38 - Night 3
Calico Hemingway, 17, District 8
He can't stay here any longer. He thought it'd be fine and that maybe Luxor really could get him to the end of the Games, back home in one piece, but right now Calico isn't sure. Every time he looks at Luxor he thinks of those arms constricting around him, caging him in, trapping him, and he feels like he's back in the office with Snow and Nero, no way out of the ultimatum he's been dealt. He's taken back to the feeling of warmth when Atlas and Delaine splattered over him, surrounded him entirely as he stood in horror at the front of the crowd. It's a warmth that makes him afraid, makes him so uneasy that he isn't even sure if afraid is the right word for it.
He just can't stay.
Calico is as silent as possible as he packs the food he'd stolen back into his bag. He's a ghost to the sleeping boys across the room, stealing their supplies—supplies he'd given them in the first place. There won't be a Calico waiting for them when they wake up. There won't be food, nor will there be a hatchet or medicine. It's selfish, he knows others will say. But Calico is on his own, and being on your own in the Hunger Games means doing whatever's necessary to survive.
He zips the backpack up and struggles to sling it over his shoulder. The weight of the extra supplies makes it heavier, just a tad difficult for him to carry. But Calico is determined to leave with everything that will optimise his survival.
A cough bubbles up from his chest. Calico forces it down, hand clamped over his mouth and nose, as he watches the sleeping boys for any sign of rousing. Seconds pass. Minutes. Neither seems to be awake, softly snoring away into their pillows.
It feels like he's walking on eggshells when he leaves the room. Any section of the floor could creak under him, alerting his former allies to his retreat. He's not sure if he can outrun them. Finn, for sure, but Luxor is… Well, models don't get their physiques by just sitting around and doing nothing. But he makes it to the staircase leading to the ground floor. He descends with barely a sound from below, the mansion almost aiding his escape. His feet land on the carpet of the ground floor, the lobby, and Calico lets out a small breath. Halfway there, he thinks.
Or so he would like to believe, but he finds himself distracted rather quickly upon reaching the lobby. At first he thinks it's a screen that hadn't turned off, but the flashing in the corner of his eye is too small, too infrequent to be a screen. Calico rubs at his eyes and turns on the spot; wherever the flashing was coming from, it was definitely not where a screen would project. Not unless this house was built for strange people who like to watch soap operas from under the staircase.
Calico walks to the underside of the staircase and spots the source of the light within an instant. There aren't any matches or flashlights in his bag, as far as he knows, but he's been awake long enough that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Enough to at least make out the shape of the flashing.
He rubs his eyes again. Blinks at the light. It's still there, flashing away like nothing's wrong. But Calico knows damn well that the flashing isn't as innocent as it looks.
Not with that white, rectangular packet strapped to the wall. Not with the wiring that's been jammed into the packet, connecting to the little green light.
Calico abandons subtlety and breaks into the best sprint he can. He forces open the lobby door, exposing himself to the cold air outside, and he heads straight for the entrance of the suburbia. Calico refuses to stop until he crosses the threshold of the gates. His lungs burn and he's choking on the air, but he doesn't stop for even a second. It isn't until Calico stumbles over the metal along the entrance that he slows, and then he stops completely once he realises he's out. He looks over his shoulder, back at the suburbia that Finn and Luxor are still sleeping inside.
A scoff of a laugh comes out before he can stop himself. Calico shakes his head, squats down in a position better suited for regaining his breath. He just stays there, panting between his knees and struggling against the heavy weight on his back.
Calico drops the bag to the ground and unzips it. There has to be something he can pull out and carry in his hands, take off some of the weight on his back. Nothing too heavy, but just enough to keep going without as much struggle. He stuffs a hand in, feels the handle of the hatchet, and he pauses. Best to look at what he's doing, he thinks. Slicing open his hand would be pretty ridiculous after the effort he just put into leaving his alliance.
