Day One - Don't Look Down
Ivy McKinnon - District Two
A bright smile curved its way onto the slim face of Ivy McKinnon as she watched the savage boy being dragged away like an animal. He thrashed around violently, growling and snarling in a manner far from human. The boy tugging him along seemed not to notice, merely tugging harshly on the rope that had been tied around the savage's throat as if it were a simple dog leash. She knew that she was correct in lingering around in her hatch for a while; and now here was her opportunity to steal the upper hand.
"Good things come to those who wait," The readhead sang as she slid easily through the hatch; repeating an old phrase that her mother used to say when Ivy was younger. The saying was one of the few pure memories left of the woman. The girl skipped merrily towards the cornucopia as if she were merely prancing through a playground. She had so far found it hard to place a positive spin on her current situation; and it was with great difficulty that she suppressed a twitch of the eye upon sighting two bloodied and mangled bodies splattered against the white tiled floor around the glimmering silver horn.
"It just means there are less people to get in my way," She said meekly, her weak attempt at reassurance aided by forcing a watery smile onto her face. The child-like skip slowed to a very stiff walk as Ivy avoided gazing at the dead bodies; somehow she knew that their gaunt faces would haunt her for years to come. There was little comfort in that thought.
Something small and solid pressed into the bottom of her black dress shoe; and Ivy squealed in delight as she raised her pale-stocking clad leg to find a golden ring discarded on the floor beneath it; an enormous sapphire jutting out of the top. Scooping up the ring and slipping it onto a slender finger in a single motion; Ivy marvelled the magnificent ring with an extended hand. The golden bands matched the daisy yellow dress she was currently wearing. The flicker of a frown flashed across her face as she failed to grasp the memory of why she had chosen it.
A soft sound from somewhere behind broke Ivy from her fixated trance. While unable to locate the source, the redhead found herself briskly walking through the mouth of the horn; not wishing to linger long enough for another person to show up.
The floor was littered with various items, weapons of all shapes and sizes. Despite being born and raised in the heart of District Two, not once in her life has Ivy ever handled a weapon bigger than a knife. She supposed the weapon would have been efficient enough, but the girl found herself drawn to a purple bow that hung from where the string had been caught on the corner of a towering crate. There was no quiver accompanying the weapon, not one that she could find anyhow, so Ivy settled on a small black quiver that held thirteen arrows. She was not at all worried about losing them all; if it came to that, she could just slip back here.
She also found an emerald green handbag that was more beautiful than anything the girl had ever owned. The bag itself was empty; so she scooped up the closest hiking pack and transferred the important contents into the bag. The only thing she could not fit was a pillow; the handbag had been large enough to cram a sleeping bag inside of.
Securing the strap of the bag across her arm and deciding that she had everything she needed; Ivy was just about to leave when she spied the fallen ladder that leaned against the wall. Peering up at the ceiling, she found herself staring through a hole in the ceiling; one large enough to climb through yet too high to reach.
She weaved through the various items until she was beside the metal ladder; which she proceeded to lift and prop up against the pole in the centre. The ladder was heavy, and Ivy was by no means a strong girl. Tall, but not muscular. Once secure, Ivy elegantly climbed upwards with ease. She was vaguely aware that the handbag was weighing her left arm down; but she found it far too beautiful to abandon.
Upon peaking the ladder, Ivy hauled herself through the opening and onto the roof of the cornucopia. For a very brief moment, she felt disappointment flood through her body as she saw nothing but flat metal stretching out in all directions, sloping down steeply as they formed the circular walls of the cornucopia. The tail of the horn towered above her, curling around like the stinger of a scorpion above her head.
But then, she realized that she could see the entire room from this point. She could determine which way was the best to go; which direction looked as if it had gone untouched. For instance, one of the hatches to the left of the horn had a trail of blood paving it's way across the floor towards it in the form of little droplets. Another had a spear drenched in crimson discarded halfway towards it. She spent a short while inspecting, and eventually decided on one that landed directly behind the tail of the silver horn.
Merrily strolling towards the side, Ivy sat down and pushed herself down the side of the cornucopia as if it were a slide. For a moment, the ground came rushing up to meet her, and she wondered if the impact of the fall would break her ankle. But then she suddenly stopped; and instead of plummeting towards the ground, Ivy found herself floating away from the metal wall of the horn instead.
