Murder.
"There's no way you can kill someone and get to the other side of the experience unchanged." - Charlaine Harris.
Megaera Cassian, District Four Female.
Bare padded walls box me in, a single hinged door bolted shut barely a few feet in front of me. I glance upwards at the light-bulb swaying in a gentle breeze and smirk. This is it. Time for some real fun.
I can't see anything outside the door. All that is planted in the metal is a rectangular cut with three vertical bars bolted in. From outside all that pours through the gap is darkness, I find myself relieved for the solitary light swaying above my head.
When the gong strikes and we're released, the problem will be our incapability to see. I can imagine the other tributes with their fear dominating their senses, their breathing sharp and ragged, their bodies quaking on their plates. If only I could see it, I could relish in the inevitability of my victory. None of them stand a chance, not with me around here. Mags advised otherwise, to turn this belief that I'm the best around and use it for something good; confidence, not arrogance. I'm... trying.
But when you're surrounded by people like the twenty-three others I am, it's hard. The Pack I'm with, they're only distractions for my ultimate goal, and I've always been taught I was the best. I can't switch that off.
I know what is best for the time being, however. To keep my alliance together, strong and hardy as a single group. Matteo dotes on me, Saskia enjoys my company. The real issue is District One and their independence, but as long as they have each other they'll stay idle and continue to obey. We're a mismatched team but it works as long as I work to uphold my act. As long as I see their usefulness, no one needs to worry about me dropping it.
The non-careers... well, they're about to see how much I want this. For several of these brats, this clock is ticking down their lives, literally.
In the absence of anything to do but stand, waiting gives me time to look. This little box doesn't have much, nothing but a small dull room. The walls are white smudged with black and... red. I notice the bloody hand-prints and glance away just as quickly. I'm not scared, no, I'm not. It's just the Gamemakers ramping up the atmosphere. My body starts shivering, a chill creeping through a crack in the wall or a vent built into the darkness. Alistair would laugh it off with a smile, but it's bugging me. I wrap my black zipless jacket round my frame tighter, hugging it and setting my stance on the plate so I'm ready to bolt for the black door handle.
I don't know what number we're on or if there even is a proper countdown. There's the sound of time ticking down, but whether we're close to the minute ending or only just beginning, I've lost count. Everything is a distraction. What's behind that door, who is next to me in either room, the future of this Games.
I'm sure of my Victory and I don't get scared, not for anything. The unknown is difficult though, it proves problems that I can't tell or solve before they get in the way. I'm aware the fight will be hard once it begins, the Games are a challenge after all, designed to keep us guessing and hoping and praying things will go away. I won't sink to that level though, not ever. I just want something to act as a guide almost, Mags maybe. She'll help, she wants me to win. My victory will be my doing, but she's there as a helping hand when I really need it.
A boom resonates the room, low and tremulous. The ticking is still there, but as each second goes down the boom gets louder and louder. This... this is it. I can feel it. Something outside begins to light up, gradually and steadily a pinprick of yellow illuminates what's behind this door and I see a cracked concrete wall the opposite side.
The booming slows and reaches a pitch that draws on and on for a second longer. Then the gong sounds and something clicks, the lock turning in the door, or the mines deactivating. Either way, I waste no time. Adrenaline, excitement and maybe... maybe a little bit of fear pulses from my heart and overwhelms every reasonable thought as I dive towards the door.
My clammy hand slides off the handle but I gain control and forcefully push it open, the metal clanging against the outside wall.
The bloodbath area is on two levels. Our rooms based on a ring of catwalks connected by metal rungs, the floor almost like a netting only solid that supports the platforms. Above, lights sway and flicker on and off, though not so much that the room is ever cast into darkness for too long. Down below a platform, the Cornucopia glistens in the centre. I can see more rooms like ours settled in a ring around it, but in each single wall a larger gap leads off into what must be the rest of the Arena. Stairs going up and stairs going down, two sets of each.
All I see so far is complete destruction, and tributes are just only making it out of their individual rooms. I push my hands against the bar, ignoring the metal stairs and vault over the balcony. I land precisely and with ease, my ankles taking the impact and project myself forwards, bolting for the golden shell and the bounty resting within.