So he peeks inside, evaluates each item he'd stuffed in there. Medicine, food, chemistry kit, blanket—
Calico yanks out the blanket without a second thought. He can definitely carry this separately, and it'll keep him warm while he finds somewhere else to hide for the time being. Calico puts the backpack on backwards, the contents at his front, and then he drapes the woollen blanket over his shoulders like a cloak. It must be heavier than it looks, he thinks, because the bag is so much lighter without the blanket stuffed in the bottom.
He follows the road of Mason Street until he reaches a crossroads, one path leading to the lake centre and the other continuing down to a new street entirely. He remembers going the latter when he'd done the perimeter check and encountered the Capitol girls. After all the commotion yesterday, he doubts that anyone will be at the lake centre. Calico turns left, a silent prayer muttered under his breath, and trudges on to the exit of Mason Street.
It's a gamble, for sure, and he can't say how long he'll last without water. He isn't sure how many people will take pity on him—on Cham being made uncomfortable, he supposes—but he doesn't like his chances of being sponsored anything. More so, Luxor has a horde of fans back in the Capitol. Will they side with the little blond who pushed him away? Absolutely not. If anything, the situation of being stuck in the Hunger Games with Luxor is a fantasy trip for some of these people.
Calico shudders under the blanket as he approaches the opening, leaving Mason Street behind him. He wonders if they imagine Luxor's professional side. If they imagine the suave, silent model they see him as. Or do they imagine him as the person he really is? Well-meaning, but certainly far from executing it properly? A—and Calico hates that this is the most accurate term for it—hot mess?
He hugs the blanket tighter around him, almost squashing his bag against his chest. He had so much faith in Luxor in the beginning. Didn't immediately report Calico as a rebel (even if unintentional), and he even went so far as to protect his secret from others as best he could. He'd ask to touch Calico, didn't yell or get frustrated when he clammed up and stopped acting emotions. The only time Luxor had seen Calico do anything remotely emotional for real was during the interviews, and it'd been such a mess.
Calico isn't proud of how easily Luxor had found him, hiding under the table of a nearby stylist work station. He isn't proud of how he'd screamed about how much of a monster he was, forgetting his friends so easily. He isn't even proud of how he'd yelled at Luxor that he'd die because of Calico, because he was too stunned to volunteer rather than pretend to be Cham. It'd been horrible. It was everything Calico wanted to avoid in his life, because he just couldn't process it.
And he'd been so fast to trust Luxor as soon as he'd said, "You did what you had to."
What a fool you were, Calico Hemingway.
His legs collapse under him when he reaches the edge of the lake. It's brighter than he thought it'd be, like a bioluminescent glow is coming from the depths. He thinks he can see some of the glowing move around every few seconds. Fish? It must be. If he were more confident he'd try catch a few, but right now he has doubts about his abilities.
Calico stuffs his face into the blanket and lets out a harsh cough. Ever since coming into the arena his lungs have suffered, and even now he finds himself wishing he'd listened to Luxor when the boy had insisted Calico, whose airways were most vulnerable, take one of the air masks they had between them. His throat burns with every cough and he can feel fluid flying through his teeth. Calico wheezes as best he can between each cough, until finally the episode passes.
Were it not for the bioluminescent fish, he might never have seen the blood smearing the corner of his blanket. But there's more than enough light available, and Calico can only stare as the mixture of blood and spit slowly begins to dry.
Cetronia Livius, 17, District 2
All it takes is three days and three nights for the most outrageous of things to happen. Three days for the owl to finally make its move, swallowing two whole and killing just one; three nights for the sole survivor to stumble his way back to the owl's nest, standing just a few feet shy of Cyber's mines.
Cetronia lifts the lantern from its hook and carries it with her to the opening of the cornucopia. Behind her Morganite and Valentina keep their weapons at the ready. Cyber is still in what must be considered sleep mode, unaware of their new guest. It's just the mines and Cetronia standing between Croix and the vast array of supplies that will keep him alive one day further.
She takes one step out of the cornucopia and holds the lantern up to get a better view of Croix.
"What brings you here?" she calls out. There's a small groan behind her, a sign that Cyber has awoken.
Croix, covered in mild burns and looking the most disheveled she's ever seen him, just shrugs and leans against the doorframe. "I was in the neighbourhood," he replies. "Thought I'd drop by."
