We The People: The Director's Cut

by ladyqueerfoot

Twenty-four Games and 552 bodies dead on the ground. The Capitol now expects more than senseless killing, craving a show that ends with a star. Head Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow has kept them entertained thus far, and with a new trick up his sleeve, he'll dazzle them once more. This is the year he establishes himself as king. Welcome to the First Quarter Quell.

23. Only Ghosts

XXIII. Only Ghosts

---

I'ma just sit tight for another night
If I can't make it right
Then I won't make it worse
I'ma just sit tight until it doesn't hurt

---

Day II
Forest Surrounding Cabin H • 6:20

---

Nature is so fucking fascinating, District Five is ill for not having it. Like, honestly, what could possibly be better than a whole bunch of trees and wooden cabins? That's like prime blowing shit up material right there. And the fact Thana hated District Eleven? That's absurd — there's so much to blow up and set on fire there! Melchior's stunt in Five was actually quite difficult, partially because it was an accident but mainly because steel and shit simply do not catch fire nearly as well as wood does.

"Why are you still so awestruck?" It's the second day of the Games, and Melchior still can't do much besides take in the golden trees and how much fun they'll be to inevitably destroy. They're beginning to think it's annoying Thana, but like, please. As if Thana'd be annoyed with them now. The super serum was her chance to be annoyed, and that's long passed, so she must be down for Melchior Kolmogorov's Wild Ride. "It's like you've never seen a tree before."

"Who's to say I haven't?" Melchior retorts, his arms folded. "You don't know my entire life story, T-Achizzle."

(If she did, Melchior doubts she'd stay. They don't deserve a friend like Thana — not after what happened with Kelvin.)

"That's a new one," Thana says. "Do you just have an always-on nickname generator in your brain or something?"

"I mean… probably?" Melchior cackles. Dear lord Thana is so damn funny when she's not even trying to be. "There's lots going on in my brain, y'know."

"Unfortunately, I don't doubt it."

They can't deny that things have been a bit weird since yesterday. It's not them or Thana's fault, obviously. It was those damn Peacekeepers and their urge to ruin everything! Thana fully offered Melchior a hug. They can't remember the last time they had one of those, and like they're not as touch starved as well… Thana, but a hug would've been nice. It would've been a good sort of comfort before they were launched here.

Alas, now Melchior fears they're going to go back to square one, where Thana doesn't like them the way they think she did. She just vaguely tolerated them, which is better than hatred, but not by much. But Thana never hated them; she couldn't have. They hope she never will.

Neither says anything for five minutes, which is quite unusual for the two of them. Or at least, it's been unusual in the past few days, but now it's like Thana's back in the shell she was trapped in the day Melchior met her.

(There's something that needs to be addressed between her and Melchior, but she's unsure what it is. More than likely, though, it's the fact they don't have even a semblance of a plan for what they're supposed to do.

Melchior had told her they'd "wreak havoc on the land with the power of fire and lightning," but they haven't done much of that. There was just the bomb from yesterday that didn't burn much, nor did it kill the brat Thana learned was her idiot District partner.

She's stuck and painfully so. She wants to enjoy her time with Melchior, as little as there may be, but every second is a reminder that it'll end, and she'll be even more miserable than she was when she met them. That or she'd be dead. She's not sure which would be worse.

Still, she knows with conviction that she and Melchior have the potential to be something. As cold as her heart may have been, it's been suspiciously warm since she met them. Fate led her to Melchior for a reason — it's as if an invisible string always tied them together. It's just that Thana doesn't know what to make of it, especially when her brain continuously tells her that string will burn to a crisp, just like everything else in her life.

She refuses to let it. Not until she and her Melchior have brought the world to its knees. Maybe then, she'll actually be unlimited.)

"You've been quiet," Melchior notes, hoping and praying it'll set Thana free from whatever mental prison she's locked herself in.

She shakes her head in refusal. "I'm almost always quiet. I'd think you'd have noticed by now."

"Yeah, I know that… you've just been quieter than usual."

"It's because we need to talk about something." Thana stops in her tracks, prompting Melchior to do the same.

And now, of course, Melchior's nervous as fuck. What the hell could Thana want to talk about? Her tone is gravely serious, so it must not be good. No, it's got to be really bad, and Melchior's afraid of that. Did they somehow do something wrong? Was it them who ruined everything and not the Peacekeepers?

They'd not be shocked. As good as they are with physics and chemistry, the science they've always been best at is the science of ruining everything.

Melchior ruined their own life the day they were born. Even if they don't give a shit about the people who contributed to his birth — that is, if they were even people and not like aliens — he can't help but wonder why they left them to the wolves of Gertrude's bitchass orphanage.

They can't help but wonder if Gertrude hated them long before they turned her into a human lab rat. Did she look at Melchior once and decide they'd amount to nothing? Is she the reason why they've tried to prove her wrong by being everything but mediocre?

Then there's Miss Hadley and her lab. She claimed to believe in them but would surely decide otherwise if given more time. How can she possibly see potential in Melchior when they used her lab to pull off pranks and then used the knowledge she bestowed upon them to blow up a city block?

Last but not least, there's Kelvin. The boy who treated Melchior like a god despite them continuously trying to piss him off because they were afraid to let him close. They knew that if they did, they'd yet again ruin everything. And that's exactly what happened.

All of those examples make Melchior vaguely miserable, yet they're infinitely better than if they ruined things with Thana. They'd stick their next bomb in their mouth if they ever did that.

"Why are you shaking?" Melchior didn't even realize that they were until Thana pointed it out. "Are you nervous about something?"

"I don't think so?" they answer — it's a lie. There's so many things that Melchior's afraid of, even if they can't fully articulate them all inside their mind.

"Wrong. You are worried about something."

Melchior sighs. "Can you blame me? You just told me that we need to talk about something, and that's just about the vaguest thing you could possibly say."

"I'm sorry for that," Thana quietly says. "I didn't realize those words would make you anxious. Are you perhaps worried that I would be talking to you about our partnership coming to an end?"

Yes, of course! Melchior nods. Their heart's still beating a million miles an hour because Thana hasn't said what she wants to talk about. If she's going to drop them, Melchior would prefer that she just get it over with.

"You don't need to worry about that." Melchior exhales in relief and instantly stops shaking — thank the lord. "I plan on staying allied with you for as long as possible. However, I think we need to discuss our plans to increase the length of our time in our arena and our friendship."

Oh… Yeah, Thana definitely made points there. Wandering aimlessly without a strategy is a piss poor idea, and Melchior did say they'd come up with a plan as soon as they got into the arena. The whole incident with the Peacekeepers simply… made Melchior forget a few important things.

(They hate the second part of Thana's sentence. They don't want their friendship with her to end, not in this lifetime or ever. If Melchior could, they'd travel through a million different universes just to find one where they and Thana could be content and together. They'd move into an apartment and do experiments on the roof, and then they'd meet people to get married to, and their kids would be best friends the same way they are.

Or maybe, they wouldn't get married at all. They'd swing by an orphanage and snag a kid just like Melchior, and then they'd raise it together as friends. That kid wouldn't have to worry about amounting to nothing and being unlovable because he and Thana would make sure they're the happiest kid around. He'd teach the kid all about science, and Thana would teach them how to draw.

It'd be perfect. They wish it could be real.)

"A plan sounds like a good idea," Melchior agrees. "I think that finding food should definitely be a priority eventually, because these granola bars and sandwiches aren't going to keep us sustained forever."

"They won't," Thana says. "I imagine your first priority isn't food."

"Of course not."

After all, Melchior did find some glass bottles in one of the kitchen cabinets last night. They're far bigger than the little chamber they used for the first bomb too, which means that they could hold more fuel oil and rubbing alcohol.

Thana points to the two bottles currently in Melchior's vest pockets. "You want to do something with those, don't you."

"I sure do." They grin. "Dare I say, there's nothing I'd rather do more."

Yesterday proved that problems can easily be solved by blowing shit up. Of course, there's hardly a problem now, just the potential of a future problem. But it seems like Thana's ready to devise a lasting solution. Melchior's more than excited to help.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Thana smiles just the same. It's a way bigger smile when they explained emulsion to her, too. Probably because Melchior made these two silly bottle friends while Thana was asleep, so they couldn't explain their scientific wonders to her — what a bummer.

"By the way — what do they do?" Ah, the downside of being unconscious while Melchior's making magic.

"Well, first, I started with rubbing alcohol. You know, the type you said my super serum tastes like?" They remove the bottle from their pocket and point to the goopy liquid inside. "And then, I needed an ignition source, so I grabbed more wicks. Then, I needed a napalm-like substance to dip the wicks in — that's a mix of a gelling agent and a volatile petrochemical which—"

"Melchior." Thana pouts. "Explain it in a way that I'd understand."

"There's chemicals in the bottle, and if you light the wick, it'll go boom…"

She smirks. "Perfect."

