Chaos.
"Chaos is more freedom; in fact, total freedom. But no meaning." - Audrey Niffenegger.
Elijah Fawkes, District Nine Male.
I can't shake the feeling off, the worry at the back of mind. Something is wrong, more than wrong. Worse than wrong. I can't piece it together though, puzzle pieces that are the wrong shapes and won't slot into place.
I look once, then twice over my friends, smiling. Kennedy looks away from her trance, grinning back for a split second then returning. Atarah, sweet Atarah, nestles into my side, as if I'm the armor to which protects her. It's true, I'll always be here. Not just for Atarah, but for Kennedy. The two of them were so caught up in their own afflictions, their worries, lives that got in the way of opening up and seeing the word through the dark, dreary haze that they've let themselves wear away through. It always worked out like this, me stepping up.
Though it's worked, like usual, the feeling erupts in my mind like a firework setting off. My intuition tells me to think harder, but my heart just isn't in it. So I let it slide.
"At least we're moving," Kennedy adds, not harshly, but with a little bit of a snap. I nod my head, stepping over the cracks chiseled into the rocky sidewalk that lines this particular tunnel. The water churns green, rippling with its infected rot and filth. As the days have flown past, strangely without much happening, the water's taken a turn for the worse. After... Sabrina, after her body floated only to be sucked right underneath the surface, down into the depths to only disappear seconds later, the water's growing harsher, vicious waves colliding with the walls.
I slipped, yesterday. Only a minor slip, but when my foot touched the water, it felt as if something was grabbing me from underneath. I don't want to believe what the use could be behind this trick, but I know it somewhere. The Gamemakers like to draw us together, when things get boring. Sitting down, talking about our lives in Nine and Eight, whispering as we eat, that's not what they want.
The only thing that's kept us alive was Sabrina's... death. I picture her, once, but that's enough to cause my eyes to well up. The candles rooted into sconces send horrific shadows, swiping the walls in vicious claws of black, only to change shape with each breeze that moves the light. It's enough to give me time to wipe away a tear, holding it back.
I've always been strong, not strong in the sense of willing to physically beat on people, but strong through hardship. It's made me who I am today, kind, willing to protect those who can't do it for themselves. It wasn't the first death I've had to put up with, let it sink in and grow inside of me. I can feel it scratching away, the knowledge that I'm a murderer, but I placate it with my smiles and the friendly chats with Kennedy and Atarah.
If I let myself fall in on that... that side of me, maybe I won't be able to pull myself up. Better to be strong, better to be confident and smile when there might not be anything to smile at.
Atarah squeaks, dragging me to halt as her entire body freezes. I stare up, ready, pulling up a knife from a clip in my belt. The shaky narrow pathway opens up, stretching further down the jet of water and expanding to reach an archway cut into the left side of the wall. A door is closed, brown varnished wood set in a rusted frame.
"Don't worry, it's just a door." I don't say it patronizingly. Maybe in Kennedy's tone, Atarah would blush and think twice about her fear. But she only smiles, nodding her head with that timid strength. I gently pry myself from her weakening grip and pull up my knife.
"Just in case," I add, taking steps closer and closer. My feet echo louder than I'd like, the cavernous room a pain as I hear Kennedy and Atarah nearing me, as quiet as they can make it but still far too loud. The door is about half a foot taller than me, reaching a point that meets the top of the archway. Opposite us, I follow a candle that illuminates the bottom of a staircase leading up. Not the staircase we took down from the bloodbath, it must lead to another section.
Whether we cross that road, it all comes down to what's behind this door.
I grip the handle with one hand, take a deep breath, and firmly push it open.
There's no fight, the rusted metal creaks loudly against the hinges but there's no hesitation as I open up on another, candlelit room.
It takes a moment for my eyes to take in the scenes in front, my legs carrying me in almost automatically. At first, the red on the walls looks like paint, the tools on shelves almost like plastic toys.
Atarah and Kennedy are locked to my back, peering through cracks that my large frame doesn't cover. We all inhale at the same time, gasping, united in fear.
Tatum Caville looks up, her hands and feet restrained. One of her eyes is drenched in blood that pours from a cut in her forehead, splitting the skin like some ugly zip has been tugged open. An arm is barely recognisable as a limb, the skin shredded as it hangs, swaying as if a grisly blanket was taped to her bone.
But the look in her eyes is very much alive. The look of hope.