Cetronia grunts.
"Your visit is noted," she says. "Leave."
"And after all the trouble I went through to escape your owl? Cetronia, you wound me."
She adjusts her grip on the lamp. "I'm about to."
His shoulders shake with laughter, but he seems to be smart enough not to take a step inside. Cetronia has to commend him for that much, and it gives her enough peace of mind to turn back around and wave a hand at her allies. Morganite lowers her knives with great reluctance, but Valentina keeps the crossbow aimed at Croix.
Cetronia smirks. Cautious, just the way she should be. She turns back to face Croix just as Cyber opens his eyes, casting a cyan glow against the cornucopia walls.
"What do you want?" she tries again. Croix runs a hand through his hair—scowls at what must be a few strands that come out with the action—and stands up straight again.
"Well," he starts. "I thought I could be of wonderful use to you, Miss Livius! I mean, not only am I vastly more knowledgeable when it comes to the Games, but I got a peek at a little something you're going to love."
She rolls her eyes and looks back to the trio in the cornucopia.
"You," she says to Valentina. The blond startles, lowering her crossbow. "How much do you know about the Games? Behind the scenes?"
The hesitation speaks levels, and Cetronia barely gives her time to actually answer once the seconds tick by. She only knows a limited amount, which means Croix isn't bluffing when he puts his Gamemaker ambitions on the line. Which also means she might have to actually give him a chance.
Cetronia sighs through her nose. She really, really wanted to wash her hands of Croix and Gossamer once the bloodbath ended. As devious and intelligent as they are, they're far from what she would consider allies.
"What is it?" she says.
And Croix just taps his forehead with a smug smile. If there weren't rows of mines separating them, she'd storm over and punch the expression off of his face. She doesn't have time for this—Cetronia was trained to utilise her time efficiently, and Croix being coy is stopping her from going out and hunting. If he sees where she leaves through, he may even try sneak in later. The bastard has the height for it, at least.
Cetronia backtracks to her blanket pile and pulls her morningstar from the folds, slinging it over her shoulder nonchalantly. She nods to Cyber, now awake and alert, and commands, "Lead him through the safest route."
Cyber looks at Croix once, then back to Cetronia. "I could kill him," he points out. It's not an offer, but more a warning. Can you really trust me?
Luckily for Cyber, trust isn't what's holding the alliance together.
"Then you kill him," she says with a shrug.
"He would appreciate dying a little less despicably," Croix calls out.
Cetronia smirks back at him. She hangs the lamp back up on its hook and puts her free hand on Cyber's shoulder.
"That's up to the kid to decide. Good luck," she adds.
She sits back down on the blanket pile and keeps her weapon handy. Cyber begins calling out instructions to Croix, apparently safe for him to traverse, and Cetronia can only wait. Wait for Cyber to lead Croix, either to his death or to the cornucopia. Wait for the right time to leave for another hunt. Wait for another day in the arena to end.
Valentina sits next to her as they watch the spectacle. She's been doing that lately, standing or sitting closer to Cetronia like a safety blanket; Cetronia assumes it's all the praise, from her sabotage to the kill she'd scored yesterday, but for all she knows it could just be fear. Fighting other tributes, and even being under the watchful gaze of the owl—Valentina could be relying on Cetronia to keep the terrors at bay, if only because she's proven her strength right before their eyes.
Both girls settle into the blanket pile while Morganite lays back down. She looks exhausted, and it's reflected in how quickly she falls asleep. Once Morganite enters a deep sleep, Valentina sets down her crossbow on the ground.
"You really think we can trust him?" she asks. Cetronia gives her a sidelong glance.
"Which one?" she mutters. "The cyborg or the brat?"
Valentina sniffs, scrunching up her face. "Nikostratos. Cyber is… something else entirely. I'm more worried about Nikostratos, though."
"If he makes it, he makes it," Cetronia says. "If he really does have something that I'll like the sound of, then perhaps he might even live to see another day."
"You sound confident."
"Do I?"