Water drips from pipes somewhere in the ceiling, chipped and weathered. There are miniature craters in the concrete floor, holes in the wall and the metal is rusted and worn away. The Arena is broken already and with each shadow cast on and off in time to the flickering of the light, the atmosphere reaches a point that makes my stomach somersault.
Calm yourself, Megaera. It's only a room, and these are weapons. Weapons! I take a deep breath and set my heart to a normal enough pace, as normal as I can given the situation and my bodily reactions.
No one else has reached my point yet, the others careers either fighting up above or being good little morons and running for the stairs. Seriously, it's a game of killed or be killed, we haven't got time to do things the orderly way.
Some people start to shout things: names, shrieks of pain and the recognizable grunts of fights beginning. I absorb the chaos and let it satisfy me, my fingers circling round the handle of the nearest weapon and pulling it up towards me. It's a decent sized sword, the deadly point catching the light and sparkling for a moment. I stare at it, the power I have, then set off forwards.
Maybe I should guard the Cornucopia, but in such a large open room I either set off and get a kill, or wait and let others run away. I don't underestimate their cowardice, they'll run without their snacks of food or a weapon if it means they won't die. All I have to do is catch the little mice and have a bit of fun with the chase.
The girl doesn't see me coming. Her pretty blonde head collides with the edge of the staircase and she grunts with pain, falling forwards into my arms as she tries to regain her balance. I let her stand up and watch her eyes widen when they realise who they've set on.
"It's me!" I cheer ecstatically, bringing the sword-point up and watching every single ounce of energy she has leave her in one wave. The fear takes over and tears burst from her eyes. Her arms go frantic as she tries to flail forwards but I kick out and let her scream. She goes on and on and I only watch as her face goes red as if about to burst.
"Sorry love," I raise the sword when I realise it's time to do this. There are so many more victims to take down. "You never stood a chance." The sword point pierces the '5' embroidered into the stitching of her jacket and she goes completely still, face paling, blood pooling around her corpse.
When I pull it out, a chunk of meat sticks to it like a spit and I wipe it on her trousers, smiling.
She was never going to put up much of a fight, but she was a victim nonetheless, and the first kill I'm sure. No one has the means to make another just yet.
There's more to be had though Megaera, so much more. I nod to myself and run off, sword swinging round and round. I'm enjoying this, and when I enjoy something, I don't stop until I've had my fill.
Alton Shelding, District Ten Male.
I blindly stumble into Davin's arms. A cold expression has swept his features, overtaking all I saw about him in the Capitol. For that I'm grateful, if there was anything to fear about my group, it was their disregard for seriousness. A smile rather than a sword. Davin's here though, that's what counts.
He takes me by the shoulder and pushes harshly into the wall. My breath leaves in a single puff and I bite back a groan, knowing too well he wouldn't do it for nothing. His breath comes out a misty air in front of his lips, and they press closer towards me, whispering.
"Have you seen Celene?" The worry is etched into his tone, it cracks but he masks this behind indifference. I admire that. For once, I see a spark in him, he has a chance. Though his chance takes away my chance, I never did come here intending to win. My family knew that in the Justice Building, but now I'm here, I don't want to... to die. I can smell the bitter tang of blood and it curdles my stomach. I'm not going to die now, that much I can focus on. What comes next is left in the blur of the unknown, if I don't know it, I can't predict it.
"I-I haven't seen her." Someone bolts past us, a thrash of wild brown curls and she's gone, down metal steps and out of my view. Davin plummets forwards and holds back with the tips of his fingers from smothering me completely as someone else flies past. Luckily, up here on the top level, everyone is focused entirely on making it to the lower level where the real goods are, and the only place to escape.
If we wait too long though, we'll be trapped with the careers. Davin looks at me and must see this, knowing swamps his eyes and he nods sharply.
Grabbing me by the hand, I ignore all protest to shake it off and let him guide me along the metal flooring. Our footsteps are loud and vigorous, though we do nothing to mask them. In the screams and fights that ensue, us clambering forwards won't attract attention. Not unless we go running for it, or a tribute seeks us out.
