With thanks to Glassgift for your review of the last chapter.

Y 184-09-01 T 13:07:21

Day 2

Cesal walked with an odd gait this afternoon- he stepped forward with little care to his body, tripping on every other step because he didn't notice his foot was dragging on the floor. After a day without sleep, food or water, his body felt unattached, weightless, as if he existed beyond the boundaries of his flesh. He was buoyed by- something, he wasn't sure what, but he was as positive as a tribute could possibly be, as he and Emil walked down the street.

Judging by Emil's exhausted gait and expression, his ally did not share his buoyant mood.

"So when we get to the waterfront, what do you reckon next? Food? Shelter? You wanna keep moving or hide in a hole somewhere?"

"Believe me, I'm considering putting someone in a hole."

Cesal flashed his knife with feigned boredom, muscles tensed beneath his grey shirt. Emil sighed, gently batting at the air near Cesal's upper arm.

"I was joking, Cesal."

"Leave jokes to me, kid. At least I'm good at them."

"You're really not."

"Did you just insult my jokes? Did ya?" Cesal dodged in front of Emil, unable to hide the wild glint of amusement in his eyes. "Them's fighting talk," he said in an overwrought accent and a jaunty grin. Emil just rolled his eyes.

"I've made a lot of things in my time, never tried any of it, but whatever you're on, I want some."

"Just sunlight and sleep deprivation, kid."

"The key components of any good meal, I'm sure."

Cesal snorted. "You're a Twelve guy, the hell do you know about meals? I mean, I'm no Panem expert, but even I know you guys are starv-"

Cesal cut himself off, aware he had perhaps stepped over a line he shouldn't have crossed. Few citizens were proud of their District, but pointing out the poverty and starvation of Emil's people was certain to cause offence.

Emil, however, looked too exhausted to argue- he just sighed at length and shifted the heavy metal showerhead in his hand.

Cesal was concerned about the whole 'allies' thing; he'd be dumb if he wasn't. Emil had started this morning with the fact that Cesal wasn't psychologically in any state to kill anyone, and Cesal hadn't even been able to refute it. The fact of the matter was, ever since he had watched Dane Twill stabbed to death for protecting him, he couldn't keep himself under control during any violent action- it was always too close, always reminded him of what had happened, the blood and flesh in his hands. Back at home, with the Black Bands, where violence was not just normal but an eventuality, Cesal had found his hands shaking, his body betraying him; he had had to delegate anything potentially violent to people under him. The delegates just presumed he was lazy- Cutch Hassan had come to a different verdict.

Emil still remembered his volunteering for Cutch. He had figured it was for the same reason his hands shook.

He wasn't too far wrong.

Cesal trusted very few people, but those he did trust were reserved his unending loyalty. His parents weren't within that boundary, having been distant from his life ever since he joined the Black Bands. His siblings were reserved his trust, if only because they were all younger than him, and he felt bound to protect them using as much of his authority as he could. But his trust and his loyalty revolved around Cutch Hassan, his boss and his best friend. Cutch had tried to help when Dane Twill was stabbed; and when it was hopeless, he had dragged Cesal away from the kid's corpse, he had made sure he'd be alright.

Cutch had stolen a lot of sleeping pills for him when it became apparent Cesal couldn't sleep. He had never said a word to the angered Black Band superiors, wondering who had taken their stock. Cutch had risked his position and, most likely, his life, to keep his second-in-command from collapse. Cesal had always been the responsible one in his family, the one protecting his weak parents and his younger siblings- to have someone protecting him instead, when there were no family bonds, no reasons other than friendship; that had resonated with Cesal a lot more deeply than he'd ever admit.

So he had volunteered for Cutch, without even thinking about it, because if Cutch could pull his ass out of the fire then Cesal could sure as hell return the favour.

And look where that moment of loyalty put you, his mind whispered traitorously. Stuck in the Games, unable to sleep and unable to kill, with an ally from Twelve, of all places, who's carrying a weapon, who you just pissed off. What the hell chance do you stand? What are you even doing anymore?

Cesal bit his lip, glancing over to Emil. Emil caught his gaze.

"What?" Emil asked.

"Uh. Sorry about that." Cesal said, making a vague gesture with his hand that meant nothing and conveyed less. "The, uh. The 'starving' jab. It was a bit of a dick move."

Emil shrugged. "We're allies, not friends."

Cesal looked away, not exactly comforted by the reminder that almost nothing remained of their precarious allied state.