The floorboard creaks. Cyber and Croix go silent, breaths held as they wait for whatever reaction they're expecting. When nothing happens, Croix immediately begins threatening Cyber in a low, but still stressed tone.
It isn't until Croix is halfway to the cornucopia that Cetronia bothers to ask Valentina about Gossamer. It's rare to see the two apart, and Morganite and Valentina were the last to see them together.
"Did you see which way Gossamer went after the owl ate Croix?" she asks softly.
Valentina nods. "He went over to the big building over in the, uh… East…?"
"East," Cetronia agrees.
"It was where they'd come from in the first place," Valentina adds.
Cetronia hums. At least they know that much on their own. It won't be hard to tie up that particular loose end if Croix doesn't turn out to be a good source of information. Gossamer's injured, after all, and the only weapon he had is with his former ally. Unless he has some food and to keep him going, he's easy pickings.
She turns her gaze back to Croix, now at the very edge of the minefield and receiving final instructions from Cyber. She'll hold off hunting tonight, she thinks. It can't hurt to take a break and use her free time to formulate a proper plan—especially since the first tribute she'd seen got away so easily on the first night. With a better strategy in mind, and perhaps with the help of someone who knows how the Games work, she can start making steady progress to going home a victor.
Cetronia lets out a huff of a laugh. "I guess I am confident," she muses.
Oryza Belfast, 15, District 9
There's only so much the electrolyte sticks in their first-aid kit can do. Bel stares down at the three left in the bag, then at the ten wrappers scattered around her makeshift bed. They'd been rationing as best as they could, limiting themselves to two a day, but now it feels useless. Bel is starving—she's never gone this long without even just a few crumbs and some water.
She pulls one of the sticks out and hands it to Church. He's starting to wear down, but not as much as she is. He's sleeping a little longer than on the first day, and twice she's caught him stumble while walking around the attic. As strong as he's acting for her sake, giving her hope, she can still see the cracks in the foundation. Church takes the electrolyte stick and stares down at it with a blank gaze. She wonders if he knew they'd wind up like this. She wonders if it's always this hard to eat in the Games.
Bel opens her own, and she ignores the over-sweetened flavour of the stick. Even just a little water to wash the taste down would do wonders.
The sticks take no time to finish. She lays back down on the makeshift bed they'd fashioned from old couch cushions and thin sheets, and she stares at the ceiling while the seconds tick by. She really misses her parents. She really misses her brother. She really misses home.
When Church nudges her shoulder she sits back up, and she watches his face intently. It's hard to see when it's so dark already, and the stars only do so much to help her see through the attic window. She watches his lips move, runs the movements over in her head again and again. Finally, after countless assumptions based on words she'd seen uttered before, her stomach leaps for joy once his intentions become apparent. Bel gasps and smiles widely at Church, and he returns it without hesitation.
He's going looking for food.
As much as she wants to come with him, he insists she rest while he's out. The attic has been pretty safe so far, since no one's found them yet, so it's not like she can argue about it. But she doesn't want to be left entirely on her own, especially if something happens to him out there. Will he at least take the medicine kit? She asks him as much, and Church very slowly picks up the bag with their supplies in it. He empties it of more pressing, more drastic supplies, until finally there's enough room for him to tuck his hatchet inside.
Bel watches him climb down the ladder, and after a few seconds he decides to leave it open for her. Bel gives Church a thumbs-up while she watches him leave. Minutes pass. Five, ten, twenty—and then she sighs, turns back for her bed. She just has to wait now, and that's going to be the most excruciating part.
She recalls something Church had told her back in the Capitol, almost as soon as he'd found out her parents sheltered her from the Games. She remembers him saying that there were almost always ferocious animals, muttations, in every arena. She remembers him saying that the Gamemakers have all the power once you're launched. What she remembers best, though, is the sliver of hope she'd been given when he'd said that tributes were always, no matter when or where, broadcast live to Panem. And if it means what she thinks it does, then her family is watching her right now.