We both know who would do that, I hold back that thought. The careers are occupied, they won't get us... not yet anyway. We pass a rung that sways downwards, hanging jagged and rusted. It topples and a shriek pierces from below. When I spare to look, it hasn't claimed a victim. A startled pair of eyes look up and I recognise Raelyn, she canters off searching for her allies, and I glance away.
It's best I don't watch to see what happens to her. For all her annoyances and quirks, she's a good person. She doesn't deserves this fate.
"Celene couldn't have gotten far..." Davin ponders, ignoring the likelihood of her fate. Celene was so much like Davin, or at least she pretended to be. It was irritating the way she clung to his hip and tried to act his shadow, but she's just a girl and I'm scared for her.
Another voice casts through the air, above the pitch of everything else. Davin careens round the corner, palm sweaty but clinging to my own. I look over the golden Cornucopia to see Raven backing up against a charred wall, smoking with the absence of an inferno. His eyes are wide and frantic as they search for something, his ally, a stranger, a lifeline.
All I can watch is Calliope, cold-faced, strike through his heart with her weapon, pinning him to the wall. He screams, a blood-curdling shriek that lasts only a second and then he's gone. His body slumps forwards over the silver blade coated with red, and the career pulls it from his body and walks off. It makes me sick. The youngest of us all, now dead. Dead. I just saw death. Bile rises up my throat in one acidic wave but right now is no time to vomit with the emotion all this is giving me.
Emotion. I want to laugh at that. The one place I feel like my body is awakening and screaming, forcing me to act and do something is here, where kids are being butchered for sport. I would smile, but Davin halts and stares down at something, a gasp leaving his lips. My heart knows what it is before my eyes follow to the ground.
Celene. Blonde hair matted with blood that has pooled from the fatal wound in her torso. Her eyes are closed and face relaxed, almost like she was asleep. I hear the distant thrum of an arrow being released, though whether it finds a target or not I don't see, nor hear. Both our eyes are on our deceased ally, and all I feel is... I'm not even sure. We weren't close, never would have been no matter how much Davin pushed us together. But she was still Celene, just a girl with paint on her fingers and dreams in her head.
"...she didn't deserve this," Davin says, voice whisper-like and frail. His eyes are glossy when they turn to look at me, the beginnings of tears hanging on his eyelashes.
"We have to go," I croak. "We can't die, otherwise... otherwise we won't..."
He wipes the back of his hand across his nose and nods, stuttering over his own final words. We stare for one final time down at Celene, down at the girl who lit up our alliance and gave Davin someone to be with, someone like him.
I know, as we leave through the widest gap in the left wall leading upwards, a backpack hitched over my shoulder, that with her death our alliance has changed. The dynamic is different. Davin and Celene had each other. Though they both incessantly poked and prodded me, trying to elicit something that resembled anything like their personalities, they were content to leave me be because they were like each other.
Now it's just me, and I'm not sure I can ever be who Davin wants. Or has it all changed? Celene dying, can Davin really ever smile again?
We run, stumbling into the flickering light of whatever rests ahead. Our ally, dead behind us and the fighting continuing to rage on, claiming its victims.
Tatum Caville, District Six Female.
My hands fumble for the backpack strap, buried under a splintered plank mottled with fungus. Deep behind the darkness of the catwalk's underside, I'm hidden enough from sight. It can only last a few more moments, when the shadows are broken and the light sways in my direction, someone will spot me.
I ignore the pressing feeling, the urge to hurry up. If I panic, I make mistakes. Mistakes then lead to trouble and trouble in the bloodbath leads to an untimely end.
The zip pulls against the fabric. I get a brief glimpse of a coil of rope, propped up against a slab of something, and I close it tight again. Get in, get out Tatum. That was the plan. No dawdling.
The lights eventually flickers back over towards me, breaking me out of my solitude and casting my entire form in a backdrop of black against the decaying structure. I stare wide-eyed at the Cornucopia, filled to the brim with everything one could need to survive. Temptation gives way to survival and I skirt along the cracked flooring, hoping to remain undetected and hopping over flaming rubble that continues to burn hotly.
