The Stars
Title: Insanity
Characters: Pyro, Cuan, Syarnark, Penka, Kallisto, mentions of the others
Word Count: 824
Warnings: The Games, talk about various crimes, character death, double standards
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games and the inspiration for these characters comes from another series entirely.
Notes: Plot is abound! Also, the secret of Pyro's family kinda got out pretty quickly. This obviously happens after the Games, so you know that Syarnark wins (this may not be canon in Song of the Dying! so don't think Syarnark wins in that fic because he might not).
012: Insanity
It was insane to dance with the devil and enjoy it. Pyro knew this well, perhaps better than anyone else.
What kind of son - a once loyal and loving son - would consort with his family's murderers and lose himself in their comradeship and commit crimes simply to please them?
The weight of his deeds, his innumerable sins, pressed against him relentlessly whether he was alone or laughing in the midst of their ranks. The realization that he had become the very person he despised sprung upon him at the most random of times, each as devastating as the last.
All the delusions he used to deceive himself could never hide the fact that he was now a thief, a murderer, and a criminal like the rest of them. Perhaps, he could argue, he had been forced to commit those crimes under the threat of death. Certainly, even in spite of his natural talent for such things (or so Cuan claimed), the man would have dispatched him without hesitation if he became a burden or betrayed them in anyway.
But if that was the case then he should have just let Cuan kill him so he could finally rest in peace without his family's memory tormenting him during every waking moment of his life.
Instead, he was here. Here - committing crimes to survive, simply for fun, or to keep some upstanding relationship with the District's Peacekeepers.
Sometimes he unforgivably forgot, even if for a moment, the reason why he had accepted Cuan's proposition all those years ago. As a small child he'd stared up at those cold, dark eyes set against a pale face and equally dark hair, unafraid because of the resolve pounding deep within his tiny chest.
Sometimes he forgot that this was the one man he was supposed to hate above all the others. Even the Capitol and its machinations were never meant to take precedence in deserving his hatred and rage, despite all that it had done to the Districts.
He wasn't supposed to cry in frustration when Syarnark inevitably won the Hunger Games after a dazzling bloodbath of a finale and returned home, never to speak to them again.
He wasn't supposed to collapse against the wall in grief when little Kallisto brought back news of Penka's inevitable death at the hands of those who had hired them.
And he certainly wasn't supposed to be the first to join Cuan in his resolve to someday wreak utter havoc and chaos on those who had done it.
Even that act alone was complete insanity. They may have been strong, may have had the guts and skills and smarts to outclass many, but in the end there was only a handful of them against a government. They weren't rebels with hearts of gold or even well-intentioned extremists.
They were simply criminals hellbent on a warpath of revenge, that was all.
None of them particularly cared about the Hunger Games, however oddly dissonant that had always seemed to Pyro. It wasn't as if any of them had been safe from the Reaping as children and teenagers.
The only thing they particularly hated about it was that it had stolen Syarnark from them - sure he was still alive, but none of them were stupid enough or suicidal enough to keep in contact with him. They watched from afar, from the corner of their eyes, and every now and again Pyro found a small delicate confectionary sitting on a pile of books he owned in one of Cuan's apartments.
He was certain that he was insane already. For someone like him, who had once angrily mouthed off playground bullies and shied away in horror from brutal deaths broadcasted onscreen, this life was unbelievably surreal.
Even so, sometimes he let himself smile and laugh with the others even with Syarnark (with his relentless smiles and painful optimism) and Penka (the closest thing to a mother most of them had) gone from their lives. Sometimes he cried like a child in front of Cuan, sometimes they got into arguments.
Sometimes he had no problem calling them all a dysfunctional family.
It wasn't that he ever forgot his true goal. He knew that sooner or later the day would come when he would have his revenge and abdicate himself of his family's ruthless pleas.
One day he would have to stop pretending and making excuses for himself. After they had their revenge - their self-serving revenge that had nothing to do with justice - he would have to wake up from this dream he found himself enraptured and entranced by.
One day he would kill Cuan Rian. Whatever occurred afterwards was none of his concern. The others would probably kill him in return, perhaps painfully, but Pyro knew that at that point he'd be done with fighting and surviving.
A painful death, after all, was only fair. He wouldn't fight or resist.
Because betrayal was the greatest crime.
Welcome to the world of double standards! This group is full of them. This is by far my favorite chapter of them all, actually.