Bel feels the anxiety tug at her chest. She's never been away from her family this long, either. When did she last see them? It's already been three days in the arena, then the interview night. Plus the three days of training, then the parade… Almost ten days, Bel realises grimly. She hasn't seen her family in almost ten days.
She needs to tell them herself how she's doing.
Bel sits on her bed cross-legged, deep breaths in and deep breaths out. She holds up her hands, waits a few seconds; once she's sure that whatever monitoring system here is focused on her, she moves.
I miss you all.
The other kids are really competitive.
The girl who chased us scares me.
Church is very nice.
He makes sure I'm okay every day.
He even stopped me from watching the bloodbath.
Her hands start to shake. Bel has to take a moment, lips quivering as the anxiety continues to grow. Are they even watching now? What if they miss her messages? What will have been the point?
But then the memory of calling out for her mother hits her, and Bel feels a whine slip from her throat.
I'm really, really scared.
Why do we have to do this?
I just want to go home.
I just want to be with you all again.
I love you, Mom.
I love you, Dad.
I love you, Pento.
Please give me strength.
Bel can't stop her hands from shaking. Breathing is difficult as reality sets in, as her heart aches from the separation. It just overwhelms her as she lays back down on the bed. Her legs won't move, and all the energy from the electrolyte stick may as well have gone out the window. Maybe it's for the best that Church left her here. Someone might hear her if she happens to cry too loud.
Maybe she can still be useful, she thinks. Checking the house can't hurt, and Church did leave the ladder down for her. She might not have something to defend herself with, but at least she can get a good look around.
Even with wobbly legs and less energy than usual, Bel still makes it down the loose ladder. Church told her it always makes a loud creaking sound whenever they climb it, and she chews her lip as ever so slowly the panic over how much noise she may be making creeps into her mind. She perseveres until her feet touch the floor, and then Bel looks up and down the hall the ladder lands in. She hasn't really seen much of the house yet—neither has Church, since they've been avoiding the outside world after the first night. But maybe she can change that tonight. If she has a good lay of the area, she might be able to suggest other places for them to hide! If someone comes looking for them, they might check the attic first, right?
Yes, Bel thinks with growing optimism. This is how she can be useful, even with her lack of knowledge about the Games. Church won't have to do everything himself, not anymore. Bel can help.
The first room in the hall she finds is a bathroom, and Bel takes a moment to inspect it. Her home doesn't have the best of bathrooms, but this place looks like heaven. A large shower, a larger bathtub—made of that fancy white material from the Capitol!—and a mirror so big she can see the whole room in it. Bel wonders what kind of people would've lived here, had the earthquake and tsunami not happened. What kinds of things would they use instead of plain goat's milk soap?
The second room, further down the hall, looks to be a big bedroom. The bed is all over the place, pillows torn and dressers overturned around it, but Bel can guess which member of the family would sleep in here. She can see her parents relaxing in the big room, finally granted more space than just their small shack in District Nine. The broken window behind the bed even has a really nice view of the rest of the street, and as Bel walks further inside she can see the night sky clearer than before. She wishes the houses back home were built like this. She wishes the view from her shack was as good as this.
She turns on her heel, ready to inspect the rest of the house. Who knows how many more rooms there are? But Bel stops in her tracks and blinks rapidly at the door she'd come through. She waits a second, waits a moment, and then she moves cautiously out the door. The ladder is still down, but one of its rungs is flashing every so often. Bel stares at the single wooden board, at the green light appearing beneath it. She wonders if Church had noticed it on his way out.
When Bel is finally back to the ladder, she finds the source of the light. She finds the little plastic box strapped to the bottom of the rung, and she watches as the light continues to flash with no sign of stopping.
Is this bad? She feels like it might be bad. This kind of stuff isn't always available for use where she's from, but something just feels off about it all. The wires, the plastic box, the green light flashing above a small glass globe that has yet to come to life. She may not know what it is from the top of her head, but Bel's instincts are more than making up for that—and they're saying she'd better tell Church when he comes back, no matter what.
Bel abandons exploring the house. The possibility of something happening now that she knows about the box is too heavy to ignore. She sneaks back up the ladder, hands shaking once more, and returns to her bed. She's still helping, she tells herself. But she's being safe about it, so Church doesn't worry.