I manage to reach the opening to one of the staircases, leading upwards into a block of darkness. Whatever's up there, it's an escape. Around me is the bitter shrieking of fights, teenagers on teenagers, innocents against assassins. It would be so much easier to slip upwards now, hide away and secure my survival from this place.
My breath hitches when my eyes gaze over the crumpled form of the male from District Twelve. His dark skin paling as his blood pools through the crack in his chest. This is what's it come to, now. The inevitability of the Hunger Games. We collate together as a group, talk to one another, see each other up close, and within seconds our barbaric instincts kick in and we take the low road and cut our way through.
The worst thing is, this is me. This is what I would do if thrown into the deep end. The stairs are my way out, for now, a way out of danger. It's self-preservation versus loyalty. Lochlan and Tyndall are somewhere within these concrete ruins, and my own life lies at the top of these stairs.
It always came down to this, standing up for yourself or letting people walk all over you. You made your choice back home, make your choice here. My mind settles itself on an answer, but luck fights against it.
A figure zips past me, wild hair streaming behind in a thick, frizzled cape. Kitty lunges for a backpack by the opening, more supplies I never even noticed. When she turns around, hitching it over her shoulder, she finally settles her eyesight on me and the panic flares up as her eyes widen, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.
"I..." Her hands fumble for the knife at her hip. I shake my head, stepping back away from the panicking girl.
"No, you don't... I'm not..." My back hits the wall and she charges at me, confusion and fear overtaking her senses. She's blinded by her own need to survive, and I'm her target.
Instincts kick in, a switch flicking on and I bring my backpack in a single arch that connects with the side of her head. She cries out, something hard within my supplies clunking against her skull and she stumbles to the right. Her knife cuts the air blindly, left and right, trying to find its target. Me. I'm the person she thinks is trying to kill her.
Idiot. A derisive snort sounds out before I even process it. It's true, her stupidity, but no... Tatum, she's just scared. Some people are just better at hiding it than others.
She charges at me again with her knife raised for my neck. I turn out of her clumsy stride, knocking into her side and scrambling forwards. I don't want to hurt her, not today. I'll come to the conclusion of having to kill when I have to, but right now it's not something that has to happen.
My legs buckle over a block of concrete. White hot pain flares up my leg and I hit a wall, my backpack falling from my hands. I look up to see the Cornucopia splash with blood, a body falling into the weapons, scattering them into a mess of silver and wood.
Matteo, the boy from Four, stares glumly at his District partner. He drops his bloody spear which lands parallel to the deceased boy from Seven, Graeden I think. His eyes lose their hue in time to the blood pulsing through his open wound.
The distraction has wasted too much time. My scalp burns when Kitty's hand pulls me up by my messy mane. I struggle against her grip and elbow back, connecting with her stomach. Her breath leaves her quickly and again we break contact. This girl is determined, I'll give her that.
It has to be done. A sweat creeps up my forehead, warming up my entire body and sticking me into place. If she won't leave me alone, I have to break the promises I made earlier. What I am crumbled into a mess, like this room, before I even got here. But this was something I wanted to hold to, for as long as possible.
Kitty's ruined it.
I turn to her, sadly. My heart thumps harder with each step I take towards her. Her arm quivers when she raises her knife, aimed for me again without the dedication behind her posture. If I try to run, she'll go after me again. If I try to fight, I can escape.
Her arm zig-zags in front of her, as if she can bat me away and I'll just drop dead on request. I press on, pivot round and bend down to scoop up a heavy concrete brick.
She dies in silence. The indent in her skull brings about an acrid taste that leaves my mouth, scorching the back of my throat.
The bloody brick falls by her broken skull. I stare down at her, trembling head to toe. I didn't want to.. but... but she just kept coming. I had no other choice. It was me or her, it's always been me or someone else. I had to kill her...
I had to.
Raelyn Houchens, District Ten Female.
"Kitty wouldn't have left us, would she?" My head screams on high-alert, all my senses burning hot. I clutch the cleaver to my chest like my mother used to hold me. It's a lifeline that I need to preserve and keep safe.