Melchior hands Thana the first bottle and then reaches for the second for themself. "So, what do you say we throw these things?"

(But how is that different from yesterday? These explosives may be more potent, but they'll yield a similar result in the end — something goes up in flames, and a person nearby eventually dies.

What good will that do? Sure, it'd eliminate another competitor, but what does one less number mean if it's only a matter of time before only two remain?

What's Melchior supposed to do when it's just them and Thana at the end of the day? Immortality can't last forever.)

"Throwing and exploding would be good," Thana says.

"Or we could drink them," Melchior proposes, "They are called Molotov cocktails."

"I'd rather not."

Much like yesterday, there's another cabin close by. They'd like to think they weren't just walking in circles the whole time, so it's not their cabin. Unfortunate that there isn't anything else — a bunch of cabins is a boring arena for what's supposed to be the best Hunger Games of all time.

Them and Thana walk toward it regardless, but before they get too close, Melchior sees a small figure in the distance.

"What the fuck is that?" they immediately ask.

"Probably another Tribute," Thana suggests.

"Oh… you're a genius!" Melchior says. "Give me your lighter…"

Thana does, without asking any questions. That was probably wise of her. While she stays back, Melchior walks toward the figure, now able to make out that it's a girl turned around, her choppy red hair covering part of the 3 on her vest.

Melchior presses down on the lighter, ready to throw it, when the girl's head snaps to the side, and she hisses, "Stay away from me."

Startled, Melchior stumbles backward. "Excuse me?"

"I said, stay away from me!" The girl turns her body toward Melchior, the dagger in her hand now visible.

She doesn't need to stay anything else before Melchior starts running in the opposite direction toward Thana. They scream, "I'm being chased."

Not even checking to see if she's still behind him, Melchior rushes toward Thana's side. "It's okay, I've got this."

They press on the lighter again, this time producing a flame that they touch to the wick. After a deep breath, Melchior throws their bottle into the general vicinity of the girl, then sprints even further back.

"Follow me," they shout, but Thana doesn't do as such. "I said, follow me!" The trees before her begin to catch fire, a thick gray fog permeating the air. "Thana, it's going to burn you!"

"It wouldn't dare to," she says with the confidence of a thousand noble dragons — weird.

Melchior watches as she stands by the rising flames with her hands on her hips. She whispers something — they're not sure what — then throws her molotov cocktail into the flames.

And with that, she sprints until she's by Melchior's side once more. "Sorry for the delay."

"Why did you throw yours at her, too?" they ask. Just their explosive would've been enough to set the girl ablaze — two is sort of overkill.

"It made more fire that way." Thana shrugs. There's something different about her — she looks more alive than Melchior's ever seen her, from her wicked grin to the way the rising flames light up her eyes. It's still the Thana they know, she's just been seemingly supercharged.

"I see your point," Melchior says with a chuckle. They look up at the flames, trying to understand what Thana sees in them, but come to no conclusion. But hey, anything that makes her happy makes Melchior happy too.

As if they weren't expecting it, the sound of a cannon makes Melchior shake. An odd sensation swells beneath their chest. They're almost a hundred percent sure that their little accident back in Five killed more than a few people, but it feels different now. Less than a minute ago, Melchior was staring the Three girl right in the eyes, and now she's dead because of him. They don't necessarily feel terrible about it, but it's definitely strange.

The flames die down suspiciously fast as if the trees are somehow resistant to fire. Once the fire is completely gone, they hardly look damaged at all. Probably wise of the Gamemakers — if the trees weren't flame-resistant, the whole arena would be gone within a few days between Melchior, Thana, and everybody else who's been voted into this hellhole.

Once the remaining smog clears, Thana points in its direction. Nimbly, she steps forward into the center. When she immediately pauses, Melchior knows exactly what she's seen.

They rush beside her, and it only takes one look at what's in front of them for their stomach to drop. It's a grotesque black and red pile of what nearly looks like sludge. If it weren't for the visible skull poking out from underneath, Melchior wouldn't believe it was once a human.

(Kelvin could've easily looked like that. Much like this is now, it'd have all been Melchior's fault.)

They cross their hands around their stomach and buckle backward, bile rising in the back of their throat. Out of the corner of their eye, they see Thana pick up a twig and poke at the skull until it's submerged back into the conglomerate of former flesh.

She turns around, seemingly noticing Melchior's troubled expression. "What's wrong?"

"Are we not looking at the same thing?"

"We are," she says. "You just seem to be upset by it."

"It's just that…." Melchior's voice trails off, almost in disbelief that Thana doesn't seem to think there's an issue here. "That was a person like three minutes ago, you know?"

"I do know." She nods. "But now it isn't."

"Y-yeah…"

"It's okay, though. Everyone but us has to die here eventually. At least Three's death was quick."

Melchior sort of hates that she's right. At least it's not either of them who look like that. "This is definitely fair of you to say."

"Yeah." Thana pauses for a second. "Anyway, do you want to figure out something to eat?"

Melchior nods profusely. Anything to get Three's remains off their mind. They conclude that they don't particularly care that she's dead, but rather the dramatics behind it are unsettling. But also, it's hardly the dramatics — it's the fact he had to see her look like that. Destruction is supposed to be beautiful, yet that was one of the most hideous things Melchior's ever seen.

After a few minutes of walking, Thana suddenly stops in her tracks. "What we did wasn't very good."

"You're just now figuring that out?"

"Perhaps, I am" she responds. "I'm unsure that she deserved what we did to her."

"As am I," Melchior confesses. "She was just a little kid, you know."

"Yes. The actions that led her to this arena could've been relatively benign. But now we'll never know."

Melchior sighs. When he looked at the sludge pile, they completely forgot that it was once somebody elected to be put in a casket. Yes, there's a chance she was innocent, and this was all a misunderstanding, but she could have been legitimately terrible.

There's a chance Melchior and Thana are legitimately terrible too. Enough people thought they were, after all. But Melchior doesn't think either of them are bad people. Doing bad things doesn't make somebody inherently bad. And none of that even matters when everyone withers until they're nothing but a skeleton at the end of the day.

But what does matter is that they and Thana are still alive. It's still the two of them against the world, and even if it takes everybody else turning into sludge to do so, it'll always be that way.

(Until lightning strikes or fire spreads once more.)

(It's bound to happen eventually…)

---

Forest Surrounding Inn • 10:49

---

They quickly realize that he doesn't deserve to be here.

As Charon trails behind her, Sapphira runs along the side of a river, occasionally leaning too far over to the side and causing water to splash against her feet. Everything about her is so naive, so innocent. Everything about her is nothing like him. Even after she was shaken up by the Eleven boy's death yesterday, Sapphira entered today with a smile — lord knows how long it's been since Charon's done the same and meant it.

When she reaches the river's bend, Sapphira plants one foot on the dirt and leaves, then uses the other to turn toward Charon. It's not very graceful, but based on Sapphira's confident expression, she sure thinks it was. So, Charon laughs and then lightly claps her hands together.

"We're not getting anywhere," the One girl sweetly says.

She's right; they're not. Gremory sent the two of them out this morning to "go hunting." He never specified if he meant for food or other Tributes, but Charon's pretending he meant exclusively the former. The last thing they want to do is hunt down a person — they swear they're past that now.

(If they are, why does their stomach grumble in bloodlust at the mere thought of another Tribute in the distance?)

Charon sighs. "Where else do you think we should go?"

"Not too far from our cabin, I assume."

Right. As much as Charon was hoping she'd say they should run away, deep down, he knew she wouldn't. Though they can't discern the nature of her relationship with Gremory, they know it's not one Sapphira will be quick to leave — unfortunate. Looking out for another person is near-foreign to Charon, but she's got a sinking feeling a time will arise where they need to step in before Gremory strikes.

"That's probably a good idea," they remark. "I just don't think it'd be a good idea for us to go home empty-handed."

"Neither do I." The One girl nods. "I was looking in the river to see if I could find any fish—" She whirls her spear. "But I couldn't see anything big enough to eat."

"Unfortunate," Charon replies. "I was looking into the woods, and I couldn't find a big enough animal either."

"Maybe we could just find another Tribute and kill them. That's got to be worth more than finding food."

Based on Sapphira's playful laughter, it's clearly a joke, but Charon's unable to even crack a smile. She can't tempt him like that, even if it's not intentional. The worst way to get over an addiction is to go completely cold turkey, but they have no other choice.

"Sorry for saying that," Sapphira rushes, likely a remark about Charon's less-than-amused expression. "I know that wasn't a good thing to joke about. I was— "

"Don't apologize!" Charon stammers. "It just caught me off guard; that's all."

"It was a reference to a movie, if that helps. There's this one that's really popular at home called 'Capitol Chainsaw Massacre' where a bounty hunter gets points from his boss depending on if he kills animals or people or anything in between."

"We don't really have movies in Eight…"

"You don't?" Sapphira gasps. "That's no fun!"

