Hello lovely people, and welcome to day 5, part 1. No specific mentions of plague for this first POV, but a TW nonetheless for general symptoms of fever and a mild panic attack. Take care of yourselves.
Asa Trevino, 15, District Nine Male
Asa is afraid, and he does not know why, only that panic is alive inside him, sharp and acid in his throat. He bolts upright, disorientation thick around him, and is immediately hit with a wave of dizziness and pain. He falls onto his back, heart pounding in his head.
Then he remembers. Luz... she's hurt, and it's all his fault, his doing, and she was pleading, and he couldn't reach her. He couldn't save her... it's all his fault, she's gone, she—
Even amid his spiral of thoughts, his jagged breath, he can feel the tingle of someone watching him. He pries his eyes open, and the first thing he sees is a boy he doesn't know.
The panic is fresh and cold again, like ice poured down his back. He gasps, grasps for some string of rationality among his tangled thoughts, but all he can find are worries. Is Luz dead? Did this boy kill her? Was it Asa's fault? Is he alone again?
Asa tries again to sit up, pressing himself halfway up on his elbows. The boy is older than him by at least a few years, and his serene mask and wise eyes only enhance the effect. He is leaning against the wall, watching Asa with a peculiar mixture of concern and awkwardness. Dimly, Asa realizes he must be hyperventilating, or maybe crying. He's too lost in his head to process much.
But he knows that he has never seen this boy before, though his eyes look familiar, the way he holds himself.
"Who are you?" Asa manages.
The boy knots his hands together, looking embarrassed—but his eyes are gentle. He looks too mild to have killed anyone. Still, Asa can't be sure he's not a threat. Finally, the boy speaks.
"I'm Cal. Callisto. I, um... found you both, sort of by accident. I won't hurt you." His words are slow, awkward, but there's a kindness to his gaze that's instantly soothing, something in the calmness of his voice putting Asa at ease.
He can't get his mind to focus right, like he's still grappling for purchase on the steep decline of consciousness. How could he let himself get distracted?
"Luz? Is she okay?"
The boy's eyes are still mild, passive, and Asa finds himself slowly coming back to reality. Something about Callisto's gaze is grounding. "Sleeping. She told me to wake her if something happened, but..."
Asa shakes his head quickly. "No, don't wake her. It's—I'm fine."
He finally lets himself look around the room, the tiny shack in the ancient Arena, the air eerily still. Luz is sprawled in such a way that suggests her body simply gave up on her, gave her no choice but to sleep. She looks exhausted, her hair spread out behind her, arms askew. Her chest moves steady and slow. Asa is momentarily spellbound by her mere presence, the fact that she is here, alive, intact. He watches the planes of her beautiful face and lets relief wash over him.
It was a dream. She's okay. They're okay.
Sort of.
A soft sound makes Asa flinch, tear his gaze away from Luz. The boy, Callisto, has unfolded himself from the wall and is walking, very slowly and carefully, across the room. He regards Asa with sad eyes.
"How do I know you?" Asa says suddenly.
Cal stares at the floor. "Probably my sister. She was from Five."
It clicks: Columbia Novella, beautiful and captivating and over-the-top, almost like a Capitolite herself. She'd had a twin, Asa remembers, but he'd always been more of an afterthought. Now that Asa's seeing him alone, Asa is struck by their similarities. Though their energies are completely opposite, they hold themselves with the same elegance.
Asa looks up. "Wait. Was?"
Now the boy's eyes are on the ceiling. He steps a few paces closer and takes off his jacket. Asa eyes him uneasily.
"You just... you look cold. May I?"
Asa shrugs. Cal drapes the jacket over him, careful not to even brush him with his fingertips. The jacket is thick, and its heaviness is surprisingly comforting.
"Thanks," Asa murmurs, though anxiety still ripples in his chest. He couldn't possibly fall asleep with this boy he doesn't know in the room, no matter how kind he is.
Finally, Callisto speaks. "She died. Colby... I couldn't save her. I tried."
Asa gapes at Cal, and the boy blinks quickly. He can't know how strongly his words affect Asa.
"Were you close?" he says, voice hushed.
Cal shifts on his feet uncertainly.
"Sorry; you don't have to tell me."
Cal looks at everything but Asa's eyes; the walls, the ceiling, the supplies stacked neatly. "She was... very wrapped up in her story. Most of the time I wasn't a part of that narrative. But when she needed me..." There's a lot unsaid in his eyes. Asa would've done anything for a sibling in his early years, and he has that with Luz's family, but Cal makes it sound painful. "Well, I Volunteered so that I could die for her. It just felt right."