The steely determination, the protective foolish nature, it solidifies itself. I lead the way into the room. Nothing beats away the fear, but this other part of me is enough to fight it off as I take smaller, then larger strides towards the table.
"Watch... watch out..." Tatum croaks out, just in time. The hook comes flying towards my face, a deadly arc that I swerve around, whistling in the air when it catches nothing. I bring up my knife, blocking out the sound of my desperate allies as they charge in, crying my name.
"Atarah, Tatum!" I spare Atarah the fight, knowing a tortured girl is better than the prospect of fighting whatever... whatever this thing is...
I hear frantic footsteps, then Kennedy's light feet joining next to me. We share a look, a look that seals the deal, then we bolt forwards as the creature, maliciously smiling at us with bloody, crooked teeth, dives once more.
Chains rattle, a girl moans quietly, but all I hear is the blood pumping in my ears. I don't like it, but this isn't Sabrina, it isn't another human. It's a mutt, torturing a poor girl trapped to a table.
Two versus one, the odds quickly overwhelm the barely human figure. My knife enters its milky chest, puncturing something, coming out a clotted red that stinks of pus and death. I gag, Kennedy lunging and sinking her own blade into its scalp.
"You okay?" she asks, holding back her own vomit. I nod my head, lashing out with one foot and knocking the creature to the ground. Over its head, I see another door, the same size as the one we just stepped through. The one behind is swinging open though, inviting us. An invitation I'll gladly take, I'm so done with this basement.
Shackles hit the floor. I turn to the metallic clatter and barely balance myself out when Tatum throws her arms round my neck, burying her face into my shoulder. Sobs take over her body, shaking against me as broken, beaten cries echo through this bloody room. Tears slide down her cheeks, but happy tears, mingling with the cuts: some shallow, some agonizingly deep.
"You... thank you..." I bring a hand up to her back and embrace her tighter.
Her hair tickles my neck, tears wet against my shoulder. It feels right, despite the grisly situation, my chest brightens with the pride of saving her. Tatum... the poor girl, this is so wrong, so sick.
"You're safe now," I run a hand down her back, taking the fear away. "It's dead, it's gone."
Ward Bingham, District Six Male.
The first candle dims once, a tiny pin of yellow light. I hold my breath, fists balled as the inevitable creeps up the corridor. Please, please. No...
The candle fazes out, completely. The block of darkness suffocates me, fear pushing down any noise that claws up my throat. I hold onto my knife shakily, the knife I killed Ada Bertrand with, and step forward to the light.
Each candle somehow, against all physics, maintains the brightness of a section in the corridor. When it goes out, the entire section is plunged into darkness and you can't see anything, even though a wall of visibility teases a few feet ahead.
The next candle starts swaying, threatening me, and I shut my eyes tight. I'm not afraid of the darkness, I'm afraid of what might be in it. The Gamemakers wouldn't do this unless they had a reason, their reasons are never normally good. I roll my shoulders, trying to toughen myself up when my eyes snap open and I sprint forwards.
That's when the candle goes off, shrouding the section behind me. The next one as if on a chain reaction, switches off like a light bulb and I crash into the wall. My feet fall from under me, a shout hurting me throat as I dig around for something to claw my way back up again.
A sharp pain knocks against my elbow, stone or debris blocking my way up. It's not the scrambling in the dirt that fazes me, it's flailing around when I can't see what's coming round the corner or coming closer and closer... it could be anything and I'm stuck here, knife out, cold sweats and stabs of fear holding me down.
I want to move, I don't like being stuck in a spot I can't work my way out of. That's what I did earlier. I adapted. Cynder was dead, so I knew what had to be done for me to succeed what he failed. Victory, still the possibility. Any of the outside effects, like other tributes that could get in my way, the Arena itself, they're all obstacles now. I took Ada down, hiding that away, blocking it from making me feel any sense of guilt.
I've seen tributes crumble down, but I want to stay strong. I have to stay strong because the weak do not win. Even physically, the will to fight was never there, but here and now, I know what must be done. It's a case of doing it, doing what has to be done for the sake of my own survival. But the darkness is now stopping that from happening, ruining plans, tearing me apart as I claw around.
I dab away at my cheek, feeling tears crawling down my face. I'm not ashamed to cry, never have been. This can't go on though, I root around inside, locating that strength I used to deny mercy to Ada and Raelyn. I cover myself with it, attempting to block away whatever tries to stop me, and I grab onto the wall, landing upright.