"Yeah," he said, because there was nothing more to say, and they were coming closer to the waterfront now, if the distant rushing sound of water was anything to go by.

If they were right and this was the only source of water, they had to stay alert when around it. Any manner of tribute could be nearby.

Finally, they crossed onto a wide street. The tarmac disappeared here, fading into paving. The paving stones weren't the pale grey of the Inner City, nor the shining glassy slabs lining the walkways in the Outer City. These paving stones were glossy cerulean, designed for style and not substance. The war-torn Capitol had recovered where the Districts could not- even in this false, blocky version of the Capitol, the pride of a city that had forgotten the destruction of its land and its tumultuous past, the Dark Days that had created the system they knew. Where the Districts had never been able to heal from the wounds of their past, the Capitol had covered up their scars and hidden their pain and stepped into a stronger sense of being.

The buildings on the waterfront were not the all-glass of the Outer City, resplendent in light. Instead, lit by the glow of cerulean paving tiles, they were refreshingly and uniquely built, every one. Where the Inner City had slabs of marble and the Outer City had towers of glass, it didn't take much to see that the waterfront's buildings were for the rich and powerful. They were shorter, four storeys at the most, and built like individual houses, built with unique and differing characteristics.

Some adopted the glittering glass of the Outer City with curving windows and smooth angles, set with floor-to-ceiling windows and beautiful walkways descending from glossy balconies to the streets below. Some, however, held more of the Inner City in their design- chrome and marble replaced glass and steel, minimalist designs with small windows and multiple exits and sharp angles designed to disperse the weight from an impact. It was clear, then, that these would be in the real Capitol the homes of the rich and famous, those who could afford to live in their own house by the waterfront- be they citizens of the Outer City or government workers of the Inner City. Cesal took close notes of the houses that looked most secure, that had the most exits and the least windows.

Cerulean tiles turned to cobalt, and now they were upon the horizon the buildings had obscured for so long. Cesal and Emil stood for a second, observing the edge of the dome they were trapped in.

A wide expanse of glittering grey-blue formed the reservoir, washing in soft waves just a metre below the walkway, rushing against balconied concrete in a lazy effort to dash itself apart on the stone. It ended not so far out into the distance, where the train lines tracked the edge of the mountainous basin the Capitol and the waters were trapped in.

This, from what Cesal could tell, was the true point at which the arena ended.

Beyond this, there was a horizon, there were mountains, and there was a long expanse of rippling green land just outside the natural basin the Capitol sat in. But small details ruined the picture; the entire image was distorted, the rippling fields in the distance wrapping on the horizon in a way that was almost, but not quite, real. It was clear that whatever the horizon was beyond the reservoir was not real. Cesal looked down into the shining waters, licking his dry lips with his dry tongue.

"Okay," he said, spotting a stairway along the waterfront. "Let's see whether the Capitol's put any sharks in the water."

"I'll take my chances," Emil muttered with parched lips, jamming the showerhead back in the bag to leave his hands free for the sheet he then pulled from the pack. "If I have to fight the shark for its water, I'll do it."

"That's something I'd pay to see- you, punching a shark in the face," Cesal said, jittering anxiously, feeling dizzy at the prospect of water. It had only been a day since he had last drank anything, but he had been walking and running for half of that time, most of it in the sun and the heat of a thousand thousand glass panes amplifying that sun. Emil folded the sheet, again and again, before dipping it in the water.

"Hold your hands out," Emil said curtly. Cesal tentatively placed his knife in his belt, not liking feeling vulnerable before cupping his hands and holding them out. Emil lifted the folded sheet now laden with water draining through, and Cesal waited as long as he could stand and then lowered his head to the water in his hands, all fears of vulnerability abandoned in the pursuit of water. He drank, held his hands out, drank again. It wasn't the cleanest water Cesal had ever had, but it was the most he had ever needed it and he could barely bring himself to stop. Some sense of propriety or embarrassment, something, drove him to take the sheet, kneel to the water, and hold it out for Emil. The two of them were barely allies, but they were still allies, and Cesal might be a criminal but he was a gang member, and he understood the importance of taking care of your own.