Asa can't help but stare. "You were willing to sacrifice that for her, even though she didn't..." He pauses, not wanting to sound rude.
There's so, so much sadness in Callisto's eyes. But as he speaks more, his voice gets smoother, his words flowing more, as if some dam has been broken inside him. "I thought that she deserved to live more than I did. I thought it was only right, only moral that I save her at the cost of my own life. But now... I don't know what to do. I'm not even sure if it would've mattered in the end."
Asa swallows a sob. He isn't sure why he's feeling so emotional, but it just feels as if Cal's story reflects his own. He tried to save his sister, sure that she would make it back, sure that she deserved it more than he did. He'd loved her that much. And isn't that what Asa's doing? But Cal's already been down this road. And it didn't work.
This is one of the deepest worries roiling inside him, right along with Luz hating him: what if it doesn't make a difference in the end?
Cal is kneeling a few feet from Asa, looking worried. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry..."
Asa struggles to speak. "I keep wanting to do the right thing, too. But sometimes I think that I just make things worse."
Cal sighs sadly and nods, just nods. And somehow it feels a little better. Still, Asa can't stop looking at Luz, can't stop worrying. His thoughts pound at his head, begging to be heard.
Usually when he got like this at home, he'd do something rash, something to get his father's attention; and in more recent years, he'd go to Luz. But now it's just him and Cal, whom he's inexplicably starting to trust. He'd always wanted an older sibling, somebody always who knew what to do and say to make him feel better; somebody who could just sit with him in his worry and somehow make everything a little better. It sounds ridiculous, for Asa to be thinking that way. Perhaps he's a little bit desperate for connection.
Cal walks calmly across the room to his place by the wall and picks up a thick book. It's leather-bound, very old-fashioned-looking. Asa doesn't remember the last time he picked up a book outside of school.
Cal opens the cover and flips to a random page, eyes following the words with a surprising speed. Soon, his gaze is faraway. Asa feels bad for breaking his concentration, and embarrassed for what he wants to ask, but he speaks anyway.
"Will you read to me?"
Cal looks up sharply, his eyebrows rising. "Um... are you sure? It's about morality, you'd probably think it's boring." He looks vulnerable, almost insecure, and something tells Asa that this subject means a lot to him.
But he nods. "Just... could you just do it? The words don't matter so much."
Cal seems to understand. He takes a nervous breath and starts to read. Asa has no idea what the book is saying; all the words are fine by themselves, but strung together as they are, they don't make much sense to him. But that doesn't matter; it's the gentle cadence of Cal's voice, the rise and fall, the passion with which he reads. Soon, Asa's eyes are closing.
"Thanks," he murmurs again, tethering himself to Cal's voice, trusting the words to ward off the nightmares.
...
Arcadia "Cady" Wilson, 16, District Three Female
Everyone is asleep. Cady is keeping watch.
It is early morning—perhaps six or seven. Everyone will wake up soon. Cady stands and tiptoes around the immobile bodies. Three. Too many.
At first, Cady was okay with this plan of Wren's. Find more friends to support them through their battle with the Careers. But now... Cady can't help but feel claustrophobic. Uncomfortable.
Replaced.
She pauses by Wren's side. Her arms are thrown out while she sleeps, her mouth wide open. Cady smiles. But there's sadness in her heart, too.
Jack from Ten and Dria from Six: both have skills that Cady does not. Both are important and valuable. She cannot help but resent them, just the slightest bit.
She does not collect any supplies. She won't need them.
Tip-toeing in her silent slippers, she makes her way out of the chapel and wanders the halls of the church, with its breathtaking beauty and enveloping silence. The ceilings unbelievably high, the mosaics achingly lovely... the building is imposing. It seems to look upon Cady with the barest trace of judgment, as if taunting her.
What is she doing? And why is she doing it?
She thinks that there's a bell tower somewhere, but has no idea how to climb up. This place feels ancient and untouched, a relic of some time before games—arcade, Capitol-fashioned, or otherwise. Cady feels alone here. She feels exposed.
She eyes the ornate doors and the openness beyond. They are large and loud. Incriminating.
She looks back. Says a silent goodbye to Wren. To friendship.
A single push, and the doors are open. Cady walks calmly out of the church, well aware that she may never return.
She pauses outside the door, easing it shut, and lets her mind fill with thoughts. Lets her worries catch up to her.
Their little quartet would be crushed by the Careers. Wren is blinded by her wild sense of adventure, but Cady knows. There are five Careers, and only four of them. Surely, it would be impossible to escape unscathed. This is a fool's errand.
