. "Feel that? That's for the first kid you careers killed! There's plenty more where that came from! How many kids did your career system kill now, huh? A few hundred? You better believe this is gonna hurt!"
Rhyder responded by throwing his dagger as best as he could. It struck Hoss in the shoulder – painful, but not lethal – and the butcher boy howled, but did not slow down particularly much. He didn't even pause to yank it back out.
The parachute was falling closer to the ground… right down towards the hole that led back into the ant hill. A few moments longer and his sponsor would be lost.
Rhyder put all his remaining energy into a desperate sprint towards the parachute.
Baron and Runa were frozen like statues, staring helplessly as their son ran for the parachute with Hoss not far behind him. It was all or nothing. The cameras delighted in showing how bloodsoaked the back of his tribute shirt was.
Rhyder reached the hole.
Rhyder made a final leap.
Rhyder took hold of the parachute.
Rhyder reached solid ground, only just.
Hoss closed in with his sword, ready to land the kill on their unarmed son. Before either parent could scream it became apparent what Rhyder's sponsor gift had been.
A shield, one made the perfect size for him and forged out of titanium.
Rhyder grunted, his back feeling on fire and the rest of him not much better than that. He wanted to throw up. He wanted the pain to just end already. He was starting to not care anymore.
Why did people in his district and in others willingly subject themselves to this torture? For fame and fortune? His parents had always been right, this was absolutely barbaric.
"Just die already!" Hoss screamed. "Die like those little kids your kind butchered!"
Clangs rang out on every television set across the nation, sparks flying as the blade hit the shield over and over again. It was exciting, but surely Rhyder would tire out before Hoss did, wouldn't he? After that the outcome would be obvious.
Hoss didn't know Rhyder's plan, but people in the audience started to slowly catch on to Rhyder's final gamble. Whether or not he'd stay conscious enough to make it work remained to be seen.
"…Shit. No, no, no," Snow muttered, his voice dark and his grip on his wine glass hard enough to cause a crack to form.
"Hope you're not hemophobic! There's gonna be blood!" Hoss screeched.
Rhyder was close to passing out from exhaustion, true. It wouldn't be five minutes now until it happened and his plan worked out.
But Rhyder was gradually pushing Hoss backwards withy every defected strike, inch by inch. Hoss didn't react to this, knowing the forcefield was far away. He was entirely correct about this.
But the hole that led to the ants below was ever so close behind him. The large, aggressive boy was less than a foot away from it and was so caught up in combat he had no idea.
"No, get away from that hole!" Snow shouted.
Clang! Another two inches back. It dawned on Snow just how badly he'd misjudged this plan of his. How he'd not realised just how good at climbing the damn kid was.
As he seethed, still hoping for a possible victory to his plan, Caesar Flickerman was providing excited and frantic commentary of the action going on. The young man may have his own private reservations at times over some arena content, but he was on top of his game with narrating this battle.
"Hemophobic? I hope Hoss isn't claustrophobic!" Caesar yelled, giddier than a kid on Capitolmas. "There are ants down there! It's dark! It's gloomy! And… you're going down!"
With one final deflection of the blade Rhyder used his final energy to thrust his shield forwards right into Hoss' chest. The boy stumbled lightly backwards… and his foot met thin air. With a shout of sudden panic and terror he fell like a brick down into the dark ant hill below. His cannon fired not long after that.
"…Fuck," Snow muttered, sighing.
"Want me to deal with Elias?" The Grim asked, courteous as always.
"I'd say so, yes," Snow agreed. "But let me give him a call first."
"Understood," The Grim replied, giving one slow nod.
Baron and Runa burst into tears. Tears of complete joy and relief. Against all the odds their son had managed to win the Games. It was luck, it was skill… it was a miracle.
They didn't stick around as the other victors from Two celebrated their newest victor after so long. They dashed off like rockets to the medical bay, ready to wait for their son and see him the instant he was returned from the arena.
Ogla took one look at the screen where Rhyder dropped to his knees and collapsed onto his side, utterly worn out. She never liked the boy, but… a victor was still a victor and it had been too long since their last one.
"I take back what I said Stallion," Olga stated. "Better luck next year."
