With thanks to Katrace and AbbyCoraby123 for your reviews of the last chapters.
Y 184-08-31 T 13:59:30
Day 1
The sun was fake and it beat onto his head. The Cornucopia shined in the light. They stood in a wide circle at a large crossroads, and the Presidential Balcony loomed above them, protruding from the black glass Training Center that went straight up, into the sky that Emil was certain was fake. The Training Center was not the only tall building around, but it was still the tallest in the Capitol, and it seemed to hang the sky from its height like a tent pole for a canvas.
Emil was in an artificial valley- tall buildings surrounded him. Directly behind him, as he pivoted slowly on his plate, he saw the Victory Walk he had come uncontrollably through on a speeding chariot; the stadia thousands of Capitolians had celebrated his uncontrolled parade on were now empty, hundreds upon hundreds of empty rows of empty seats. It was eerily silent. Emil had lived in District 12 all his life, the hum of old mining machinery forming a backdrop to his life. Sound he could deal with. Sound he could understand. But for miles around in this impeccable, immaculate city's copy, all that was audible were the breaths of his competitors and the beating of his own heart.
He was certain it was a copy of the Capitol, that much was obvious to him. While he would question the Capitol's decision in choosing their own city to stage a celebration of bloodletting, there was no chance they would mix their own citizens into the fight. That being said, it was a good copy. Emil had committed the details of what he had seen in the Capitol to memory, as he committed many other matters to memory, and he saw little difference between here and the Capitol he had seen. There were, however, small differences; the Training Center was a few floors too tall, for instance.
Another small difference were the twenty-four tributes waiting to sprint off their plates and kill each other, stood in a ring waiting for death.
Emil turned again on the metal plate, flicking his eyes around the Cornucopia. Clear crystal, angular and sharp, there were backpacks and small weapons strewn on the paved streets around it, but within Emil could see a veritable plethora of carbon-fibre and steel weaponry, a vast store of food. That was unusual for a Cornucopia; but, Emil mused, made perfect sense. If they were trapped in an empty city, food and water would be an especial problem for all.
Finally, Emil's gaze shifted to his apparent ally, Cesal. Tense and shifting, Cesal was on the opposite side of the circle of tributes; his eyes flicked pensively from the arena to the fake sky, back down- he met Emil's nervous gaze. Something Emil couldn't quantify passed through the boy's glittering eyes.
Emil knew the nature of their alliance; in a rural environment, with his knowledge of plants, he could have kept the two of them alive. In an urban environment such as this one, Cesal's expertise would keep them both alive.
If Cesal kept to his end of the agreement. Which, as far as Emil could see, he had no incentive to do.
Cesal nodded at Emil, and Emil nodded back. He had the impression that neither of them knew what they had meant with that nod.
Suddenly, a light flickered from the Cornucopia- emerging from the crystalline structure itself, golden light coalescing into a flickering holographic image.
It said '30'. One of the younger tributes abandoned laboured breathing for a high, horrified wail; long and unending, the call of the dead. She was perhaps a District 9 girl, Emil wasn't sure- he hadn't bothered to memorise the ones who would clearly be dead before the sun set.
Her wail increased in tenor as the light coalesced again to '29'. This time, a low thrum sounded overhead, almost drowning out the pre-emptive death throes of the girl.
It clicked to '28' and the world thrummed again, buzzing beneath Emil's feet.
His breathing increased in pace. He had to figure out a strategy for this arena, right now. He was a 12, and he had seen far too many games where the Careers made and honoured the sadistic game to hunt down the tributes by descending order. By the elation on Anna's face, Emil would have to be careful not to be killed first.
The clock thrummed and the light coalesced, and Emil began spinning on his plate, taking in all available strategies.
Behind him was Victory Walk, which lead to the prep building; he could either try to escape through the thin slots in the stadia benches, or run to the end to the prep building and find a way through, which would lead to the station and probably the edge of the arena. But Victory Walk was long, and lended itself to making him a clear target to any Careers- and even if he opted to try and climb over or slide through the stadia, one option left him open to attack and the other held an unlikely chance of getting through, especially for someone of his age and build.
In front of him and around him lay the Training Building- a long road spanned in front of it, splitting left and right. The Training Center was an obvious choice for its size and familiarity, but every other tribute was equally familiar with it- not to mention its proximity to the Cornucopia pretty much ensured it was the Career pack's property now. Emil discarded it; flicked his gaze to the two branching roads to its left and right. They were the only sensible choices open to him.
But given how thin they were, and what little choice the rest of the tributes had as well, Emil knew they would be a bottleneck the hostile tributes could exploit to great bloodshed.
The world thrummed in tune to his rapid heartbeat. He looked back up to the golden lights- they read '15'.
Half his time was gone. Emil could hear the wails of several tributes now, the younger ones mostly, a couple of twelve and thirteen year olds who weren't ready to die, who didn't want to die.
Then, the laughter, high and elated, of Anna. She was laughing, her features almost marred by the twisted smile her muscles were forced into. She shot a grin at the first girl to start crying, who had abandoned sound for uncontrollable gasping sobs.
"You're first, kid."