"No, Kitty's many things but she isn't unfaithful." Ada turns to examine the smoldering ruins of the Cornucopia room. The topside where our beginning rooms are look immaculate compared to the desolation of below. The Cornucopia glimmers like the golden sun, a beacon amongst ruin. Yet two of the Careers prowl there, waiting for enemies to stumble into their path.
I want to shout for Kitty. The words crawl up my throat but if there's one thing this journey has taught me – heck what Alton has taught me – it's to learn when to keep my mouth shut.
No more bwarking, not anymore.
"What if she's hurt?" I follow Ada along the back wall, remaining hidden under the catwalk. She continues to step cautiously over each and every obstacle, the mature and composed one. I'm so happy I stuck to her side through this and found a friend in here.
"If she's hurt, then we need to find her and help her get out of this," she states matter-of-factly. It's true. There's not much we can do for her unless we find her. I try to distract myself from the bodies I can already see, lying face down and face up, the common sight being their blood. The other tributes are dwindling in number, most having escaped or still trying to locate allies and supplies.
I'm glad after I saw Alton that I found Ada, otherwise... otherwise I could have...
My hand slaps against my mouth, realisation storming through me like a red hot knife. "What if Kitty's dead, Ada?"
Her false bravado drops, the smile twitching and dying out. She smiles for me, because she wants me to like her. I haven't smiled for a while now, my bodily function to exude such a reaction seems to have gone into hibernation for the time being. Kitty was a good companion in that respect, and now she might be...
"She can't be dead." Ada's voice is whisper-like, frail, broken. She regains the pattern to our journey and steps over another chunk of rubble, helping me over when my foot nearly catches and brings down an entire wave of brick.
I want to be more of use to our partnership. In the Capitol it really felt like it was me on my own stage, I knew what to do, I was just being myself and injecting an enthusiasm others cast aside in favour of stoically folding in on themselves. Here though, it's been a major worry of mine. Death sure, I'm scared for myself and my friends. If we die then I'm terrified of the pain and not knowing what's after. But I'm also scared of losing my own personal touch on things, not being able to laugh at random or smile or hug a friend.
I can fake it all, but there's no life behind all that. The Games are draining that dry and we're barely fifteen minutes in.
"The end of this section cuts off, we'll either have to continue at this pace, by which time we might be caught, or step out and continue to look for her."
"What if they find us?" I can't keep the fear out of my voice. Not even if I tried. "This room is big, but not that big."
Ada raises a finger at the Cornucopia, pointing out the two Careers that stand attentively with their weapons hoisted up. Trained killers at the sound of a gong. Is this really what their lives are to them?
"Two careers there. Megaera is the loose cannon of the group, she could be anywhere. The other two will be patrolling the up side, searching rooms for tributes that didn't move."
"How do you know?"
Ada smirks, bringing back a little light to the situation. "It's what I would do."
"It would be easier to see Kitty if piles of planks and concrete weren't in the way. Though I guess it gives places to hide."
Ada places a tentative foot out of the darkness. "So we're going then?"
I follow through, one foot then the next. Nodding, a sheepish grin replacing the sorrow. "Let's go find Kitty."
As we traverse through the bloodbath room, Ada manages to secure two backpacks and myself a small dagger I clip to the belt provided. It would be a thirty second journey if it wasn't for our sure footing, avoiding any noise and circling back to hide behind brick when a tribute shoots past.
We pass by Kitty's deceased District partner, curled up in a broken ball. I bow my head mournfully, hopefully Kitty won't be too upset when we-
"No..."
Ada's back meets my chest when I continue to walk into her halting form. I groan as I turn to reach her side. In front of us an opening rises, away from this hell and taking us away where we can try to survive for our time left. It's her 'No' that brings me back to our goal, and my heart shatters in on itself.
"Kitty."
Her body looks intact, everything as it should be. Until I reach her head.
The fatal wound itself is nothing but a crater in her skull, like someone's taken a scoop from her head and left the rest to fall in.
"I don't..." Ada vomits before I can piece together a strand of coherence. I'm aware that we're making too much noise, that by stopping here we're prolonging the chance of us getting spotted out in the open.
But my body reacts differently, my knees feel as if they're about to buckle and all I can do is look down at the grisly skull fracture. I don't want to look. My body protests, my head screams as it tears itself apart.