"District Eight isn't supposed to be fun," Charon reminds her.

"Right. My bad."

Her expression shifts into a frown — the last thing Charon wants to see. Her naiveté is endearing, even if it borders on ignorance at times.

They try to change the topic. "Tell me more about the movie. Is it one of your favorites?"

"It's not, but it's still fun." Sapphira answers. "I think I'd have liked it more if the bounty hunter, Syren, was actually a redeemable character. As the movie progressed, he was more into hunting people than animals which turned him into this bloodthirsty creep. There was no rhyme or reason for what people he killed either — he was just a monster."

Oh.

Syren's just like… Charon takes a deep breath. They refuse even to think it.

(They refuse to think about how they hunted people just like Syren. They refuse to think about how he had no rhyme or reason other than his own vices, just like Syren. They refuse to think about how just like Syren, Charon Tricolette is utterly irredeemable.)

(If Sapphira knew what they did in Eight, in the Three apartment, she'd never talk to them again. She'd see him as a bloodthirsty creep and a monster, the same way everybody else does.)

(The same way Charon actually is.)

"I could see how that'd be problematic." They exhale. "Killing people for fun isn't great."

"It's not." Sapphira nods.

(Yet that's what Charon did back home, and lord did it feel great.)

"Anyway!" Sapphira jumps and clicks her heels together. "We need to look for some animals."

"That we do," Charon says.

Sapphira leaps through the woods, leaving Charon alone by the river. For a split second, they wonder whether or not they should follow her. It'd be so easy for him to turn in the other direction and just run. They wouldn't have to worry about potentially ruining everything for the umpteenth time. Instead, they'd wander the arena aimlessly until somebody decides to put him out of his eighteen-year-long misery.

They'd die forgotten and unimportant to everyone, just as the world intended for them. Charon already had her chance at life in the limelight. She now knows she doesn't deserve it.

But somebody else does, and that same somebody is shouting, "Over here!" from between the trees.

Swiftly, Charon runs toward Sapphira — he can leave pitiful self-reflection for a later date. They catch up to her quickly, their lungs out of breath. "Sorry about that," they say, rapidly panting for air.

"No need to apologize," the One girl replies. "You're here right now, and that's what matters."

(Charon swears they heard the same thing from a boy on a bridge two years ago, but that's neither here nor there.)

"Did you find anything?" he asks.

To that, Sapphira points to her left, "I sure did." She tugs Charon's sleeve, leading them further into the forest. He's careful with his steps, trying to keep the sound of rustling leaves to a minimum.

"See?" Sapphira points at a plump feathered creature with a pointed beak and a clump of red skin hanging against its throat.

"What the hell is that?" It sort of looks like a bird — maybe. If it is a bird, it's not one Charon's ever seen before. Then again, the only birds in Eight are pigeons and the occasional raven or dove. Surely there are other types of birds out there.

Sapphira chuckles. "It's a turkey! Sort of like a giant chicken." Ah. Charon's only seen a chicken in the form of food, never a living one.

"Can we eat it?"

The One girl raises her spear. "Well, we'd have to kill it first."

Charon instinctively grabs a knife from his pocket and begins tiptoeing toward the unsuspecting bird. He takes a deep breath — this won't be a big deal. All she needs to do is aim one knife toward its throat and throw it. And yet, they can't move.

(Of course, they can't. Killing an animal is just one step closer to killing another person. It's just one step closer to once again becoming a monster.)

(Maybe that's a future Charon can't avoid, no matter how hard they try.)

"Do you want me to take it?" Sapphira asks, not noticing Charon's apprehension — probably for the best. They nod in confirmation, prompting her to take a few steps closer.

She takes a deep breath then slashes her weapon diagonally from left to right, not giving the turkey time to react before she comes at it from the other side. It screams in pain as Sapphira spins her spear in the air, catches it, then thrusts the blade through the bird's throat. Crimson splashes in their direction, and the bird falls to the ground.

Sapphira turns around, blood splattered on her face, and shrugs. "That wasn't bad."

It really wasn't — that must've taken less than ten seconds. Truthfully, Charon wasn't sure what to expect when he left the slaughter to Sapphira. He knew that she trained at One's Academy and got an impressive training score, but somehow it never clicked in their mind that Sapphira's actually good at this whole Hunger Games thing. Or at least, she's good at it when it matters.

"You've got something on your face," Charon says, and Sapphira laughs.

They never thought they'd get squeamish over the sight of another person covered in blood but seeing Sapphira like this feels wrong. Sure, Charon doesn't know her life and anything she's experienced, but he gets the feeling this isn't her.

(That's probably what Dice thought when he saw Charon painted red with blood the first time — like it isn't them. Because, as far as Dice knew, his beloved partner would never kill. Even though they had their oddities, Charon Tricolette couldn't possibly be a murderer.

If they we're a murderer, how come they—)

It's wrong for him to get so wigged out by the sight of Sapphira like this. She didn't kill a dozen people after taking them to bed. All she did was kill a turkey for the sake of her own survival. For the sake of their own survival. When Charon was rendered motionless, Sapphira jumped in and got the job done. Charon can't remember the last time they were useful like that.

Unfazed by the bird's remains, the One girl crouches toward the ground and wiggles her arms underneath it, her pinkies struggling to hold her spear. She takes a deep breath and then slowly begins to lift the bird. "Do you think you could help me?"

Charon nods, then steps beside her, transferring some of the turkey's weight onto their arms. "So now we just take it back to Gremory and the others?"

(Sapphira wishes so badly she could say "no."

She's seen her fair share of disasters at nightclubs and bars — this large alliance will likely soon join their ranks. Everybody's a ticking time bomb it seems, including herself. Sapphira wishes she didn't have to go back, but she knows what'll happen if she doesn't.

Gremory will come after her, and when he finds her, he won't hesitate to kill her. She sees through his lies and manipulations now — he wants her dead just like everybody else does. Or… maybe Charon doesn't want her dead. Sapphira can't tell.

She's nice, and all, but so was Gremory at first. So was Glasya. Sapphira Starlett can't get too close to a wolf in sheep's clothing once more. Especially not when everything she's ever wanted is so close yet so easy to be lost.

If she wants to be free, odds are she must kill Gremory herself. She doesn't want to think about how that'll happen just yet, but she knows it has to happen soon.)

"That's probably the right idea," Sapphira says. She glances up at the tower behind her, then points left. "The cabin should be that way!"

"Impressive that you were keeping track," Charon responds. "Lead the way — I'm trusting you with this one!"

Because they sure as hell can't trust themself.

(The crimson on Sapphira's face makes Charon want to match. How is he supposed to live with that?

How is he supposed to die with that?)

---

Windmill • 15:21

---

Things have changed in the past twenty-four hours for reasons he can't explain. Previously, when Aleister saw Lucy getting closer to Olathe, his heart would pang in jealousy. Now, he can't say that he minds. In fact, he's almost glad that the Twelve boy's no longer attached to him at the hip.

With every passing moment, Lucy reminded Aleister more and more of Milos. With every passing moment, Lucy reminded Aleister more and more of the brother he never got the chance to fix things with. It's not fair for Aleister to hold a thirteen-year-old he just met to the high standard of replacing somebody he's known for a dozen years.

But Lucy still represents hope to Aleister. If he really is the Devil's son, there has to be a reason he's entered Aleister's life. The Devil must see something in him, hence why he trusts him to take care of his very own son. Oh, how Aleister wishes other people saw something in him. If his parents didn't view him as a fool and Olve and LaFey didn't view him as a pawn, maybe he wouldn't be here.

There were so many chances for Aleister to live a happy life, yet the people around him robbed him of each and every one.

But the Devil hasn't. The Devil says that if Aleister Darski is going to die in these walls, at least he'll die having positively impacted somebody. The Devil says that he's "worth it" when everybody else says otherwise.

(Or at least the Devil would say that if he was actually real and not made up like the man in the sky, Aleister scorned his parents for worshiping.)

(It just doesn't make sense anymore. The Devil isn't Olathe Whitethorn the way Lucy claimed out of delusion. Everything else Lucy's said might as well be falsities as well. Lucifer Deathrage is not the Devil's son.)

(And therefore, Aleister has no reason to protect him.)

The Twelve boy hardly said anything to Aleister while Olathe was alone hunting. He just stared at the ceiling and occasionally made small talk. Aleister didn't really have anything to talk to him about either.

What's he going to do? Get mad at a child for saying he's the Devil's son when he likely doesn't know he's lying. What good would any of that do? The only thing Aleister could do that'd be at all productive is skewer his sword through Lucy's stomach. He gets the feeling Olathe wouldn't mind, but something is still holding Aleister back. He still sees Milos' eyes when he stares at the Twelve boy for a second too long.

"I'm bored," the Twelve boy says with a slight yawn. He doesn't sound childish and irksome like before the Games. Instead, he sounds nervous, like he knows something's going to happen soon though Aleister doesn't.