It's hard to gain balance, but my boots gain a grip on the ground. It's enough to give me space to pivot on the spot and sprint round the corner, feeling either wall to guide me along the corridor. Time ticks away slower now, without visibility each step is louder than it really should be. I can hear my own heartbeat, feel my other senses working harder to make up for my lack of sight.
A clang, a loud ugly thumping noise comes from next to me. I jump up, heart rocketing in my throat as the fear swamps my veins. I make no noise, not anything from my own throat anyway. My entire body shoots into the side wall, eyes pointlessly trying to locate the source of the noise. It happens again, by my head.
Bang, bang, bang. The things in the cells. The people who want to get out. I pick myself up and run, run now... always running. If I run, they can't get me. Bang, bang, bang. A chorus of moans and clangs against the metal cell doors. They want to be freed, to enter the darkness and hunt me down. I won't let them, they'll ruin everything, destroy what I'm trying to do despite how hard it is to fight the urge to break down into nothing.
"I've always handled things by myself... but this... I need someone..." I cry out, letting the tears come now, faster than they did before. The relentless orchestra of the patients screams against me. Down, I push it away. My own voice comes out hoarse as I claw against the wall.
And then a candle flickers on, a faint burst of orange. The banging stops, and someone steps into the light.
Am I dead? Is this...?
"You're not alone, not anymore."
The voice is kind, warm. I stand up, my eyes adjusting to the light again. My tears stop falling and I smile, enveloping myself in the warmth of the candle and stepping forwards to the figure. I just want this all to end... being alone.. being trapped... killing. Ada, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" My hands lunge for the person. I need them, I need them. But whoever it is bats me away, screaming at me and throwing me against the wall. The force beats against my skull and knocks the sense through me. My eyes finally focus, the hunger still there, forcing its way up. But I see. I see... Megaera...
She glares at me, the sword rising up with the deadly point extended out. A noise, maybe a whimper, maybe a shout, is all I have time to say.
It's better this way, so much better away from it all. I couldn't handle things by myself, losing Cynder, the plans, then killing. I was never as strong as I tried to be.
The sword enters my stomach. A cold touch, smothering me from head to toe.
I fall forwards, the candles lighting up the hall once more. But they fade again, bringing with it the darkness, the eternal darkness.
Lochlan Clarington, District Two Male.
"I get it, you're a Career, Miss Tough Girl. Believe me, I have first hand experience with your like. But talking can be good too, you know."
For a moment, I think I may have overstepped the mark. Things have been tenuous, to say the least. I live in Two, I'm no fool, I understand Calliope's instincts. If she had any real sense, her sword would have split me from shoulder to stomach yesterday. But it didn't, because truthfully, I know how to push girls like her. I can annoy them to the point of exhaustion, or I can work with them, give them what they want.
I never thought I'd be grateful living where I lived. Having Autumn for a sister, she's proven useful, even if Calliope has a certain respectful air that my sister could never quite get a good grasp on.
"You spoke a lot yesterday, couldn't get you to shut up."
Calliope freezes on the spot, turning to face me. Nothing gives way to the emotions underneath, what she's thinking. She barely moves a single muscle except for her tongue, forming calm, precise words.
"Yesterday we had to plan, you said you needed to rescue her from a Mutt. You had no idea of its strength, maybe it was weak and could be killed instantly, but you didn't know that." Some of the freezing water laps the side and drenches her foot. If Calliope notices the temperature, she doesn't show it.
"Yesterday me and you had to talk about what was going to happen. I'm not a fool, I won't rush into a situation where I could end up dead. For the life of me I don't understand your infatuation with the girl-"
My cheeks darken almost instantly. "I'm not infatuat-"
"But nevertheless, you know what I want, so I'll give you what you want. Now please, let me walk on in silence. Your voice is bothersome."
On that note, she turns on the spot, raising her sword and proceeding further along. The flush in my cheeks doesn't relent, a heavy warmth that makes me look down at my feet as we tap quietly against the rock flooring. Whatever, I know Tatum is a friend, someone I feel obligated to help.
If Calliope wasn't so ice cold, maybe she'd understand what it meant to feel a sense of loyalty. I know what she really wants to do, how deep the idea of Victory runs through her. She'll kill me if it means her survival, and unless I can give her what she wants, her sword may not stay for very long by her hip.
Tyndall's death was quick. Calliope would make mine quick. But I'm not ready to die. Not until I've saved Tatum, completed the deal, and at least tried for my Victory.