She screamed and pushed down the hem of her dress, which had fluttered up around her shoulders. The movement was slow and sluggish; she felt as if she were moving through an enormous tub of jelly. Yet her body felt weightless at the same time, as if she were easily swooping through the air like an owl gliding through the night.
She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do as she drifted further and further away from the ground, drawing closer and closer to the ceiling until she could brush it with the tips of her fingers if she wished.
And then the weightless feeling was gone. Her body felt as heavy as stone; and suddenly she was plummeting back towards the ground far below. Ivy screamed as she twisted in mid air, hoping that the weightless feeling would return and send her spiraling upwards once more. Instead, she found herself falling head first, hands splayed out in front of her as she dropped towards her certain doom.
A flash of deep blue erupted from somewhere close by. The light was so bright it was almost blinding; Ivy found herself scrunching her eyes shut moments before impact. Any second now she would hit the ground head first and it would all be over.
But the impact never happened. Instead she felt herself hit something soft and bouncy, like a new mattress, and with a very short leap into the air, she hit the ground roughly on her back. Sitting up quickly, Ivy's head whipped around in all directions; searching for the soft surface that she had landed on. She found nothing; nor did she find anything that could have created the blue light that had nearly blinded her.
She wanted to dwell on the situation, every fibre of her being wanted to thoroughly search the room for answers. But Ivy did not want to risk whatever had just occurred to happen again; next time she may not be so lucky if she fell from such a height.
Instead, she stood up, ensured that all of her items were safely packed away in her handbag and that her arrows were still in their quiver, and ran.
Ryland Hackman - District Six
The colour white was already beginning to get on Rylands nerves. White walls. White ceilings. White floors. Each surface a blank canvas, waiting to be painted with the blood that flows through the veins of each boy and girl around him. The silver of the metal hatches and the dark rust that tarnished them were not a big enough distraction.
The white walls reminded Ryland of the blank canvas sitting in the corner of his room; one surrounded by paintings he could not quite remember creating. He had been painting the moment he had been taken; Ryland was almost sure of that.
As such, Ryland found a sharp breath escaping him as he pushed open yet another identical hatch, only to be hit with a wall of vibrant colour. The room on the other side was unlike anything he had ever seen; and appeared so out of place in comparison to the dull arena behind him.
The moment his sneakers hit the grassy terrain on the other side; the metal hatch swung shut with a loud clang, but the boy was too amazed to pay much attention to it. He was currently standing atop a small cliff top, littered with towering trees and brightly coloured plants that surrounded the small path of grass on which he stood.
The natural path stretched towards a manmade structure, a rickety wooden bridge stretched across a vast chasm; the bottom of which was made up of the same plants that surrounded him now. A similar platform was situated on the other side of the bridge, a lone palm tree casting a shadow over a rusty hatch that was embedded in a wall of rock. The rocky outcrop jutted from a sloping cliff face that had greenery jutting out here and there; a thick layer of moss covered a large rock towards the bottom that lined the walls of a bright blue stream that snaked through the jungle-like world below.
The room, if it could even be called a room, was as long as it was wide. The surrounding walls were also made up of similar sloping cliff faces to the one opposite him, the one to his left playing house to a gushing waterfall that flowed beautifully down into the river below.
Ryland could not help himself as he closed one eye and raised his hands, the thumb and index finger on each hand forming a similar shape to that of a photograph. He took a mental picture with his mind's eye, wishing more than anything that he had a pad of paper and a set of pencils right now.
It took a while for the boy to come to his senses, a cool gust of wind washing over him as if a gigantic refrigerator had just been open somewhere out of sight. The brief positive and welcome distraction was blown away by the breeze, and Ryland began to grind his teeth nervously as he edged towards the rickety bridge.
As he gripped one of the unstable wooden posts that had been flimsily placed in the ground and peered over the side, he found himself reeling backwards of the weight of the situation finally crashed down upon him. Up until now; he had been outright refusing to accept that he had been taken from his life and thrown into the arena. Convinced it was only a dream, or thinking hopefully that it was, Ryland wandered through room after room, whistling a soft tune that he had once heard on a commercial for the District Nine winery.