"Aren't we all bored?" Aleister replies. "I don't think the Hunger Games are supposed to be hours upon hours of constant entertainment."

"They're not supposed to be sitting around either," Lucy counters. "What the hell's taking Olathe so long?"

"I'd tell you if I knew." Aleister shrugs, then clenches his facial muscles so he doesn't accidentally roll his eyes.

Twenty minutes ago, the Seven boy returned from his hunt and told Lucy and Aleister to "wait downstairs." There wasn't a cannon in the few hours Olathe was gone, so Aleister has no idea what's happening. It'd be easy to assume Seven's making food or something similar in practicality, but Aleister sincerely doubts it.

"He's been making me wait for almost an entire day now," Lucy pouts. "Yesterday on our walk, he said we'd be doing something 'cool' today. I've yet to experience anything cool!"

"Is spending time with me not 'cool' enough for you?"

The Twelve boy puts his head in his hands. "We already spent so much time together in the Capitol. I want to do something else now."

"So maybe later today we'll do something 'cool,' me and you." Aleister's not sure why he even suggested that. Sure, him and Lucy going on some miniature adventure could be nice, but odds are, it'd just make Aleister grow attached to him again. He can't afford that.

"No need. We're going to do something cool already, I trust what Olathe has planned."

Well, that's a mistake if Aleister's ever seen one. He definitely respects his ally's willpower when it comes to getting what he wants, even if he's intimidating ninety-five percent of the time. If Aleister could assert himself and be just as sly yet domineering, he has no doubts he'd do the same. But at the same time, Aleister's gradually realized that everything from Olathe's mouth is an outlandish lie. Maybe Lucy's just so used to being lied to, he can't identify this manipulation even though it's right in front of him.

"Whatever he's planned, I can almost guarantee it'll be memorable." As long as it's not a repeat of Lucy's birthday party, odds are Aleister's fine with it.

A few minutes pass in silence before the Seven boy in question pokes his head through the stairwell from above. "Sorry to keep you two waiting."

"You don't need to apologize!" Lucy's tone immediately turns to one indicative of immense excitement and joy. "I know whatever you do will be well worth the wait!"

He rapidly clambers up the stairs, Aleister following more relaxedly. When Aleister reaches the second floor, his jaw immediately drops. "Déja vu much?"

Even though there's no cake or candles or streamers, the overall essence of Lucy's birthday party remains. Or rather, the "main event" of somebody tied up in the center of the room does.

He turns to Lucy, the boy's eyes wide with a feeling Aleister can't quite place.

"Isn't this exciting?" Olathe says, his voice ever-so-serpentine as always. "I was thinking, the Capitol really robbed you out of killing a second person at your party. I didn't want to burden Aleister, so I figured I'd take matters into my own hands."

"M-Madrasa?" Lucy looks at the girl, now clearly shocked, and points to the number '12' on her shirt.

"You're welcome." Olathe chuckles. "This'll be great fun. What do you think, Aleister?"

He can only say, "As long as we don't somehow start another fire."

"Of course not!" The Seven boy walks over to Madrasa and smiles. "Hear that? We're not setting you on fire." The gag in her mouth stops her from doing anything besides scream wordlessly, so Olathe continues. "I was thinking, Lucy dearest, you could go first."

"Go first at what?" he asks.

Aleister can't lie and say he's not amused at the potential of Olathe's do-it-yourself fiendish ritual. Surely that's what he's trying to do, right? As usual, Aleister doesn't completely understand his motives. But, if these motives involve the death of one more person that isn't either of them, he'll act supportive.

"Pick a body part, any body part…" Like a showman at a circus, Olathe gestures from the top of the girl's head to the soles of her feet. "It's time for a little game of roulette!"

"Oh…" Lucy sighs. "Is this one of our tri—"

"I told you not to mention those!" Olathe cuts him off. He then turns to Aleister and winks. "There's no need for you to worry about that."

Aleister hopes that Olathe thinks highly enough of him that he knows Aleister's very much going to worry about that. Anything that Lucy and Olathe possess and shouldn't be discussed is objectively suspicious.

"Go on, Lucifer," Olathe goads the young boy. "What do you pick?"

Madrasa wails, her teeth sinking into the rope as if she could somehow tear the gag out of her mouth. Aleister could very well be imagining this, but he swears it sounds like she's saying a mix of "Lucy" and "Don't."

The Twelve boy stammers. "W-what am I s-supposed to pick?"

"Whatever you want," comes Olathe's quick reply. "Whatever you think would make your father happiest."

"Right." Lucy continues to shake.

If Aleister's reading this situation correctly, Olathe said something to convince Lucy that he's truly his father. Thus, this is an instance where the Twelve boy is expected to "prove himself." Aleister saw him shaking at his birthday party — at the time, it pained him to know he contributed to something upsetting him — but he chalked it up to a fear of getting caught, not a fear of killing itself.

(Aleister remembers the first time he killed somebody.

He remembers standing just as afraid as Lucy did two nights ago and just how he does now. He remembers how Olve held his hand and whispered sweet nothings in his ear until he was no longer nervous.

It all happened so fast — Aleister had no idea what he'd done until it was over. One of Nine's "priestesses'" head was cocked to the side, blood guzzling from her throat to the ground. Aleister's hands shook in disbelief. How could he have done that?

He felt better as soon as Olve's lips were on his. Finally, Aleister thought. Somebody actually loves me.)

(As if. He's an idiot to have thought so in the first place.)

"Um…." Lucy mutters. "I'm going to do her nose…"

Madrasa shrieks, her booming voice enough to knock the Twelve boy off his balance. "They—"

"Can I borrow your sword, Aleister?" he asks.

He hands Lucy the weapon without saying a word, then passively walks beside Olathe. As Lucy starts positioning his weapon, Aleister asks Olathe in a whisper. "What exactly are you trying to prove here?"

"That he can't actually do what his father wants."

"What's that going to do?" If he sounds judgmental, Aleister doesn't at all mean it. Genuinely, he fails to see the purpose in any of this.

"Get rid of that ego, I hope."

(If he wanted to, Aleister could grab Lucy's hand and run far away from this windmill. The kid'd no longer feel so miserable, and perhaps Aleister could talk some sense into him. Maybe it'd work and maybe—)

(If it works, it won't even matter. Lucy isn't Milos, and that's who Aleister really wants to talk to.)

"Okay..." Lucy walks close to Madrasa, his legs twisted together like a failed dancer.

Aleister shouts, "You can do it!"

Even if his words no longer mean anything to Lucy, Aleister still feels the need to say them. On the other hand, Olathe isn't saying anything; he just nods.

"I'll try…" Lucy positions the blade by one of Madrasa's nostrils. "Like this?"

"Sure," Olathe says, clearly unamused.

"They—" she screams as the sword cuts through her skin. "Lied…"

And just like that, Lucy drops the sword.

(Who lied?

There are way too many people Madrasa could be referring to. Lucy doesn't think she's talking about Aleister or Olathe — Father. There's no way his District partner would know anything about either of them.

That just leaves Olathe with the people he knows from home: his mothers, Vionei, Isosei, and Roach. What would they be lying about? His mothers love him so much — they especially would never lie to him.

Then why are you here? A voice in Lucy's head sound's off; one he doesn't recognize. He knows his father's voice when he hears it in his mind, and it doesn't sound like this. If they love you so much, why did they let everybody in your District vote for you to die?

"I need to prove myself," Lucy whispers.

To whom? Your father? He's standing right here, and you're not proving shit!

And Lucy's not sure he wants to. The man parading around as "Olathe Whitethorn" never cared for him until a week ago. He probably has plenty of other kids — Lucy isn't special. There's no way he'll ever amount to anything his father wants. If he helps kill Madrasa, odds are his father will find something worse for him to do.

Doing this right now, killing her — it doesn't feel like the right thing for Lucy to do. Sure, it'll take him one step closer to winning the Games and making his father proud, but there's got to be a way for Lucy to make it out of here without following his father and Aleister's little plans. If Lucy truly is the "chosen one" his mothers claim he is, he should be able to do this himself.

Your mothers who lied to you? The voice comes back — Lucy thinks it's his subconscious. Your mothers who were too cowardly to admit you probably an accident from some deadbeat?

"They didn't lie," he stammers.

And if Lucy has it his way, nobody will lie to him again. He's tired of being treated like an idiot that needs to be sheltered under the guise of being "the devil's son." That's not an excuse for his childhood being wasted in a bunker reciting prayers.

Just because Lucy never had a chance at being a normal kid doesn't mean he can't fight for one now. And even if he does die. Even if the prophecies from his mothers failed to protect him, at least he'll perish on his own terms.

His father has no right to control his actions. Lucifer Deathrage doesn't need to prove himself to anybody but himself.)

"Where is he going!" Aleister shouts as Lucy dashes toward the balcony door. "Lucy?"