Even if saving Tatum goes against that. Saving Tatum when she could just die. Another tribute out of your way.
Strangely enough, that feeling whispers in the voice of Mastermind. I guess he's gotten to me, that sly cunning he hid within that heavy, brooding skull of his.
Calliope pauses again, almost knocking me when I don't notice it straight away. She turns to assess me, my feet jerking under me awkwardly as I attempt to stay put on solid ground and not plummet to what I'm sure would be a very unfortunate death. The water's restless, cold, almost angry. I'd hate to fall in.
She only stares. My feet balance out and I let out a low, theatrical whistle. "Well, thanks for the help!"
Calliope's eyes narrow, but she doesn't rise to anything. I wish like Tatum, I could settle with silence. But silence was always difficult, it brings about a space where you're left to think too much in your own head rather than mingle with other people.
Sure, those I had to mingle with were pointless brutes. But when they shouted at what I had to say or tried to beat me up, the exhilaration was well worth it. Calliope's dull.
"I see a door, open round the left hand side."
"That must be one of the other chambers. The room Tatum was being held in, the doors were locked."
She runs a hand through her hair, flicking out drops of water that splash against my cheeks. "The way I see it, we have a long stretch of water, or a door. I'm going for the door, you can come if you like. Of course, if you try to walk on..."
It's not said as a joke, or even with a sense of thrill. The threat is there, a threat I have to take seriously.
"I'm coming."
I keep my tongue still for the next few paces. Once we reach the door, Calliope steps through first, followed by me as I take in the sheer size of this concrete hole. There's nothing on the walls, nothing on the floor except a few rusted stains clinging to the metal plating.
"Come on," she nods in the direction of another door, slightly ajar. Her steps are large. I have to jog to keep up as she pushes open, raising her sword and expertly moving through without a single noise.
"Calliope-" I'm met with a harsh 'Shh', silencing me instantly. I follow through, slowing rising my staff, ready to take on the sick fuck that hurt Tatum. She didn't deserve that, not this. The girl is fire, she has the right to a fair fight.
When was any of this fair? The moment you were reaped, fair went out the window. Fair's a fantasy.
My voice, my stupid, sarcastic voice that drives people up the wall. I ignore that and glance around.
The sight is disgusting but reminiscent of the torture chambers from earlier. This one has a rack, coated with blood... blood that drips down, bright red drops that splash against the floor. "That's recent."
I run over to it, staring horrified at the splotches covering the entire wooden surface. Calliope kicks something, when I look over it's the... the... "It's dead."
I should be happy. Tatum, she made it. She's free. But then I see the blood, so much blood. Drops everywhere, a puddle forming underneath this table, pooling around my feet.
"That fucking..." I run up to the mutt. Angry. Fuming. Red spots cover my eyes and I kick its head, then again, then again and again and again. When its nothing but a pulp, Calliope touches my arm, snapping me from it.
I look up, seething. There's a pain in my mouth where I've bitten my tongue too hard. I spit out my own blood and drop my staff, realizing the look in her eye.
"You're going to do it... aren't you."
She almost looks sad. "She isn't here, Lochlan. Not anymore."
I don't want to die. The sudden fear strikes me hard, a painful truth. "I can still help you. You got me here, it's not your fault Tatum escaped." But that's good, good she isn't here. She's free. "I'll fight Megaera with you."
Anything to save my own hide. I may laugh, joke, annoy people to the point of them wanting to stick a knife in me. But I'm here to survive, to use whatever I have in my arsenal to ensure I make it home. Autumn was a shitty sister, but she's my sister. Two is my home, whether I belong there or not.
"Please," I almost beg, almost falling on my knees.
Calliope looks over me once, then down at the gory mess at her feet. I see the tiny, hesitant nod. "Yes."
At least Tatum's alive.
At least she's free from this... this torture.
But it means she's still here, still one of the tributes in my way. Maybe... maybe it would have been better if she had have died.
No. Calliope turns to walk away, me following, ready to do her will just so I can live another day.
I won't wish Tatum dead, not after Tyndall, not after this. I'm not becoming that person. Those people are Careers, I'm not a Career. I'm not.
Megaera Cassian, District Four Female.
The plan will work, my plans always work.
I stand still for a moment, the grip on my sword loosening as I take sharp, shallow breaths. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. I get to exact what I've honestly been feeling deep down since I saw the group I'd ally with. If it works, then I get the satisfaction from...