He knew he could not pretend like nothing was abnormal forever, but why couldn't he keep the act up for a little longer? The catchy tune began to play on his lips once again, creating a distraction large enough to retain most of his focus. While he was humming, he did not have to think about the danger he was placing himself in.
With shaking legs and sweaty palms, the raven-haired boy nervously stepped out onto the bridge. The dark oak planks groaned loudly under his weight, Ryland's hands lashed out and snatched ahold of the thin ropes on either side of the bridge, chest heaving and eyes held shut.
"It's just another walk," The boy whispered to himself, cheeks burning slightly at the thought that a million people could be listening in, "Just like when you were younger,"
He didn't dare open his eyes as he took another step; planks creaking loudly and ropes bouncing wildly around his grasp. His eyes flew open as a snapping sound echoed around the chasm he was currently perched above; he watched as the smallest chunk of wood, no larger than a golf ball, crumbled away from the plank he was standing on, spiralling down towards the gushing river below and smashing to splinters on a jagged rock that only just peaks out from the depths of the water.
With forced lips, Ryland began to whistle the cheery tune again as he took another step. The song now sounded ominous as his voice bounced off the walls of the disguised room; shaky, breathless, and terrified.
He hadn't clamped his eyes shut this time; instead they remained wide open, staring directly at the hatch that taunted him from the opposing cliff face. The beautiful scenery that he had so desperately wanted to paint only a moment ago now made him feel queasy; it felt wrong to feel so terrified in somewhere so magical. But it wasn't real; it was fake. All of it. The waterfall. The river. The fern trees that stuck out here and there on the cliff face. None of it was real; once these games were over, it would all be gone forever. Maybe even sooner.
"Just a walk," Ryland whispered to himself, "Dad wouldn't let anything happen,"
Hope began to bubble in his chest like an inflating balloon as he drew closer to the end of the bridge; despite the constant groans of protest from the wood below, so far he had been okay. But in the blink of an eye, the balloon burst, and Ryland was screaming as the plank beneath his left foot splintered and broke in half. His leg slipped straight through the gap, dangling dangerously over the river below. The bridge began bouncing violently from his fall, every inch of the structure screaming. His hands were burning as the ropes were dragged down with him, Ryland let go quickly when he heard the fabric begin to tear. With his hands planted firmly on the bridge; one two planks ahead and the other on the one just behind his dangling leg where his other knee gently rested.
He regretted putting pressure on both as he tried to haul himself up, his right hand, the one out in front, broke right through the brittle wood. His head crashed into the single plank that rest between his two dangling appendages. The wood groaned loudly; the splintering wood sounded like the rumble of nearby thunder in his ear that was pressed tightly up against it.
"Dad wouldn't let this happen," Ryland sobbed as the wood cracked, "I'm going to be okay,"
His body gave a lurch as the wood broke. He clenched his eyes shut as he fell forwards, not wanting to watch the rocks rushing up to meet him. But the fall never came. Something grabbed onto the back of his shirt, hauling him back to safety on the rickety bridge.
"Jesus kid," A deep voice said, Ryland's eyes flew open; head whipping around to find a concerned and handsome face staring at him, "That was close,"
"I'm not a kid," Ryland snarled; the intimidating words coming out more like a breathless squeak. The boy just grinned, and for a moment it looked as if he were about to laugh, but the joy was sucked away as the bridge gave another noisy groan.
"We can debate that when we aren't in danger of falling to death," The boy said. He stood and offered a hand to Ryland, who swatted it away and stood up on his own. For a moment, he teetered dangerously over the edge of the gap he had only just been saved from, but he luckily pulled himself to safely with the help of the rope railings.
"Do you need help getting across?" The newcomer asked as Ryland steadied himself, sucking in a deep breath.
"No," He snapped, not even bothering to throw a look over his shoulder. Holding the ropes in a death grip once again, Ryland took a gigantic step that stretched his thighs to the limit, and crossed the gap in a single sweep.