The two of them alternated drinking for a while, but eventually they had to concede that their hands were poor replacements for drinking vessels. Cesal and Emil repacked the sodden sheet and climbed the stairs again, searching for somewhere to temporarily stay until they had the means to take water with them. Cesal navigated them back to one of the buildings with sharper angles, small windowed buildings with multiple exits. They reminded him of the safehouses of home, ones he had sat in as a kid with the windows barred, trading drugs and money through letterboxes. It almost felt warm, the familiarity of this practical building in this impractical, fake cityscape. Despite Emil's leanings to a large building that resembled a greenhouse, and could potentially contain plants, Cesal wasn't so interested in potential as he was what he could see. While he liked the idea of Emil making sleeping pills, he had little doubt that whatever Emil made wouldn't be for such tame use. He couldn't trust Emil's medical abilities, and unfortunately it was the only thing Emil was still useful for. If Cesal was psychologically still capable of jamming his knife into Emil's throat, he would, without hesitation.

He wondered whether Emil was considering the same thing.

He wondered if Emil could bring down his improvised club without so much as thinking about it.

"Okay, if we bed down for- shit." Cesal felt his belt for the knife that should be there, and found it wasn't anymore.

"What?" Emil asked, frowning as Cesal checked his jacket pockets anxiously.

"I've left my-" Cesal trailed off, feeling especially vulnerable near Emil with no weapon. "-My knife, it must've fell off when we came back from the waterfront. I'm gonna go-"

Cesal was already at the door when Emil called for him.

"What, alone?"

Cesal didn't want to be stuck without a weapon with Emil by his side- Emil might snatch up the knife, he might stab it in his-

Cesal cut himself off. It wasn't worth thinking about. He smiled quickly, opening the door. "Go look for some cups or something, I'll go get the knife. It's only about ten minutes away at most."

"This isn't a holiday, you know," Emil said. "This place is dangerous."

Cesal rolled his eyes, stifling the obvious, aggressive answer he could direct towards Emil. "So I'll scream if I need help. We're allies, not friends, so don't act like you care, go do something useful over there."

With that, he swept out of the door, closing it behind him, and walked back to the main road of cobalt tiles.

Alone for the first time in days, surrounded by a glittering ghost city, Cesal felt oddly at peace. Without the stress of Emil's presence, or the proximity of the Capitol's people, Cesal was, for once, at peace, without imminent threat.

Then he heard the growling.

He twisted round without thinking about it. What faced him were huge beasts, at least four rounding the corner, more muscle than form, with dark fur shining in the sunlight and all-white eyes shining with a core of black hatred deep in their milky depths.

The lead beast growled, and Cesal's hand went to his belt, but there was no knife there anymore.

His heart went to his throat and he couldn't breathe. He backed up and the beasts matched him and doubled it.

Then he backed up, faster, faster, and his sleep-deprived body stumbled and he was running but he was falling too, and he slammed to the ground, and the scream hit his lungs as he hit the ground.

"HELP!"

The beasts were coming too, fast, howling with the bloodlust, and their muscles moved under their coat and their teeth were so sharp, so sharp, they were /blades-

And then a whirling fury of grey and red came from the side, his spear twirling like a baton as he slammed it into one mutt's side, then another, and Cesal scrambled to his feet as the spinning, incoherent blur of steel cut down one beast and then another, killing them in a primal bloodlust as ancient as life itself. Then the final of the lupine creatures fell, its throat torn open by a spear, and the mystery tribute stood there, unrecognisable in the blood and anger, heaving in breaths, his eyes wide.

Cesal wasn't sure why the tribute had saved him, but he wasn't about to act ungrateful about the whole thing. He coughed awkwardly.

"Uh. Thanks-"

And the tribute snarled and jumped forwards, and Cesal felt something tear in his abdomen. He looked down.

A spear, running with rivulets of blood. Cesal's mind went cold as he saw how it had embedded itself in his side.

Oh, he thought.

And then he collapsed to his knees, blood running from his impaled body, flesh torn and ripped. Cesal should have felt pain, fear, but all he could think was how Dane Twill's sacrifice had been in vain.

Oh, he thought again, and his vision went dark.

Is Cesal dead? Is he not? All shall be revealed. Sometime.

I would've gotten this out earlier, but I'm preparing for my AS mocks on monday, and- well- this chapter felt like a mess. Still kind of is, I think. Ah well. I promised I wouldn't do more than cursory editing on my work in favour of getting it done. Maybe I'll return to it all after I'm finished and retrospectively edit it. But that's a thought for another day.

I'll be a bit slower than usual while I'm doing my mock exams, but I'll be writing where I can. The next chapter's the one I'm excited to do, so I'm hopeful I can get it done as quickly as possible- maybe even for tomorrow, if revision permits! We'll see.

Thank you, as ever, for reading this far- and for 100 reviews!