No Meg, save yourself the delight. Savour it for when it happens.
The sword immediately tightens in my grip as I continue past the corner, swiping away at random bits of sharp rock that for no reason annoy me. It's as if every waking thought and feeling punctures through my head. Either happy thoughts about victory and killing Calliope, Alistair and all the rest, or angry thoughts that I'd allowed myself to get attacked.
I saw it happening one day, but not so early. Calliope seemed smarter than that, I was an asset to her, I had to have been. It fell apart when you decided to be a smart-ass, when you split the group up.
If that's true, if it is in fact my fault, then so be it. It doesn't change the inevitable future. I'm still going to win whether their feelings are saved or I crush them beneath my boot.
"Alistair," I smile, broadly. "Come out, come out wherever you are..." I call loudly, theatrically drawing out each syllable, each coo for his name. I drag my sword against the stone, setting sparks that barely compete with the candles but have the desired effect. Noise, a volume louder than the silence that's been my life the past few days. There's not much to be done when all you can do is circle, planning and plotting.
Now there's a plan, there's no need to wander aimlessly. Now I can have a bit of fun, I deserve that after Saskia's death and Calliope knocking me down.
I tut, laughing wickedly. "Matteo. 'Teo. Come on, dear. I thought you liked me."
I've assessed these corridors with accuracy. Dropping a blood stained rock I can easily identify in a specific corner, then counting as I continue to move, how many rooms until I reach it back. This ring is smaller than I thought, with staircases that almost blend into gaps between the cell doors.
I could hide, take them by surprise. But it ruins the excitement. I've always been about living life to the full, who cares if I'm in a place where people die, I can still have fun.
"Alistair, Matteo. No need to be sc-"
I hear footsteps, quiet footsteps. Footsteps are footsteps though, doesn't matter the volume.
I pivot on the spot, smiling warmly as Alistair and Matteo step out of a cell. The little idiot from One looks drained, a complete wreck from when I last saw him. Blue shadows cover the underside of his eyes, porcelain skin losing that hue that made him look so innocent... so irritating. Matteo on the other hand, except a little worse for wear, a certain doubt in his eyes, is as tall and confident as he ever was.
Well, false confidence. We all know Matteo is a useless nobody. But he still has some merit.
"Boys, boys," I tut again, taking small steps towards the worried pair. "When I call your names, I expect you to answer."
Alistair bites the bottom of his lip, then looks around with a thrash of his head. Finally, understanding floods that pea-sized brain and his mouth fumbles for words that speed out as quick as he can form them.
"Where's Calliope, what did you do?!" His face turns an amusing shade of scarlet, the fight appearing for a second. When I raise my sword, purposely allowing the blade to catch a reflection of the candlelight, he looks back down. Always fearful, no matter his puppy-love for Calliope.
"She's alive, for now. Girls like her don't understand the importance of gaining the trust of the right people."
"You never trusted her, not once," Alistair blurts out, still deflated. "You didn't trust her because you know she's better than you!"
Although it stings, I've become far too good at covering little blows against my confidence for far too long. Besides, lies barely make a chink on my exterior. Calliope is good, but I'm perfect.
"Matteo, you're awful quiet. Where's the suave, businessman that couldn't keep his hands to himself?"
At his calling, his cheeks flush with red. An almost adorable blush that I giggle at, twirling a piece of my hair with my free hand. His eyes follow the movement, not lustfully, but with something in them that tells me this will work out. I'm no fool, I've planned and plotted countless ways to take out people in the past.
Two teenage boys are the least of my worries.
"Here's the thing," I raise my sword, pointing it between the pair. Slowly I near them, and slowly Alistair starts to take tentative steps backwards, raising his scimitar in time to his chest puffing out, then falling in. Matteo doesn't look quite as scared, but the pretender was always good at hiding his true emotions.
"You two have been very, very bad boys. Killing poor Saskia when all she wanted to do was have a little fun."
"We didn-" Alistair opens his mouth, but with one quick glare and cut of my sword, his mouth stills.
"Don't interrupt," I snap, allowing anger. He gulps and a bead of sweat rolls down the bridge of his nose. I relish the way he stares at me, twitching, almost knowing what's about to happen. If it plays out like it does in my head, oh, it will be fun indeed.
"I think it's time things were put in order, starting with loose ends."
I've always been quick, quicker than dear little Alistair at least. When I shoot forwards, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, he can barely shout out Matteo's name before I drag him backwards a few steps. I let the sword clatter, hand darting to my hip to bring a dagger pressing against his throat.