He chases the boy, his breathing heavier with every step he takes. Just as Aleister arrives by the thick wooden door, Lucy quickly bolts through the crack, then slams the door in Aleister's face.

His head goes dizzy, blood dripping from his nose onto the collar of his shirt. With his head hanging over his dragging feet, Aleister returns to Olathe.

"Why'd you go after him?" The Seven boy raises an eyebrow.

Aleister grunts. "It just felt like the right thing to do."

"Was it really? Personally, I'm thrilled we don't have to deal with a child anymore." Olathe pulls two knives from his pocket and hands one to Aleister. "What do you say we finish what Lucy failed to even start? No need to do roulette or anything."

He doesn't give Aleister time to answer before he plunges his knife into Madrasa's stomach. The sight of her blood clotting onto her shirt is enough to make Madrasa close her eyes — though that doesn't stop the screaming.

Aleister also aims for her stomach, the sound of ripping flesh all too familiar. He never sought this feeling out, but it was always a rare source of joy. Every time Aleister killed somebody, he'd be blessed with the high of being somebody, always ignoring the fact he'd feel like nobody once the adrenaline wore off.

Olathe pushes Madrasa's head back until there's a resounding crack. He points to Aleister and asks, "Could you hold this for me?"

He nods, then does as obliged, not even flinching when Olathe rams his knife right in Madrasa's throat. He quickly retracts the blade, forcing it through the top of her chest. The Seven boy then gives Aleister a stern stare as if he's expecting him to take another stab (literally) at Madrasa.

Aleister's more than happy to. He grits his teeth and widens the hole Olathe left in her throat, warm blood embracing his face until a cannon fires.

Olathe loudly sighs. "Well, that's that."

"I still can't believe…" Aleister's voice trails off. Sure, Lucy can be difficult at times, but Aleister'd never do this to him despite all his urges. "I can't believe he…"

"Yes, he did run." The Seven boy wipes his bloodied hands on his pants. "And now we're better off because of it."

"I suppose."

"Don't tell me you actually miss him—"

Aleister shouts. "I'm not sure how I feel about any of this!"

"I'm glad it's only the two of us now, just as I was hoping."

"What do you mean?"

Could he mean… no. Aleister won't let himself interpret it like that. That's just about the last thing he needs right now. Yes, Olathe's objectively the most attractive being known to humankind, but he's still Olathe. Aleister can't trust him.

"I mean we work well together." The Seven boy firmly says. "What did you think I meant?"

"I don't—" Aleister shouldn't have even considered that option. He's better off not getting his hopes up. He's better off not having hopes at all. "I agree. We work well together." Objectively they do — they took care of the Twelve girl in less than a minute.

"Can you see how Lucy was getting in the way of that?"

"He listened to everything you said. You could've just told him to shut up."

"But I didn't." Olathe brushes his hand against Aleister's, just that brief touch enough to make his cheeks blush. He wishes that didn't happen. "So now it's just you and me. What would you like to do about that?"

Aleister shrugs.

"Don't worry if you can't think of anything," Olathe chides him. "I've got more than enough ideas."

Whatever they are, Aleister's willing to listen. What else can somebody like him do?

(It's then that he realizes he's no longer obligated to sit around and wait to die. Lucifer Deathrage is no longer Aleister's responsibility.

And because he no longer has something to die for, all Aleister can do is hope his siblings give him a second chance when he lives for them.)

(He knows he'll never earn their forgiveness, but if pretending is enough to motivate Aleister to live, he'll continue to believe.)

---

Cabin J • 18:09

---

Perhaps being so focused on Sapphira was Gremory's biggest mistake. Or, to be more precise, perhaps keeping Sapphira at the forefront was his biggest mistake. After all, she's only one of the eighteen Tributes standing in between himself and victory. Yes, she's the Tribute Gremory most wants dead, but he still needs to take care of everybody else.

More specifically, he needs to take care of one Belacaine Beaufort.

Gremory always had a feeling she wasn't quite right in the head, but he never dreamed it'd be to such a drastic extent. In an alliance full of ticking time bombs, Gremory never would've guessed she's most likely to be the first to explode. What's now most important is putting everything in place for when she does.

He doesn't know if she'll actually be successful in her attempt at killing Lorian, but whatever physical conflict she initiates has the potential to split the alliance in two. Well, they're already rather fragmented — it's more a matter of which side Gremory wants to end up on. Honestly, he isn't sure.

Talisa isn't serving her intended purpose, so she'll probably be gone sooner rather than later. Then, Gremory could theoretically team up with the Twos, or rather whatever one lives longest. There's also the option of him following Charon and Sapphira. That might be his best bet, actually. Charon's done a mediocre job at hiding his bloodlust. If Gremory does something to trigger them, they'll easily lash out. When they do, either Sapphira's collateral damage or she leaves Charon.

And that leaves her at Gremory's side. Exactly where she should be.

Still, there's much work to be done before everything goes up in flames. He's already properly motivated Belacaine, but he needs to also talk to Lorian. He's different enough from his District partner that Gremory can't outright tell him to kill her, but he can still plant a seed in Lorian's mind. That's not Gremory's only plan for the evening, but it's a damn good start.

As he stands by the cabin door, Talisa by his side, Gremory lightly taps the Two boy on the shoulder. "Lorian," he croons. "I was wondering if we could have a chat before Talisa and I leave for our night shift."

The boy in question squints. "You want to talk to me?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I just said."

Lorian's been rather crotchety since killing the boy from Eleven. At first, Gremory didn't have the slightest clue as to why. Even if he's not the best, Lorian's still a student of Two's academies. Surely, one of the main things they teach is how to be excited over killing somebody else. What else would the academies stand for if not feeding indulgences in exchange for false grandeur and excellence?

Yet, it makes sense Lorian's been turned off by Eleven's death. It became clear he was not the most physically capable days ago — Gremory failed to consider that he lacks the mentality of a trained volunteer as well.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Gremory gestures at the door. "Come with me." As Lorian ambles toward him, Talisa begins to turn the door handle. Swiftly, Gremory swats her hand away. "This is just between Lorian, and I. Don't worry — we're still going out later."

"Understood." Talisa nods.

"Anyway…" Gremory begins to open the door, creating ample room for Lorian. He begins trailing off the porch, beckoning Two to follow him."I don't have too much time, so I want to be quick with this."

"I don't have a lot of time either," Lorian says. "Belacaine and I are keeping watch tonight while you and Talisa hunt and Sapphira and Charon sleep."

"I think you need the sleep more." He points at the blue-shadowed bags underneath Lorian's eyes — the boy looks like a fucking mess. "But that's beside the point."

"Then what is the point?" The Two boy crosses his arms. Wild that he's always been so contentious, yet never to this degree. "You know, I'm the leader of this joint. I have other things to attend to."

"Are you really?" Gremory raises an eyebrow. He's the one who appointed Lorian to such a high position, but he didn't think he'd still be confident about it after all this time.

"Y-yes!" Lorian stammers. "Now spit it out!"

"I'm worried for you," Gremory finally says. "I recognize that I'm your subservient and all of that, but that doesn't mean I can't look after you."

"Please." The Two boy rolls his eyes. "What the hell do you even have to worry about for me?"

"A few of our allies," Gremory answers. "I don't know enough to point specific fingers, but they don't see you as a leader like I do."

"Makes sense," Lorian mutters — Gremory has a feeling he wasn't supposed to hear that. "They do? Why's that?"

"They don't think you're capable, unfortunately."

"Who said that?" He throws his hands in the air out of clear distress. "That's vague as fuck, too. What do I need to be 'capable' of?"

"I can't speak for them." Gremory shakes his head. "But, even after you killed Eleven, people doubt your abilities."

"Okay…" Lorian anxiously taps his foot on the ground. "What am I supposed to do about this?"

"I can't answer that for you."

"Then why did you tell me all of this?"

"I already told you," Gremory spits out. "It's because I care about you and your wellbeing!"

"If you did, you'd give me actual advice instead of trying to make you paranoid!"

"I'm not trying to make you paranoid," Gremory softly says. "I'm just telling you that maybe it'd be a good idea to check in with your allies."

Lorian sighs. "I guess you're right about that."

"Thank you for being so understanding." It's hard for Gremory not to laugh since Lorian's been everything but understanding in this conversation. But, that's a good thing. The Two boy seeks praise and admiration — the last thing he wants to hear is that people are doing the exact opposite of that behind his back. It seems he'll do whatever it takes to feel like he belongs — it's Gremory's job to push those limits.

"I appreciate you looking out for me." It's unclear whether or not Lorian sounds genuine. "Do you want me to get Talisa so you two can go on your little hunt — preferably not turkey again."

Gremory nods. "That'd be great." He watches the Two boy fidget with the door handle, struggling just a little bit until the door opens. A few seconds later, Talisa's standing on the porch in Lorian's place.