Cyber Tronovsky, 12, C-District 7
Four A.M.
Start of a new day, he supposes. The sun hasn't risen yet, won't rise for another hour and seventeen minutes, so he could argue it's still nighttime. It makes pushing himself to stay awake easier. It makes his caution feel valid.
Across the cornucopia, Croix watches him. Ever since being welcomed inside, his information about the map Gossamer had been sponsored shared, he's been sitting patiently on his own. Cyber doesn't trust him. Cyber almost wishes he'd given him the wrong instructions and put an end to the tense situation sooner. But what's done is done, and so he sits in the dark between Croix and the girls.
Cetronia called it a night an hour ago. She's got a plan, and she wants to sleep longer than usual to make up for the hours she'll be active. Croix said something about being too full of adrenalin to sleep, but Cyber doesn't believe it for a second. Even if it's true, he doesn't trust him not to do something. So he sits, waits, and watches for the first sign of exhaustion from the older teen.
Croix doesn't seem to have any intention of sleeping any time soon, though.
"So," Croix says slowly. Behind Cyber, Valentina stirs in her sleep. Croix glances down at her and lowers his voice. "You're a rather special one."
Cyber blinks at him once. He's so used to not changing his expression that it may as well be child's play keeping up his poker face. "In a way."
"How much of you is machine?"
Standard question, but it's obvious he's scoping out Cyber. If he's planning to kill them in secret, vagueness is key.
"Eighty percent."
Croix huffs a laugh. He nods his head once at Cyber, a silent kudos for his answer.
"And your emotions? Last I heard, they'd been shut off."
Shut off, like he's all-machine. Never mind the fact that Cyber's brain and heart are still human, even if the majority of him isn't.
"Removed," Cyber says shortly. "Shutting off emotions entirely is impossible. My capability for them was removed."
"Semantics," Croix dismisses. "How'd you get them back?"
Isn't it obvious? Cyber furrows his brow and stares unblinking at Croix's expression. He can't see any confusion, any genuine curiosity; is he just getting him to confirm it out loud? Why? Is there something about admitting to the sabotages out loud that Cyber doesn't know? Or is Croix just trying to make him overthink?
Regardless of what it is, Cyber holds his ground and says, "You and I both know you're smart enough to figure it out on your own."
Another nod of kudos, and then Croix is smiling as he leans back against the wall. He's as far as he can get without being out of sight, and Cyber has a feeling Cetronia knew he'd stay up all night to make sure Croix went to sleep before him.
"Your whole thing with your dad," Croix goes on, still smiling, "is rather interesting. From what I heard the live feed of your interview got cut off, and audience members were forced to sign gag orders with regards to it. I find it rather curious that a simple, loving father and scientist from Three's death has to be censored."
He's trying to get to you, Cyber tells himself. Classic trick to throw someone's concentration off.
"My father was murdered," Cyber says evenly, "and it was for the technology I was made from. The technology that saved my life."
"Funny. I haven't seen any technology similar to your own design in the Capitol. How many years has it been?"
Cyber scowls at him. "Are you accusing me of lying?"
Croix shrugs. "Your words, not mine," he sings.
Tactics to throw him off or not, Cyber won't stand for this thread of conversation. He rises from the pile, throws his blanket down where he'd been sitting, and he clenches his fists tightly by his sides.
"Are you," Cyber hisses slowly, every word enunciated, "calling me a liar?"
"I'm not saying anything," Croix chuckles. "If I were to say something, it'd be more along the lines of your father selling you to keep himself afloat and reprogramming you. Was there even a body? How do you know all your memories are real if your emotions can be 'removed' so easily?"
Cyber's charging before he can stop himself. He's never heard his feet make such loud thuds against a floor before, his footsteps always measured and careful, but all caution is out the window right now. No, Cyber is running, screaming, and he's got Croix in his sights.
"Don't you dare say that about him!" Cyber screams. He lands on Croix, knocks him to the floor. He raises his fist, holds him by the collar of his shirt. Croix smirks, he smirks—
"Enough!"