I get attached too easily, it's something I've known for too long. A weakness Alton and my mentor brought up in conversation. But right now, that doesn't matter. Kitty was Kitty. Our friend. Our ally. If she's dead, what hope is there for either of us?
I feel a tug on my arm and blink, looking upwards. Ada is biting her bottom lip, holding back tears as she pulls me forwards. I look once more at the gap in the wall, knowing what we have to do. Leaving her just doesn't feel right. She was a living, breathing, crying girl thirty minutes again on the hovercraft.
Now she's a dead girl, a dead tribute that someone... someone killed...
I bite back a sob. If Ada will remain strong, I'll remain strong. For the pair of us.
We step over our dead ally, leaving her to the claw that will drop and take her back to Twelve. Along with Raven, Twelve has lost its hope of a Victor. The other dead amongst us, going home in a box and left to be buried by loved ones who wanted nothing more than to see them home.
How was this something I could laugh at... was I just that big an idiot? Alton's been right all along.
We begin to move up the steps. If I ever had a chance of remaining myself, it died along with Kitty.
Calliope Cartier, District One Female.
Alistair tumbles towards me with scimitar in hand. His trail of sight hovers over Celene from Five and then snaps back to me, his eyes tightening shut for a second and opening up.
A lopsided, trembling grin replaces the worried frown and he hurries to breach the gap between us. Not a drop of blood coats his weapon, although for Alistair, I knew he would never go out of his way to seek out a kill.
He's not like the rest of us, he's too pure.
Unlike me, he avoided his calling.
"Where are the others?" His voice quivers regardless of the strength he attempts to toughen it with. I let my sword drop to my hip and bring him over to the mouth of the Cornucopia. Matteo looks up from the bundle of supplies he's sorting through. Similar to Alistair, his face is a mess of worry. Although his kill lies dashed against the shell, blood splayed out for the world to see.
"Saskia and Meg are still looking, they're convinced there are others stupid enough to still be here."
Alistair sits down to join Matteo, comfortably squeezing in to prop up some more weapons and spare backpacks. The two males within our alliance are the two weakest links. Matteo scored even lower than Alistair, but Alistair trained to slash a dummy not cut apart a human person.
The pair are way in over their heads and I can't do anything about it. I don't trust Matteo wholly, but he's nowhere near as bad as the two girls somewhere within this room. It's better to keep them around, in fact I want to keep them around.
I'm having a hard time setting my priorities straight, killing Raven wasn't difficult, a simple lunge forwards and that was it. These people though, at least in Alistair's sense, he's a friend. It won't be so easy, my training will conflict with my emotions. I can't have that. But I can't stop it from happening either.
"I'm going to go look for those two, they're probably off powdering their faces with blood." Alistair laughs and I gently smile, bringing up my sword and stepping over a scattering of spears. The pair of them begin mumbling to each other and again, knowing what should happen against what has to happen, makes my gut squirm.
It's not right, but who volunteered to do the right thing? I volunteered to win, not to find pleasure, to win. If Alistair has to die for me to win then it''s the cycle of things, the way it has to pan out. He's the only person I've placed my trust in and it's costing me dearly, vulnerability doesn't suit me well.
Heavy footsteps echo through the cavernous room. Metal clanking followed by the high-pitched cackling of none other than Miss Bitch. I see the swaying of her blonde hair and hurry up the steps.
If it's what it most likely is, I need to see it happen. My doubts aren't false, they have ground and this will be the one time I finally see Megaera for who she is.
It's not good to doubt everyone, I've tried to understand that. But in this case, Megaera's attempt to twist us all round her finger won't work, not on me. I won't let it.
I jog a little faster along the catwalk, peering into each individual unlocked room as I pass them. Her cackles attack my ears again and I follow the direction of the sound, a loud masculine shout coming from the confines of her little makeshift torture chamber.
"Trying to run is stupid." Her whiny voice grates on my ears once I turn the corner and peer into the room. The scene is exactly something I expected from her, and yet it tugs on something that shouldn't even be there.
Regret... sympathy... if it's Megaera holding the sword, anyone sane would feel this way.