"How did it go?" Her eyes widen.

Gremory takes a deep breath. There's no way in hell he's going to tell Talisa everything that they talked about. The Four girl can't know the full extent of his plan. She was never meant to be his consigliere in the first place. Gremory saw her batting her eyes at Sapphira and thought he could make something happen between them. At first, he thought he was successful, but now that his District partner is decidedly uninterested, Gremory's had to shift gears in his intention for Four.

(Because that's always how it is with Sapphira Starlett. Whenever Gremory thinks he has the upper hand, she manages to sneak ahead without even trying. It's insufferable at best, and worthy of the death penalty at worst.)

(That's how it was with Glasya too. No matter how hard Gremory tried, his twin always tried twice as hard and with twice as much forethought. Yes, his ideas often bordered on insanity, but Glasya always crossed the line by miles.

And somehow, she's more successful because of it. Somehow she's the one at the Viper's Nest, sitting high on her throne of lies while Gremory puts off the inevitable thought that sooner or later, he's going to die here. When he does, all Glasya will do is laugh — two brothers indirectly dead by her hands.

If only Sapphira hadn't gotten in the way of Glasya being in the arena. As cruel as Gremory can be, it's Glasya's fault that Godfrey is dead and their mother is nowhere to be found.

The best Gremory can hope for is that when death finally comes for his sister, it's far more vicious than it ever was to him.)

"Our conversation was fine," Gremory curtly answers. "He was very receptive to my ideas. Far more receptive than I thought he'd be."

"That's great to hear," Talisa says. "Did you tell him about Belacaine's nervousness?"

Ah, yes. 'Nervousness' is how Gremory phrased it to the Four girl. "Yes — I told him that she's nervous he's going to make a big mistake and advised him to be cautious around her."

"Cool. What does that do for us?"

"Does it need to do anything for us?" No. It only needs to do something for Gremory. Besides, the lie he just told was well… a lie. But Talisa doesn't need to know that. He walks closer to her and whispers in her ear, "As long as they're out of the way somehow, you and I will be golden."

Gremory's always known Talisa's primary vice is lust. That's why he thought she'd be a decent match for Sapphira. With that over, Gremory still needs to feed her desires to keep her on his side. She may just be a meat shield at this point, but as long as she doesn't know it, everything is fine.

"How do you intend to actually ensure that?" She grabs Gremory's hand and leads him deep into the woods. "I want to trust you, Gremory, but the Hunger Games aren't the place for false promises."

He wraps his fingers around her wrist and pins her to the closet tree. When she pulls him closer, Gremory presses a soft yet firm kiss to her neck, hoping it'll leave some sort of mark. He trails his kisses up to her ear, then whispers, "Well, it's a good thing I'm not making any false promises, dear."

With her free hand, Talisa adjusts Gremory's head so their lips are touching. Even though every kiss tastes like the poison he secretes from his teeth, he can physically feel her falling under his spell. Thus, each and every one of them is worth it.

(Gremory doesn't know what it's like to genuinely love another person. Though he's had at least thirty partners, none have meant anything. Every one of his sexual encounters was just a step to something else, the same way every drug exchange was.

Talisa is no different, but as long as Gremory pretends otherwise, she'll be more willing to stand in front of Gremory when somebody comes at him with a knife.)

"You're a better kisser than Sapphira," Talisa whispers. Somehow, Gremory doesn't doubt her. He never pestered Glasya on the physical technicalities of her and Sapphira's relationship, but considering how things went, Sapphira clearly wasn't worth it.

The Four girl continues to surrender under his touch without him trying. He feels her trying to kiss his neck and quickly pulls away. Stunned, Talisa's eyes widen. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all," Gremory says. "But this is eating up our time. We need to see you-know-who."

"Fine…" The Four girl pouts — perfect. She clearly wants more from Gremory, but he'll never give it to her. Instead, he'll tease her and lead her on until she dies. "I still don't understand why we need to talk to her."

Of course. Talisa wasn't present when Gremory first met up with Moxie a few nights ago. All Gremory's said is that she's looking out for the two of them and that they promised to rendezvous at the end of the Games' second day. That's become easier said than done, though. The plan was to meet by the Cornucopia, and well… as far as he knows, there's no Cornucopia to be found.

But that doesn't mean Gremory's no longer interested in Moxie's young ally. Everything she said about him implied that he was mad, and considering she'll be able to go after one of the Two's eventually, Gremory deserves to have his cake and eat it too. Or… not actually eat it — that'd make him no worse than the kid himself.

"We're in the two biggest alliances in this arena," Gremory says. "I wanted to know the situation with her alliance, and in exchange, I told her a few things about ours."

"What did you say?" Talisa scowls.

Gremory puts a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing about you, of course."

"Right. Of course not." She takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm sorry for even thinking you'd—"

"I'd never speak ill of you. You're my most loyal ally."

"Good," Talisa says. "You're my most loyal ally too."

If he felt bad for taking advantage of her, Gremory'd be a damn hypocrite. Even if it was in a different way, he took advantage of Sapphira for a year and a half. Maybe it'll be slightly upsetting when Talisa eventually kicks it, but Gremory won't even bat an eye — the same goes for Sapphira.

(He's been immune to tears and pain since he saw Godfrey's bloodied body on the ground, nobody helping him amidst the chaos. Gremory still remembers the deep look of satisfaction in Glasya's eyes — it's a painting in his mind that he'll never get rid of no matter how many times he tries to tear it to shreds.

To Glasya, the world's misery was art and she was a revered artist. Art never dies; thus, Gremory will remember her flippancy toward the brother he never got the chance to fully appreciate and love.)

"Now, if you were Moxie Adegoke, where would you be?"

Even if he doesn't find her tonight, eventually, Gremory will. The world will surrender around him, hellfire escaping the cracks of the earth until humanity turns to dust. He's back in command of the chessboard, which fate tried to tear away from him.

Thus, everyone in this arena will fall to One's tantalizing tempest. He'll make misery of their futures and ensure they die in madness.

(Maybe that makes him just like Glasya. Maybe Gremory no longer cares.)

---

Tower II • 21:09

---

It's almost too good to be true. Though Asherah's no mathematician, she knows that the odds of her and Edric's escape plan going off this well were slim. The scene she and Edric left back at Cabin D looked incredibly realistic — cut-up vests and a trail of blood leading into the forest. Moxie and Ripley were fast asleep, and Dasani and Elio went scavenging in the opposite direction of the cabin. Though Asherah wouldn't be shocked if Moxie could somehow see despite being fast asleep with her eyes shut, she thinks the Six girl was really out cold.

During their walk earlier in the day, Moxie told Asherah that she was getting increasingly tired with every passing day. Of course, Asherah took that with a grain of salt, as does she with everything Moxie says. But there's always a smidgen of truth in every lie. Point is, she was probably genuinely asleep.

Their walk was otherwise uneventful otherwise. That was probably Moxies intention — she wanted to make Ripley jealous while also getting Asherah to show some loyalty toward her. Obviously, she was unsuccessful.

Even if Moxie weren't herself, Asherah wouldn't form any attachment to her. She doesn't have time to be attached to anybody, not even Edric. He's decent enough company, but Asherah knows she can't rely on him forever. She relied on Hadassah when it mattered most, and look where that landed her.

(She can hardly sleep a wink when the sound of people trashing in the mud is directly outside her window. It's now the fifth day in a row that there's been people outside Asherah's house. The fifth day of her hearing over and over again that she deserves to die.

Asherah can no longer chalk their anger to brainless sycophancy for the Mayor. Nobody would be this passionate about the grandchild of somebody who rules them with an iron fist. It's like these people were looking for somebody, anybody, to express their anger for the world at. Asherah was just the most accessible target.

Or at least, that's what she tells herself. It's much easier than admitting it's her fault Khaya's baby is dead. Because Asherah's the one who told Hadassah to handle it. Asherah's the one who must've given her terrible advice. And now she's the one who must pay the price.

A large part of her knows she doesn't deserve this. Nobody deserves to have bricks thrown through their windows or wake up to baby dolls drenched in fake blood on their porch.

The issue is, whenever she hears "Asherah Uzeram, your life's a lie! No baby deserves to die," she doesn't know what she's supposed to think or how she's supposed to feel."

If she really is a good person, why does she feel so bad?)

It's unfair to Edric; Asherah knows this damn well. Yes, she's given him an abundance of chances, and yes, she is trying to establish a connection with him, but her brain fires warning signs like cannonballs, and it leaves her confused. Is it Edric that she shouldn't be drawn to or humanity as a whole?

It's all in your head, Asherah tells herself. Yes, Edric's more confident than he was when he and Asherah first met, but she gave him the tools to be more confident. She can't be upset that they actually worked. Besides, if she hates somebody without fully knowing their story — because surely, there's more to Edric than what Asherah knows — she's just as bad as the people from Seven who scorned her.

