The Stars
Title: Seeking Solace
Characters: Pyro, Syarnark, Cuan
Word Count: 1,035
Warnings: Off-screen violence, death, disturbing amounts of apathy
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games and the inspiration for these characters comes from another series entirely.
Notes: This turned out a bit longer than I intended, but it was a powerful prompt. In case you were wondering, the Peacekeepers tend to ignore their actions (somewhat like how the ones in 12 ignored Katniss and Gale's hunting, even buying from them), so long as they aren't too flashy. They also do some jobs for richer members of the district- dirty jobs like the ones in this chapter. As for why they kill without sympathy? Well, you'll just have to read on. It's something Pyro doesn't really understand, himself.
005: Seeking Solace
Sometimes Pyro honestly forgot that they were all human beings here.
It sounded silly to admit, even in his head, but the more he thought about it the more the notion began to make sense. Before them it was something he only took for granted, something he never even had to consider.
When he first joined the group it had been painfully clear to the naked eye that Pyro was the anomaly, the glaringly obvious greenhorn in the midst of more seasoned comrades. It had been a source of shame to him, a motivation to improve and earn the respect of the others, but no matter how hard he struggled their inherent differences were still apparent.
The first time Cuan allowed him to participate in more than just minor thefts and recon jobs he bitterly recalled having to run off halfway through. The proceedings had left him violently nauseous, the sickly sweet scent of flesh and blood clinging to his senses even after he was a block away.
Bile rose to the back of his throat and he fought to keep it down, mindful that leaving behind any evidence was dangerous and pushed the limits of what they were and were not allowed to get away with in their criminal pursuits.
But he didn't think that the Capitol's Peacekeepers would endorse this.
Evidently, they did, because Cuan was a cautious man who rarely took risks that didn't benefit the group in some way. He was well aware of their limitations and the boundaries that they couldn't cross without attracting attention.
Apparently murder didn't make it on that list.
Someone approached him from behind. Judging by the light taps against the concrete he assumed that it was Syarnark, whose footsteps were as airy as his smiles.
"I know," Pyro laughed bitterly, pushing himself to his feet with effort. His legs felt boneless, as if he'd run a mile or two. "I know, travel in groups of two or more, never alone. I know."
"Are you - no, you're not okay," Syarnark said. For once Pyro couldn't hear a smile in his voice. The other boy stepped up to his side and carefully directed him down a side alley, away from the scene of their crime. As they walked he chattered, if in a more guarded tone than normal.
Pyro wasn't really listening. He never did, not to the useless things Syarnark had to say. He had a feeling that no one really paid the boy any attention when he rambled like this, and at one point he'd almost felt bad for him.
Not anymore, he thought darkly. For more than one reason.
"How can you do it?"
"Hm?"
"How…how can you do it? Kill people." Pyro spat the last words out as if they were a curse, a plague. "They've never done anything to you."
Syarnark shrugged. "It's a job. Like stealing. You had a problem with that at first too, right?"
"It's different." Pyro gritted his teeth, trying to keep his anger in control. Cuan had scolded him numerous times before, berating him for his bad habit of flying off the handle and letting his anger control his actions. It was hard, though.
"Look, I don't know. You want to go get something good to eat? We have some extra money and-"
"No."
"But-"
"I said no."
"Alright…"
Pyro watched Syarnark turn away with a pout, the closest to a frown the other boy ever got. Maybe he felt a bit guilty for turning him down so crudely, but his stomach recoiled at the thought of paying for a decent meal with the money they earned from murdering someone.
That was probably the first time Pyro realized how much of a mockery of human beings they all were. It was probably because of the incident that he slowly began to forget that they indeed were humans who had emotions and fears and happy memories like the rest of the world.
And for the life of him he couldn't understand it.
He was accustomed to the Capitol's cruelty and vindictive control over the Districts. They were cruel because they wished for power and relished in subjugating those weaker than them.
He imagined the perplexed look on Syarnark's face when he asked that question was the same look that anyone from the Capitol might wear if asked whether or not they considered the Games murder.
And he didn't know which scared him more.
Pyro, of course, couldn't avoid such missions forever if he were to find his own place within the group. He proved useful in other ways, hardened his heart for the times when murder was unavoidable, and crept off on his own after all was said and done to wrestle with the fury and guilt hammering at his chest.
In those times he found it incredibly hard to breathe, as if the smog over District 3 was about to smother him to death. There was nowhere for him to run, no place where he could go except back to his comrades, but he couldn't bear to return to see their laughing, carefree faces as they washed their hands of the blood of their victims.
Sometimes he wished Cuan had never recruited him.
In those moments he could cry and scream as much as he wanted, but his pride prevented him from doing more than punching a few walls until his knuckles bled.
Cuan always found him shortly after, a frustrated ball of roiling emotions, none of which he could name and all of which he felt as strongly as a punch in the gut.
And Cuan, patient and calm, pulled him into a tight embrace in a shadowed corner of wherever they were, and let him cry and rage and hate all he wanted, until he was too tired to care.
He'd clutch at the older man, half pushing him away and half pulling him closer, seeking solace in another human being who intrinsically couldn't understand anything that Pyro was going through.
Cuan didn't understand him, but he dealt with the verbal abuse and few fists that went flying in solemnity, and Pyro could almost pretend that he was truly offering his condolences.