Once on the other side, he wasted no time in hurrying across the final few planks, dropping to his knees in relief once he reached the grassy platform. Sweat coated his forehead, suddenly making him feel chilly as another cold breeze washed over him.
"You oughta' be more careful, kid," The other boy said from behind him. Ryland scowled, climbing to his feet and turning around to be met with a grinning face.
"I'm not a kid," Ryland spat for a second time, and once again the boy just chuckled.
"We'll see about that,"
Candace Systic - District Eight
The girl was crying. She sat amongst an explosion of wildflowers, a dazzling wall of colour that dotted the entirety of the hill she sat upon. With her knees pulled up to a heaving chest and long brown hair masking her face like a veil; it was almost impossible to determine how old she was. Candace watched in a crouched position at the foot of the hill; head of bright hair concealed in a thick cluster of colourful flowers. A lone bee fluttered from plant to plant; paying no mind to the teenager who had invaded it's home and trampled several flowers in the process.
The girl's sobs grew louder with each passing second, becoming so desperate that Candace could no longer hide and hope that the girl would come to her senses and move on. She pushed herself to her feet with bony arms, crushing the stem of a flower the bee had only just settled on. As she scampered up the hill; occasionally tripping on unseen roots and proceeding on all fours for a few feet, she could distinguish a singular word being spoken through the wrangled sobs. Mum.
A tiny seed of doubt sprouted in the depths of her mind as Candace reached the peak of the hill; now standing with the girls back turned towards her. What if this was all a trick? It was not an outlandish theory, it would not be hard to conceal the sharp point of a knife in her lap. Would she feel the sharp pain of a knife digging it's way into her chest if she pulled the girl into a hug?
But the less rational side of Candace crushed that seed into nothingness as she peered down at the girl, she appeared to glow in the light of the artificial sun shining in the baby blue sky that was not really there, and in a flash she was on her knees in the grass, hauling the shaking girl into her lap. There was no stab of pain, no knife in her chest. Only the slight tug of small hands grasping the collar of her shirt and wet eyes leaking tears into the fabric of her black jacket.
Candace didn't say anything; she would have liked more than anything to whisper something comforting in the girl's ear. But what comfort could she give to a child that might as well have been given the death sentence?
They sat like that for a while; Candace rubbing circles into the girl's back. A crumpled photo was clutched tightly in her petite hand, the elder could just make out a beautiful woman with wavy brown hair standing next to a child who barely reached her waist. Maybe that was the reason Candace could not think of what to say; she could not imagine having such a relationship with her mother; the woman was probably glad that her only daughter had been snatched away. Now she could have the perfect family she had always wanted, with her incredibly intelligent eldest boy and already artistically talented seven year old.
Eventually the girl pulled away, pawing at puffy red eyes and sniffling softly. She didn't look at Candace as she untangled herself from the embrace, reclaiming her spot at the very top of the hill, and then peering at Candace from underneath long eyelashes with an expectant look; deep brown eyes shimmering faintly underneath the glare of the sun.
"Is that your mum?" Candace blurted out, jabbing a finger in the direction of the photograph. The moment the words left her lips; she knew what a stupid question it was. A stupid question asked by a stupid girl.
She half expected the girl to start crying once more; but instead she nodded meekly, placing the paper on her knee and rubbing it with her palms in a poor attempt of erasing the number of crinkles that tarnished what would have been a beautiful picture.
"She died a few years ago," The girl said quietly. Candace was surprised at how strong her voice was; only slightly wavering at the mention of her deceased parent, "I didn't know there were any pictures of her left,"
Candace took a moment before answering in fear of saying the wrong thing. She swatted absentmindedly at a bee that fluttered past her right ear, attempting to land on her shoulder, "She was beautiful,"
"She was," The girl said meekly. She had so far been staring down at the photo, but now looked up at Candace with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "My names Seneca,"
"Seneca? I haven't heard that name before," Candace said, and then added quickly, "But it's nice. A very nice name,"
Seneca gave a short giggle as Candace once again tried to shoo away the persistent bee that was determined to use her shoulder as a landing strip, "Thanks. What's yours?"