(She can't even go out in public anymore. Just a few months ago, Asherah signed up for a physiology class at one of the schoolhouses in Delonix, Seven's largest town. Her mother was nothing but supportive of her too — she said it'd be good for when Asherah takes over the family business.

Asherah liked the people in that class. She liked that she was learning a lot and that someday those skills would transfer into her becoming somebody admirable.

She didn't like walking into her first class after the incident with the baby, only to have her teacher hand her an ominous piece of paper. When she turned it over, a note read "Asherah Uzeram is to be removed from Delonix Schoolhouse immediately. She is a danger to her classmates' families, and her beliefs directly contrast those of the Schoolhouse"

Nobody in her class even said goodbye to her. Instead, they cheered as Asherah bolted out of the classroom, immediately going into the bathroom so nobody could see her cry,

Somehow, that incident was way better than the tomatoes thrown her way as she walks down the streets and the people who stalk her home purely for the sake of screaming at her.

The worst part is Asherah genuinely thinks she deserves all this. She's the one who let everybody down.)

(Hadassah revealing the truth to her hasn't made these memories hurt any less.)

She and Edric stare out through the tower's window at the dark forest ahead of them. It's quite nice up here, dark gray cobblestones with fuzzy green moss in the crevices. There's a sleeping bag — which probably won't be great on the stone — and a table with a wooden bench. When they first arrived, they found a leather backpack on the table with a few knives, some granola bars, and water.

Eventually, Edric asks her, "Where do we go from here?"

Asherah smiles — she's not sure it's a real one, it probably isn't. "It's a good thing they had some food for us up here, so at least we don't need to worry about that for a while. A small mercy in the grand scheme of things, but still."

"We can't stay here forever," her ally notes. "I mean… we can, but I doubt the Gamemakers would like it much."

"Agreed." Asherah's never been able to watch the Games in their entirety. Still, she knows that the people in charge, whether it be the Gamemakers or the people who empty their pockets for sponsor gifts, want to be entertained in some capacity. That, of course, begs the question of what exactly these people find entertaining.

No, Asherah knows what they want to see. They want to see her and Edric covered in blood that isn't their own, and they want to see the two of them absolutely break. Asherah won't allow that to happen — that's her final wish for this world that's been so unfairly cruel to her.

(If it means dying, so be it. She'd rather die as somebody grounded than live as an unrecognizable monster.)

(She's so afraid of dying…)

"What should we do to pass the time then?" Edric's only been asking good questions since he and Asherah got up here, but she doesn't know the answer to any of them.

She doesn't know the answer to anything. All she knows is how to live off the land without killing any living creature. Surviving when the expectation is to kill is an entirely different story. She's somebody who brought life's blessed light into this world. It goes against everything she stands for if she then snuffs it out.

(On the train from the zoo to the arena, Asherah had a talk with her District partner. It was the first one she had since the parade that wasn't just small talk.

She asked Olathe, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The rumors are true, right?" Asherah raised her eyebrows. "You're here because you killed people."

"I'd hardly call the Peacekeepers 'people,' but sure."

Asherah has never been anything like Olathe. However his mind works, she'll never understand it. But she had time to talk to him regardless. It'd be silly to not try and slightly figure him out.

"Okay…" Her voice trails. "My question is, then, how did you do it?"

"Kill them? I had a knife, that's how."

Right. She could've worded this way better. "Okay, but mentally, how did you prepare to do it?"

"It's easy once you think with your entire soul that you deserve to be alive more than they do." Olathe sighs. "When there's something better on the other side of murder, the whole thing gets way easier.")

(Asherah was right. She'll never understand him. That probably means she'll never understand a lot of other people here too. They're all so willing to do anything if it means their survival. They all have a drive Asherah can't find in herself.

Asherah wants to be good. Asherah wants to live. She can't have both.)

"We should look for food when it's brighter for sure," Asherah answers Edric's plea. "The nuts and berries that Elio and Dasani found were good and all, but we need something with more sustenance."

"I heard chickens yesterday," her ally says. "That's probably our best bet, don't you think?"

"For sure." But the thought of being the person who kills the chicken disturbs her even though it's necessary. Her parents would tell her to do it. Any rational person would tell her to do it, and Asherah should do it. Chances are, she will when it comes down to it, but she definitely won't be too happy about it. At least it's better than killing a person.

"What else should we do?" Edric asks. That's right — getting food doesn't entertain the masses forever. "Do you know anything about setting traps?"

"Vaguely. I did a bit of practice in the training center. It wasn't too difficult when I pretended everything was medical equipment from home. Why do you ask?"

"It'd be smart to lay some traps around the tower. I quite like it up here — I don't want anybody to get too close to us when we're here."

"What do we do when people get stuck in them?" Asherah already knows the answer and doesn't want to hear it. Yes, it'll be the correct one, but the truth hurts here.

Edric slowly exhales. "I guess we um… k-kill them?"

Asherah shakes her head. "I really don't want to…"

"I know you don't, and believe me, neither do I." At least he sounds genuine here, not at all bloodthirsty. That's what Asherah's feared most. "But, that could be what it comes down to. If we don't, there's no chance that we get to go back to Six or Seven. All we need to do is play by the Capitol's rules until this is over, and then we get our lives back."

Somehow, it doesn't seem so simple to Asherah. If she kills people and comes home to Seven, she just proves she's somebody who could realistically kill a baby. That could change if she told the world that this was Hadassah's fault, but then they'd all just hate her instead. As upset as Asherah is, as betrayed as she feels since the girl she considered a sister let her harbor so much grief and guilt, passing her pain onto her doesn't feel fair.

But she doesn't want to die. She doesn't deserve to die.

(Since when do people get what they do and don't deserve in Panem?)

"You're right," Asherah says. "You're right. You're so, so right — but it doesn't make any of this easier. People aren't supposed to kill each other."

"And a government isn't supposed to force its citizens to kill each other either," Edric quips. "I know it's not fair, but I can't sit here complaining about it, or else I'll be the one who ends up dead in the end. There's still a good chance I will, but I don't want to go down without at least trying."

"Makes sense." With a deep breath, Asherah presses her lips into a line. "I just…" It takes everything for her not to cry. "I don't want to die here, Edric."

"I don't want to die here either."

Asherah Uzeram will choose life for as long as she can. In an arena of darkness and cruelty, she'll be the light who leads the path to freedom. She'll shine as bright as she can. If death and darkness shut her out, this isn't the world she was meant to heal after all.

---

Cabin D • 23:40

---

It was hard for her not to say anything, truly, but she had no other choice. Or… Ripley did have several other choices besides watching Edric and Asherah run and not waking up Moxie to tell her. But, they know that any other choice would've been the wrong one.

What would she even do, shake Moxie until she wakes up, and scream that Edric and Asherah are trying to leave them in the dust? Were they supposed to walk on the porch themself and beg their (former?) allies to stay? Or, was Ripley supposed to just take somebody's weapon and kill them?

She's not sure what she'd have gained if she did any of those things. Moxie would probably be less upset when she wakes up, but there's no better alibi than being asleep — Moxie was too. Edric and Asherah never did anything wrong to Ripley. Sure, the former was a bit abrasive, and the latter reminded her of a better version of herself, but that doesn't mean she has to rat the two of them out. Neither seem particularly dangerous — odds are, somebody else is going to kill them anyway.

They can't blame Edric and Asherah for leaving the alliance. It's definitely a turbulent bunch — a few days ago Ripley would've considered leaving too. Even though Moxie's… she's Moxie, they've learned to recognize manipulation when it looks them in the eye. She learned it from her parents and she learned it from—

("I don't know what happened!" Ripley can't count how many times they've said that today. No matter who asks, that's all they can say.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" one of her mothers asks, Ripley sitting cross-legged atop a hospital bed. "You can tell me the truth, dear. I'm not going to be mad at you."

Oh but she would…

Ripley didn't mean to— it was so sudden! They didn't think —they lost control of herself! It was just that— if it weren't for the lingering smell, they wouldn't believe it happened. It's just— didn't— think— so fast— fuck!

"I thought it's what you and Mom would've wanted…"

"So it was you?"

"I don't know!" They bury their head in their lap. She knows exactly what happened, whether or not she chooses to admit it. "Do you think it's something I'd do?"

"I don't know, sweetie…"

So she did think Ripley would do that? Their own mother? She thinks that Ripley- why? Why, why why? Why would anybody think Ripley would—

She felt so lonely. She was tired of being walked over time and time again. The opportunity came and— no, they couldn't have! That can't be what happened.

Nothing happened.)

Maybe she'd have been better off leaving with Edric and Asherah, but they'd never take her in. They've already established themself as Moxie's little servant — if she even would consider them that at this point. Clearly, Edric and Asherah value their own survival. Ripley would've just been a liability.

Then again, aren't they always?