Alistair doesn't make a single noise, he simply stares up once into my eyes, then over at Matteo. His legs shiver and quake with fear. I can feel the heat radiating from him, his heartbeat pumping blood faster and faster through his pointless little body.
"I've always had a bit of disliking towards you people from One. Always so pampered and prissy, always expect things to go the way you want without much effort. I've always fought for what I wanted, and now that I have them in my grasp, I won't let an imbecile like you snatch them away."
Matteo's grip on his spear registers in my mind. I've seen him throw, I've see the mediocrity he hides away. I can still use it though, poor Alistair, he's been dead weight from the start.
"Matteo, you have your uses. The fact you treated me with such kindness won't go unrewarded. I'll let you live..." Something close to relief washes through his face, but cuts off when I raise a finger with the hand tightened round Alistair's collar. His lips open, but knowing better, slams them shut again.
"Please, I hate people who interrupt." I smile at him, once, alleviating the worry that overwhelms that sweet little moment that earned me a grin. "I need you, but alas, I do not need Alistair. Prove your loyalty."
I see his throat bob up and down, realisation striking him. His hand almost opens entirely, his eyes widening as he croaks something incomprehensible.
"It's simple, kill Alistair here and now. Or I slit his throat and throw my knife right between your eyes. I'm an awful good shot, you've seen me."
The truth of the matter is, he knows I am. He's seen me, the whole country has seen me now. What I can do, it's second to none. I am the Victor the Capitol wants. In all honestly, I can make do without Matteo. But I'm doing this for them, giving them a show. Plus, he might act a nice meat shield in the inevitable fight with Calliope. A distraction, then I fulfill what I've wanted to do for so long... a lifetime it feels.
"Well?" I arch an eyebrow. Matteo, so confident, so charismatic, is lost for words. But the look in his eye, that's unmistakeable. Alistair bites on his lip so hard, a trickle of blood falls down and splashes the floor. He knows he's done for, and as Matteo takes two steps forwards, raising his spear, I see tears pool under his eyelashes.
"I'm sorry," Matteo says in a voice that almost cracks. The spear point reaches Alistair's chest, and for one last moment, Alistair opens his mouth.
"Don't be, it's not your fault."
It punctures his heart, killing him instantly.
BOOM!
The little boy drops, as useless as he was in life. As if on cue, the anthem starts, the faces begin. Alistair beams down, that annoying, childish smile plastered from ear to ear. Then, the second and final death of today, my prize from earlier. The useless sack of nothing from Six, the one who tried to... hug me. The seal disappears, Anthem blasts again, and I turn to face Matteo.
"Now Matteo, time to hunt ourselves a lovely girl by the name of Calliope. It's time she met her end, wouldn't you agree?"
Matteo nods his head. I nod mine. He could stab me in the back, but he won't. I know Matteo, I know his kind. Cowardly in the face of people like me, would grovel if it meant their lives. Too scared to take the initiative.
It's why Alistair is now dead, why Matteo will soon follow, and why Calliope will beg as I tear her apart.
It's all a show, but it's my show. These are my Games.
Ward Bingham, District Six Male.
Alistair Tempest, District One Male.
Austin. Ward was interesting. The major skill he had was his observation and ability to keep calm and cool, so throwing in Cynder there to work him up, bring something good in him, gave him something to go on. If Cynder had have survived, Ward might have grown stronger. But without Cynder, losing everything he could do, he started to unravel. Killing Ada was the turning point, after that, I wanted him to go out a little crazy but in peace. Thanks for sending him in!
Immy. Yeah, honestly, Alistair wasn't originally going to make it very far. He was a great character, I never doubted that, but someone like him really wasn't cut out for the Games. Then, I realised that with all the careers combined, he had his uses. I wanted him around to explore the different mindsets to different types of careers, a reason behind the Careers splitting. After finally cracking and realising he never belonged here, it felt a good end to him. I'll miss Alistair.
Yup, another update! I'm honestly surprised with my writing speed, but when there's nothing else to do, might as well try to get closer to the end of this. It's fun too, so that's a bonus xD
Favourite of these POVs and why?
As of right now, who do you see winning?
If you were a tribute, what would your plan be in the Games?
These Games seem so short in my mind, but that's probably just because the bloodbath was like... last week. Whatever, I hope you're all enjoying this so far! See ya next time (which may or may not be tomorrow).