"Candace," The elder girl said, angrily shaking her head as the bee brushed the tip of her ear. A second bee had joined the fray, this one coming to a rest on her thigh; only to flee when she gave the appendage a jerk, "Candace Systic,"
"I like Candace," Seneca said. Colour was returning to her face as she smiled widely; her grin somehow brightening up the already shimmering room. It was hard to think of the grassy hill as a room; it had been so cleverly disguised. The only indicator as the hill being a fake was the four hatches that appeared as if they were floating in the distance, "It sounds like candy,"
Candace laughed, "That's what my little brother used to call me. He still does sometimes,"
"How old's your brother?" Seneca asked. There was still a pesky bee buzzing by Candace's ear; no amount of swatting would silence it.
"He's seven," Candace said, and then as an afterthought as the buzzing grew louder, "Or I think he is. I don't know how long it's been since I last saw him,"
Seneca frowned as yet another bee drifted over from a nearby flower, this time landing on the younger girls shoe. There were now five bees fluttering around Candace, and as she swung a hand at the air beside her ear to silence that persistent sound, she noticed that the buzzing sound was not coming from a singular bee.
Seneca appeared to notice the sound at the same time, swiftly leaping to her feet with a fearful look on her face as more and more bees began emerging from the thick explosion of wildflowers. Candace let out a screech akin to that of an owl as one of the insects landed lightly on her neck, piercing her skin with it's needle-like stinger.
Her hand flew to her neck instinctively, crushing not only the bee that had stung her, but another that had touched down just beside it. The buzzing sound was now so loud that it could not be ignored, Seneca screamed and slapped at a bee on her arm; but as one bee dropped another two touched down and stung the girl elsewhere.
Candace jumped to her feet as multiple stabs of pain erupted from different area's on her body; another cry of pain escaping in a louder volume.
"Run!" Seneca screamed; or tried to. The moment she opened her mouth, a bee shot right through her parted lips and down her throat. The girl coughed and spluttered and quickly spat the bee back out, and did not dare open her mouth again as she jerked her head towards one of the hatches. Canadace responded with a curt nod, and the two took off as fast as their legs would take them, stumbling down the hill wildly; arms flailing about in an almost comical action as they tried to swat away the bee's that now peppered the sky by the hundreds.
More and more bursts of pain erupted around her body; she could feel the insects crawling underneath her shirt and weaving their way into her hair, and suddenly she could no longer hold back a scream.
It must have been luck that kept the bee's from shooting into her open mouth; and that same luck that prevented her from hitting the ground as her foot caught on something hidden beneath the thick grass, causing her to stumble wildly. The soft and springy grass that had felt so luscious before now acted as a hindrance, Candace found it harder to run as her trainers bounced off the greenery.
She surpassed Seneca as she reached the foot of the hill; the younger girl was now screaming wildly and stamping her feet; no longer running but turning in circles and swinging her arms about violently. Candace narrowly ducked under one of the girl's swings, before reaching out and snagging the hem of Seneca's shirt. With a violent yank, she pulled the girl to her senses. Seneca gave Candace a nod, and the two took off once more in the direction of the hatch.
Candace reached it first, and was thankful that the wheel turned much smoother than all the others she had tried before. Her entire body was screaming in pain, the insects were all over her body. Crawling around on their tiny legs, stabbing their tiny stingers into her flesh, and proceeding to fall to the grass below, dead.
The hatch swung open, and Candace took a step back, intending on letting Seneca escape first. But the girl was no longer with her; taking a look back, Candace saw the girl face down in the grass, hands clasped over the back of her head and legs motoring slowly. Candace knew that she should be saving herself, but she also knew that she could not live with herself if she allowed a little girl to die.
Stumbling back into the swarm, she crouched down and hooked her arms underneath Seneca's armpits, dragging her backwards towards the hatch. Her body felt like it was on fire, tears flowing freely from her eyes, and Candace was only vaguely aware that she was screaming.
Just as she felt as if she was going to pass out from the pain, the backs of her knees hit the chilled metal of the hatch, and with one final burst of strength, Candace threw both herself and Seneca backwards through the open hatch and into the unknown.
Grant Gino - District Seven
The savage Wolf tugged on the thick rope that snaked around his throat; hoping to pull himself free of the boy who held on tightly to the other end. It was difficult to look at him; not quite human yet not a simple animal either. Sharp and jagged teeth that were yellowed and rotted stuck out from between cracked lips, threatening the captor that he could not reach.