No. She can't be a pushover any longer. That's not exactly a grand realization, nor is it a new one, but the point still stands. It's just… it's so hard when the world is so lonely, and they don't have anybody, not even their parents.

Maybe they're just doomed to be alone forever. It's better than getting hurt, better than latching onto Moxie Adegoke like she's a lifeline until they're thrown in the water with no choice but to drown. It's better than— Ugh! They can't spend the rest of their life getting manipulated. She can't be so malleable, can't be a dress-up doll that wears a different outfit depending on who's closest to her.

They're so lonely, and they hate it. The world is a blizzard, and the snow keeps piling on her as she waits and waits for somebody to bring over a shovel and set her free. Even if the person holding the shovel is using her, at least she's no longer buried in the cold.

But she saw it all! She saw the One boy standing idly at the elevator when Ripley arrived at Moxie's floor. They tried to convince themself that they were hallucinating, that the world was again transforming into a nightmare, but they pinched their skin, and he was still there. He was still real.

Yet Ripley confided in Moxie anyway. She spilled her secrets and rested on her shoulder, and it was nice to feel like she was important to somebody, even if she knew damn well she wasn't. It's always the meanest people in life who treat Ripley the nicest.

Not telling Moxie she saw Edric and Asherah is her own silent rebellion. Even if they end up dying because of it, it's better than allowing herself to be so submissive to somebody else.

They've seen things about Moxie shift since the Games began. She's been set off her course with the exclusion of the bloodbath, so Ripley's tears are less and less real. Moxie can't control them forever, and she certainly can't control an alliance when a third of its members disappear overnight. Ripley doesn't know if they're playing mind games or doing anything of that sort, but they know it gives them the slightest bit of joy in their miserable life so it can continue for now.

(Does that make Ripley a bad person?)

("There was no hope for you, Ripley. I always knew you were filled with madness, just like me.")

She's unsure when she passed out or how much time flew by before she woke up to frustrated pounding at the door. Dasani's fast asleep on the floor beside her, and Elio's resting his head on the Four boy's stomach. Moxie, on the other hand, isn't here. That must mean—

"Somebody let me in!" a voice shouts from outside.

Ripley peaks out one of the windows, unsurprised to see the Six girl, her hands full with torn-up vests — Edric and Asherah's torn-up vests — and a sour look on her face. Of course, she's too pretentious to crawl through the windows like Elio and Dasani must've. "Coming!"

They twist the doorknob and let Moxie inside, stopping momentarily to take in the rising sun's light. They play dumb and ask the Six girl, "W-why do you look up-upset? Did anything h-happen?" Ripley wonders how much longer they can get away with pretending to have a stutter.

Moxie throws the vests onto the table. "Who do you think these vests belong to?"

Ripley cocks their head to see Dasani suddenly snap awake, Elio blinking and trying to make sense of his surroundings. The Four boy yawns, "What are we investing in?"

"I didn't say we were investing in anything, you silly goose." Moxie folds her arms and sneers. "I asked who these vests belong to."

Ripley gasps — they forgot they're not supposed to know this yet. "Edric's and Asherah's…" They point at the numbers '6' and '7,' both only slightly recognizable. "What h-happened to them?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you," Moxie scoffs. "There's a blood trail from the porch to the forest. Something must've happened while they were on night watch."

"Clearly…" Dasani rolls their eyes, now fully awake. "Elio and I didn't see anybody during our walk — found some great strawberries, by the way, perfectly safe — and Ripley was asleep just like you, I take it."

"They were," the Six girl says. "Didn't you guys notice they weren't standing by the cabin when you came home from your walk?"

"I didn't, no. It was too dark outside, and the lights out front weren't working."

"And we were tired!" Elio chimes in. "I'm still tired!"

"You can be tired another day!" Moxie continues to inspect the vests, Ripley's eyes traveling the same route as the other girl's fingers. "I just… what the fuck happened?"

"I'm s-sorry!"

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Ripley," Moxie coos. They hate how warm it makes them feel and how they immediately feel terrible for deceiving her.

"I'm also sorry," Dasani chimes in, his lips forming a goofy smile.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for either, at least not related to this." Ripley can see the sweat dripping down off Moxie's forehead. The Six girl is losing control, and she looks afraid. She's embarrassed by her own disgruntled expression and constantly wiping her forehead with the sleeves of her shirt. "I just really can't wrap my head around how this happened.

(Moxie knows exactly how this happened. She thought her whole "business arrangement" to meet Gremory the second night of the Games by the Cornucopia was null and void after there was no physical Cornucopia, but perhaps she was wrong. Gremory probably saw Asherah and Edric on the porch and decided to take them somewhere as some sort of a "punishment" for Moxie.

Wait — that can't be it. How would Gremory know where they are unless he got uncharacteristically lucky? And why would he go after the two of them when he knows damn well Moxie doesn't give a rat's ass about either of them. Surely he knows there's more to the Hunger Games than playing human checkers.

Think, Moxie, think! She furrows her brows.

It was right under her nose the entire time. Those heinous swines thought they could run off together, didn't they? They get credit for the faux blood trail, but that's just about it. As soon as Moxie finds Edric and Asherah, she'll ensure they bite it.

But perhaps she has a more pressing issue to attend to. Her brief fear of Gremory means he doesn't need to be alive…)

"Maybe it was a mutt," Elio offers. "There's lots of mutts in the Hunger Games, right?" He giggles as if he's hiding a secret. "We're in a forest, after all! Maybe it was a wild animal. Real animals would never hurt Edric and Asherah but since the Capitol made these animals, they must have something funky in their brains that makes them really mean!"

"That d-doesn't seem l-likely…" Ripley says. "If I w-were to g-guess, it'd be another Tribute who d-did it. Mutts usually aren't un-un-until l-later in the Games."

"But there's still mutts!" The Ten boy's as persistent as ever, it seems.

"I h-have an idea," they cut him off before he can say anything else. "Y-you know Asherah's District p-partner?"

"Boy do I know him," Dasani exclaims. "I wish I knew him better, and in other ways, if you know what I mean…"

"I don't know what you mean." Elio bats his eyes.

"Don't worry about it, little bro!"

"But 'Ani, I am worried!"

Ripley, unfortunately, knows exactly what Dasani means, but that's beside the point. "C-can I continue?" she asks.

"Please do," Moxie says. "And Dasani, why the hell would you say that in front of Elio? Isn't he supposed to be your little brother or some shit?"

"Like I was s-saying," Ripley drawls. "He's r-really creepy and w-weird. He seems like the s-sort to capture somebody f-for bad r-reasons. Besides, he's allies with somebody l-literally named L-lucifer Deathrage."

"Oh, I know Lucy!" Elio blurts out. "On the first day of training, he asked me if I wanted to play with him. I said no because I already had friends — mainly Dasani — but he seemed nice enough." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "Maybe I hurt his feelings, so now he wants to hurt mine back by stealing my allies. And maybe the Seven boy helped him out!"

"So this is the idea we're going with then? Sounds good." Moxie smiles for the first time all day. "Elio, later today you're going to help me look for Seven and this 'Lucy' of yours. Does that sound good?"

And just like that, Ripley's successfully thrown Moxie off Edric and Asherah's path. Hopefully, wherever they are, they're happy Ripley did this for them, and they're proud of her.

(It's not like Ripley can be proud of themself.

After all, that's what happened with Jeneva — they got too confident.)

(For as long as they live, Ripley Sabyn will never think highly of herself again. That's the only way to avoid something bad happening again.)

(Or maybe it's always been unavoidable)

---

21st: Aiko Grice, District Three. Killed by Melchior Kolmogorov and Thana Achillea.

20th: Madrasa Saiz, District Twelve. Killed by Olathe Whitethorn and Aleister Darski.

---

Until It Doesn't Hurt - Mother Mother

---

*taps mic* Hello hello is this thing on?

Aha well it's been two months since the last chapter. I blame ummmm…. school and extracurriculars 66%, Genshin Impact 33%, and my new FFN related tattoo 1%.

Surprise surprise, I'm still writing this story! I hope that's not actually a surprise. but yeah i've been thinking about it like a whore in my absence and y'all are still fucked.

I might be switching up formatting for the next chapter and doing just tiny snippets in different places a la District 11-Olive but I might not. You won't know until *checks watch* hopefully the next week or two since spring break is upon me and I am not going anywhere because I want to stay home with my parents and my dogs instead.

Thank you to the 4 separate libraries I wrote this chapter at for forcing me to write and my mom for buying me Grammarly premium for school a while back and now saving my ass since Goldie has a headache.

Hopefully I'm still good at writing and y'all enjoyed it. Feel free to let me know, or don't. I know me offing both District Three kids in the bottom four was rancid but we can't all be Hedy and Liana now can we :/

Question: Would it be weird if I started a bag of all my nail clippings and then auctioned it off to support gender-affirming care for kids in conservative areas? What part of your body would you auction off for trans rights?

Fuck this shit, I'm out,

Linds