"Thank you kindly," Stallion said, lightly sighing as the feeling of another defeat filled him up.
District Two were, of course, glad to have another victor after so long. Having not known of any of the behind the scenes scheming and politics they had no reason not to cheer over being victorious. They had no issues with the son of their first and second victors coming home as the champion. Even Ichibod's family were glad that, at the very least, their district won and the one who actually killed their daughter had not made it back to his own family.
As was the case from before the Games it was a time of great change for District Two. The new victor they had claimed had more kids than before signing up to be careers and possible tributes. It had more money being spent on defences and weapons. It pushed all the traditional masonry work off to the side more than ever.
One of the biggest changes was experience by Elias Overwhill himself. He'd served the Capitol for numerous years, sacrificed friends and even family to help them, impress them and earn favours over the decades.
He was told in one phone call that he was to be written out of history. He would be an unperson for his failure. He would die and be forgotten, recalled only as either deja-vu of somebody else or simply discarded as a bad dream. His one failure invalidated his entire life of fascism and brutality.
He had five minutes to stew on this in despair before The Grim paid him a visit, claiming both his life and his uneaten steak dinner with his trusty knife.
His replacement was put into power right away, as if he'd never even left. Olga Machete was sworn in as the Headmistress of Overwhill Academy, vowing to serve the Capitol, train the future generations to be loyal warriors and, a promise to her homeland, to being many more victors sooner than later. They couldn't win every year, but they could keep the gaps between wins as narrow as possible.
Overwhill Academy soon got a new name that it would be known as for many, many years yet to come.
Machete Ridge.
Far away from Machete Ridge and anything to do with the Games a family of three worked as a team to climb their way up a rather tall, dangerous cliff face. For many it would be suicide to even try making their way to the halfway mark, let alone the top.
For the Overwhills it was just another family day out. They all made it to the top and sat together at the edge of the peak, legs dangling over the side as they gazed out towards the beautiful sunset lowering on the far away horizon.
Time passes as they gazed out, silently.
"Dad?" Rhyder eventually asked.
"Yes?" Baron replied.
"…Does the pain ever go away?" Rhyder asked, quietly. "The guilt… the memories… wishing I'd not had to kill anybody to make it home?"
Runa gently held her son close to herself while Baron took a deep, quiet breath.
"No son. It doesn't even go away, at least not entirely," Baron replied, shaking his head. "But…"
"But what?" Rhyder asked.
"What your father is trying to say is that… when you are with family, with people you love and trust… it gets easier," Runa said. "When your dad won his Games he had his mother. When I won my Games I had Grandpa and your dad. Together… it's easier."
"Exactly," Baron moved closer to join the group hug. "It's easier with family."
Rhyder smiled, content for at least the current moment in time as he and his parents continued looking out at the sunset. Maybe he'd feel awful in a day, an hour or even a minute… but for now he felt ok.
He'd do his parents proud and continue to speak out against the vile Games for as long as he lived, no matter the cost. Even if the other districts did not believe him, what with the reputation the Twos had, he'd do all he could to stick it to the Capitol.
A water bucket above Snow's office sounded like a good place to start.
A moment of silence passed before Katniss and Peeta continued their walk down the street.
"Well, I don't know the guy, but I'm glad at least one victor child managed to make it out of the arena," Katniss said, glancing off to the side.
"As am I," Peeta agreed.
The couple stopped a few paces later and looked down at the fortieth face imprinted in the Walk of Victors. Glancing back at them with an anxious, flustered expression was a very freckly looking girl with fairly full, chubby cheeks and long hair that went past her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and the sort to never look anybody in the eyes.
"Lammy Phyronix," Katniss read, curious.
There we go, that was the tale of Rhyder! I think that the son of two victors ended up working out quite well? Just made sense to me that in context he'd be the target of so many within the arena and, well, from there one thing led to another and things just pieced themselves together really well without me needing to really plan out a huge amount. I feel really satisfied with this one, but as always you be the judge, jury and executioner and let me know what you think. I take all feedback on board. Until next time, stay tuned for the last victor of the fourth decade of the Hunger Games!
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), Rhyder Overwhill (39th 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), Porter Tripp (38th 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)