Grant found it difficult to look at Wolf; a mixture of disgust and pity swirled violently in the pit of his stomach, he had been hoping that the boy would have already been broken enough to obey. Instead, he fought and thrashed against his restraints, always tugging in the opposite direction and chewing at his confides. Now Grant was the one who needed to break him. There was no saving the wolf.
Little progress had been made following Grant's grand capture of the feral child, his pride quickly dashed as the savage made travel particularly difficult. Grant regretted not snagging a weapon when he had the chance; why had he assusmed that this kid would be enough protection? Wolf could turn and tear his throat out in a heartbeat should he try and release the boy on a target.
The first three rooms he had entered had contained next to nothing. Identical to the one he had rose in save for the metal plate and ocean of photo's, Grant had quickly grown fearful that this was all the arena would be, boxy rooms designed to slowly drive the players insane. But then he had stumbled into the fourth room; vastly different to all of the others.
The room was dark and grey, large sheets of metal covering the walls and numerous scaffoldings stretching from floor to ceiling. In the centre of the room had been a workbench; complete with a vice and a toolbox. Grant had hurried over towards the container in hopes of finding a weapon; a hammer or even a heavy wrench. Instead, the box contained only a small screwdriver. It had not been much, but it was all he had.
There had been no immediate danger; but while fumbling with the lock of the toolbox, a panel in the wall had slid away and a large rat the size of a dog that had thick, batlike wings sprouting from it's matted back emerged from within. Grant would be dead if it hadn't been for Wolf.
The boy's mouth was still ripe with blood, chunks of flesh hanging from his mouth in shreds. Grant had torn a metal pole from one of the towering scaffoldings to use as a prodding stick, something he could use to prod Wolf along if he slowed or knock him away if he tried to attack.
For some reason, the pole terrified the boy. Whenever Grant swung it in his direction, Wolf cowered away and whimpered. But by no means did Grant have any control over him.
Currently, Grant was fighting against Wolf who was trying to leap back through the hatch they had just stumbled through; while Grant was attempting to yank open the opposite hatch with one hand while yanking harshly on the leash with the other.
He almost had the hatch open when Wolf gave a sudden violent lurch. Grant was yanked from his feet, sailing through the air a short way and crashing down into the tiled floor with a sharp stab of pain in his arm. Wolf was on him in a heartbeat; dirty hands clawing through his shirt and digging deep into the skin of his back. Grant screamed in pain, arching his back violently in a failed attempt of throwing the boy off. Wolf clung to his back like a cat; nails digging deeper and breath hot on the skin of Grant's neck.
Grant let out another cry of pain and reached for the metal pole that had fallen from his grasp on the moment of impact; fingers wrapping around the cool metal that slightly numbed the burning pain. Swinging his hand around in an arch; Wolf let out a skittish yelp and fell from Grant's back as the pole smacked into the side of his head. The sound of metal against bone reverberated around the room; silenced by a soft thud as Wolf hit the floor.
Grant rolled over and scrambled to his feet with the pole held out defensively, expecting the boy to leap back to his feet and attack. But the boy didn't move. Worry crashed over Grant; hitting him harder than a speeding train. He dropped to his knees beside the boy and pressed his ear against his chest; praying that he would hear the faint thud of a heartbeat.
Grant wasn't sure why he cared; killing was a component of the game that he wanted to play. The games has been something he had wanted to participate in ever since he was of age. He had never felt any pity for those he had watched lose their lives in previous years; so why was he so worried about this particular boy?
Thud
Grant breathed in relief and pulled his head away from the boy's chest. So he wasn't dead; just unconscious. He could have sustained brain damage, but would that be worse than the animal he was? Grant noticed the rope around the boy's neck had slackened.
After retying the rope; Grant pulled a dry rag from within his pocket and got to work cleaning up the blood that painted Wolf's dirty face; Grant was unsure whether it was the blood of his victims or blood from an unseen injury Grant had inflicted on him.
"You'll be okay, buddy," Grant said, and then with a cruel smile, "I won't let my only weapon die,"