Her voice echoed in the pit of buildings they stood at the bottom of. The District 9 girl, through her uncontrollable sobs, started taking gasping breaths, calming her spasming lungs.
The world thrummed and the clock ticked by, but the world stood still as the District 9 girl stared down Anna, the most dangerous tribute in the Games, with defiance in her bloodshot eyes.
"Yeah. I am."
Emil had barely time to gasp as the girl stepped off her plate.
The world thrummed, the light coalesced, and the air ignited as the landmines embedded beneath the girl's feet exploded. Blood, hot and wet, splattered across Emil's face.
Screams erupted around the circle of tributes. Emil could taste blood, and when he felt warm wetness in his hair he moved his hand to it and found ragged hunks of flesh, hot and wet and slick, embedded in his curls. He fought the urge to retch. He had to keep control of himself. It was just an emergency case at home again, his mother instructing him to hold down the patient as he screamed from a stab wound in his stomach. Nothing more, nothing more.
The world thrummed again and the clock ticked down to '9'. Emil looked up and met Cesal's gaze through the blood dripping down his face. Cesal was far enough away to have escaped the explosion's brunt; his face was largely clean but for a small spatter of droplets. His eyes were wide in horror, and he appeared to be mouthing something, maybe saying it, but the explosion was making Emil's ears ring and he couldn't hear a thing.
The clock seemed to be going faster. If Emil had a plan, the explosion had wiped it from his mind- the 9 girl (/had she been a 9 girl? Was she 10? 11?) was little more than disparate flesh stuck in his hair, and Anna was laughing louder, and he could see horror even on Theon's face. This wasn't what happened. This wasn't what happened in the Games, never.
Emil could feel the blood on his face, on his hands, in his hair. His grey outfit was swathed in new dye. In the sun, it was drying quickly, setting to his skin.
The thrums became louder, shook more. The clock ticked down to 4.
Emil had no idea, no idea what to do, what was happening. Anna was laughing but she was the only one, and Theon looked horrified, and Emma looked like she was about to throw up. The Careers were disparate and wheeling, and they were coated in blood they had not drawn.
3
Emil had been two plates away from the girl, but between him and her was the Seven tribute, Elizabeth, and she was drenched in not just blood but gore. Her hair was chestnut red, but now it was coated with a darker substance- Emil could see that it was sleek with the flesh it was covered in. Elizabeth was screaming; or, at least, had her mouth open in an approximation of one. Emil could not hear much at the moment beyond the thrumming of the Capitol's clock and his own ringing in his ears.
2
He could see Quint on the opposite end of the platforms, next to Cesal, his hands opening and closing repeatedly. If he was shocked by what had just happened he didn't show it; if he was afraid, little more than his reflexive clenching of hands into fists evidenced it. The calm of Quint's demeanour was almost something to latch onto- almost.
Emil saw a small backpack, close enough to his plate to be an easy target. His eyes latched onto it and didn't leave- suddenly, through the horror and the blood and the relentless thrumming of the ground, he had a target and a drive.
1
What surprised Emil was how quiet the arena was. In the Games he saw televised, there was always a muted fanfare played on top when the Games began, and Caesar Flickerman was always there to provide a commentary to the action. Here, however, silence reigned around the silent copy of the Capitol, as tributes sprinted from their plates.
Emil lurched forward, half-staggering to the backpack and reaching with bloodied fingers to grab it, stepping backwards and wheeling on the paved streets for grip as he readied himself to run, somewhere, anywhere.
But then he looked up.
Cesal was running; he stooped, grabbed up a knife from the outside of the Cornucopia and sprinted on. His eyes were locked on Emil. Suddenly Emil could not move.
He was little more than dead weight to Cesal, and he should have known, he should have known, that the alliance would only last as long as he was useful.
Around him, no birds sang; the world was still and silent.
And then a scream pierced through the silence, by the Cornucopia. The Twelve girl had been stabbed, his district partner, by Sheen Astara, the One boy.
Cesal grabbed his shoulder, hissed in his ear through the screams as he started dragging Emil away, lurching into a sprint.
"Come on, what the hell are you waiting for?! Move it!"
Emil's mouth was dry. All he could do was follow as Cesal took them sprinting left, past the Cornucopia again and down the road that passed by the Training Center.
Behind them, as they turned a corner and the Cornucopia left their sight, Emil could hear screams. He did not know what was going on. He did not know why he was alive.
There was flesh in his hair and it matted into his golden curls as it dried.
Admittedly, yes, this is Sunday night and not Monday morning. However, I'm a shameless writing workaholic, and I have no self-control.
The next chapter is where we get to see all the action of the bloodbath- as a warning to those reading this in consecutive chapters, the next one is going to be gory and sweary. Unfortunately, I'm a stickler for intimate action, and with that comes the flesh and blood and f-bombs I usually try to restrain myself from. We'll still be T-rated, but on the upper limits, if you understand my meaning.
As an aside, is everyone okay with how I'm portraying their characters? Some of you I haven't heard from since you sent in your characters, and I'm terrified I'm portraying them in a way you resent. If I'm doing them wrong, please don't hesitate to let me know!
As ever, thank you for reading this far.