"What are you doing?"
The boy from Eleven looks as if he's about to faint. He's clutching his cheek, blood seeping between his fingers from a cut. Megaera laughs again and launches her foot forward, knocking him into the back wall.
"He tried to run Calli', but I stopped him."
The boy attempts to stand up. Luckily before Megaera gets to him, his knees fail and he collapses down again. He's as good as dead, he should just accept it. Die with dignity.
"Then do what you have to do, he's not a toy."
She pouts, running a hand through her hair. "I get to do this the way I want."
The falseness to her cheers is excruciating. The underlying tone still remains hidden in this petty facade. It's just fun and games to her, it always will be. Who she can torment, the most blood she can spill, which mind she can unravel.
It's the very things she does that will bring about her downfall.
"Megaera!"
I hear a shout, followed by a brief scuffle. Saskia comes into view, dragging along another helpless victim. Cuts and scrapes mar his entire flesh, one arm hanging useless from a twisted elbow. Saskia beams proudly at the sight, tapping the tip of her boot against him as if to present him like some sick trophy.
What is this to them... seriously?!
"Him and his little friend tried to run away but I managed to stop this one. Thought I'd bring him to you. See what you wanted done."
"You couldn't kill him on the spot?" I ask, louder than I aim for. It's tiring dealing with these... these... what even are they. They volunteer for the Hunger Games and they act like little children. The boy I killed was more mature than these two idiots.
"Megaera is our leader."
"This is the bloodbath, you don't fucking-" My cheeks burn, I can feel my temper coursing through and rising with each heartbeat. I take a breath, trying to calm down despite their mocking smiles. "-they're kids."
"Stop acting like you're any better. Whose blood is that, huh Calli'?"
Megaera and Saskia both nod at one another, content, happy with their sick show. I give up, tired of trying to instil competence into an alliance that is far from my help. I won't ever play the mother, not to two impossible cases.
It just helps my victory that they're screwed in the head. It makes it easier to stab them in the back once their time comes.
"-wish we had a coin." Megaera jokes, kicking Sloan again, eliciting more pain.
"You've already got a kill, so I go first, fair?"
I turn around. I have no qualms at the sight of death, but not this, turning butchery into a game. It's the point of the show, I get it. The Capitol's ultimate source of entertainment. Not this though, not when it can be over and done with so much quicker.
"Bye bye Cynder deary."
Metal through flesh, and then the gentle thud of one dead boy. He deserved to die differently, not this way.
"And to you Sloan, I bid you a fond farewell."
At the thump that follows the stab, six cannons boom out from the speakers. Six deaths. Six tributes lost to the Games.
Megaera and Saskia leave with linked arms, too proud of themselves, acting as if this is their show and we're their underlings.
They can have their little partnership, I've got my senses, my training, my control.
When it comes to it, I won't hold back. They can have their little game. I'll have my own.
Celene Fontaine, District Five Female.
Raven Stillman, District Twelve Male.
Graeden Peltz, District Seven Male.
Kitty Lynch, District Twelve Female.
Cynder Duke, District Five Male.
Sloan Ryker, District Eleven Male.
Maybear, Kitty, Fin, dark clouds, nb and Mack, I'm sorry for your tribute falling at this early stage. Some were purely for realism, others were for their lack of plot within this arena, sadly some were simply because I couldn't get their character down easily enough for me to see a future for them. I'll miss them all, thank you for submitting and I hope you continue to see how the Games unfold.
Quick update, had half of this already written and since I'm on Easter break it doesn't take much effort to get something written up.
Bloodbaths are hard to balance between emotion and chaos, this one I tried to bring back to the tributes rather than making it just about the fighting. Now that the Games are beginning I get to explore different sides of them, hopefully you'll enjoy what I have planned :P
Favourite of these five and why?
Any deaths that surprised you, anyone that survived that you thought wouldn't make it?
Prediction of who will fall next?
I like seeing what y'all think in terms of winning and who will die. Anyway the poll results are on my profile, since it was only up for a day I doubt everyone who wanted to vote had a chance to, so I'm sorry for that.
These Games won't be the longest, but I'm excited. Until next time!