Two arms loop around him, pulling him off the teen with ease. Cyber howls and screeches, fights against whoever's pulled him away. This bastard deserves it, he insists. Why won't they just let him punch him?
It isn't until he's slammed on the ground, forced out of commission and left to watch as Croix just keeps smirking that he realises who's got him. Cetronia doesn't hold back with restraining him, and while it hurts—it hurts so much—he can't bring himself to scream in pain. He can't bring himself to abandon his rage while Croix is still here.
"What happened?" Cetronia demands. Valentina and Morganite have their weapons ready again, and they've got them trained on Croix—rightfully so.
"He insulted my dad!" Cyber yells. "He insulted my memories of him!"
Croix shrugs as he stands back up. He dusts off his clothes so terribly casually. "I was suggesting his memories were tampered with," he says innocently. Cyber screeches at him, but Croix persists. "It's rather easy to do, if you've got the knowledge to build a body that's almost lifelike. You can't always trust things at face value, right?"
"I should've steered you into a mine!"
"I mean…" Cyber freezes when he hears Valentina's voice. She can't possibly agree with Croix, can she? "It's possible. Even if it wasn't programming, there's always brainwashing…"
Cyber struggles against Cetronia's grip. "I wasn't brainwashed!" he yells.
He kicks and yells, even as the silence between the others drags on. They can't be siding against him, right? They've known him longer than Croix—they know his intentions better than Croix's!
But the silence only drags on, and Croix's smirk only grows. Cyber can feel the dread in his stomach as Cetronia shifts her grip.
"Regardless," she says, "you still attacked him. We've established that his information is valuable."
Cetronia lifts Cyber up, holding him in her arms and preventing him from fighting back. She turns for the opening of the cornucopia, and as she walks out she calls over her shoulder, "Bring one of the staffs we have."
Morganite scrambles for a box filled with weapons, yanking out a bo staff without question. Cyber can't believe what's going on right now. They're seriously taking Croix's side? After all he's done? After all he's said?
"Cetronia," Cyber begs, "please, he provoked me! He was trying to get a reaction!"
"I know," she says. Cyber lets out a sob at the statement. Why, then? Why this? She walks closer and closer to the storage room behind the cornucopia, where the double doors can easily be locked with the bo staff jammed between the handles. "For both your safeties, it's better to keep you away from him."
Just as they reach the doors, Cyber kicks out and begins yelling again. "Lock him up instead! I'm your ally! Won't it be easier to keep an eye on him if you—"
"Then there's the risk of you cornering him." Her tone is final. Morganite opens the doors, and Cyber is thrown unceremoniously inside. He lands with a thud, his body sliding along the floor. Pain explodes all over—but it's greatest source is his right elbow. "This is for our best interest."
Cyber gets up and charges at the door, but he's too late. They're shut, the bo staff wedged in place, and he's left on his own in the windowless storage room. Is this what Croix wanted, he thinks? To get the planner, the forethinker, out of the picture? He slides down the door, dropping to the floor as he analyses the conversation. His elbow still hurts, distracting him every so often, and he can't hear any conversation on the other side of the doors.
When he feels at his elbow, he gasps and twists his arm as far as he can to see the damage. Some of the synthetic skin has torn, a piece of his metal skeleton exposed. It's barely an inch of tearing, but it's still substantial damage compared to all the torment he'd suffered at the hands of Capitol children.
Cyber closes his eyes and runs a hand down his face. Even if he gets out of here, no one is going to be able to fix this. The one person who knew what they were doing was his father—and Cyber, despite the insults thrown at him tonight, knows exactly where that option went. He holds his elbow and lays on the floor. He buries his face against the wood panels and forces himself back to sleep, to the idleness he'd denied himself of all night.
Here we go! Night 3 is out, and hopefully Day 4 won't be too far off! As usual, lemme know what you think and I'll leave you with a QQ!
QQ #33: Which POV stood out most to you and why?
Simple question, but there wasn't much that happened that warrants a whole question for it I think. I'd still love to know what you think!