One could easily assume that Cady is running away out of a sense of cowardice, and... perhaps that's part of it. She grudgingly lets herself admit that. But it's easier to think she's doing this for Wren. If the Careers find and kill her, perhaps she can beg them not to hurt her friends, give them some kind of bribe. What could she offer? Secrets? She knows nothing of the Nines, or the girl from Eight, but Cady is stealthy. Surely she could find something out.
Besides... if Wren sees that Cady has been killed by the Careers—which will most likely happen—perhaps that will scare her off. Bring her back to her senses.
Cady is scared. She does not want to spend anymore time with Jack and Dria, does not want them to get Wren killed. She figures that it's better to live with her guilt if it means saving Wren, even if the chance is miniscule, a sliver of possibility.
Because Cady... she wants to die on her own terms. She doesn't want to be killed by somebody else, and in a state of unhappiness... if she dies, she'll die thinking about Wren, and her death will mean something. Anything.
So she walks out into the square, a deep sense of loss settling in her chest. She always knew she'd lose her friends someday. And now she's lost two sets.
One, because of life's cruel sense of humor. And another, because of her own self.
And what is Cady Wilson? Is she a coward? Is she brave? Is she cunning? Is she guilty? Is she petty and selfish, or self-sacrificing?
She stares out at the horizon and the rising sun, and she feels a profound sense of melancholy and disorientation. Of being untethered. Of being unmoored. As if somebody else is making her body move; as if she has withdrawn to some distant arcade where nothing can split her from her friends, old and new.
No Games, no difficult choices.
But Cady knows that life is a series of choices. Puzzles to be solved. If Cady doesn't choose the right option, if she makes one misstep, she will fall.
She knows this. And she accepts this, with a quiet kind of tranquility.
She is sailing her own vessel. Nobody can trap her; nobody can tell her what to think. It's freeing, inhaling this clean, sparkling air and settling !to this new version of herself.
She was probably going to die anyway. At least now it could mean something. It... might mean something.
Please, let it mean something.
She will not seek out the Careers. She will not willingly walk into the pit of vipers.
But... if fate comes for her, it will.
She almost shivers at this cold disconnect that has filled her, her feelings now at arm's length from these marble-hard thoughts. Is she a shell? Is she soulless?
No wonder Wren replaced her...
Perhaps if she made it home, by some act of providence, her friends wouldn't even recognize her.
So maybe she has made the wrong choice, sifted through her confused roil of feelings and made the incorrect discovery. Maybe she should've stayed, put on a smile, died with her friends, felt the crush of vain hopelessness turning her bones to powder, her heart dashed to pieces on the floor.
But then again, she's tearing out her own heart, running away from Wren. Trying to bargain with the Careers even though she knows it will not work. Why does she do it, then?
Why even try?
Either way, Cady and her friends are doomed. So... if she were to lose herself either way, perhaps it is better to reach for the glint of possibility in the distance.
She sinks to the ground and continues to stare out at the sky and the empty city. All of the young ones, her fellows-turned-threats, hiding in their secret places. A portrait, frozen in time for this moment. A beautiful portrait, Cady has to admit.
She waits for something to happen. Steels herself for its inevitability, and prepares to do her very best to make some kind of change.
...
Tremor Atilius, 18, District Two Male
"Alright." Naya taps her foot against the floor. "We're five days in now. It's about time we made our move, and we need to restock anyway."
Tremor can't help feeling a bit relieved. It has been so long since he's killed a rebel. He feels almost purposeless, huddled in this printing room full of people he should be killing.
Well, perhaps not everyone. Alessio... well, Tremor has no qualm with him. He seems fairly supportive of the Capitol. He would've thought the same of Marquis, before his outburst. Still, Tremor can't help liking the boy from One. How could he not?
It's Blade and Naya who need justice served. They are the miscreants, the ones who would mutiny against the Capitol's generous hand.
Though, if they were so generous, why is he here? He still hasn't figured that out.
Naya nods to herself, looking serene and perfectly put-together, as always. A good leader, by all standards. He resents her immensely.
"Let's split up. Alessio, you'll be with me; we need to go to the marketplace and get more food. Blade... Tremor... and Marquis, you three can hunt for any Tributes, and retrieve more weapons from the stage if need be."
Tremor carefully gauges each of their reactions. Blade frowns quietly, a look of disdain clearly cast in Tremor's direction. Let him glare; Tremor feels exactly the same.
Alessio regards Naya despondently, and Marquis flicks his gaze between Blade and Tremor as if they are two ticking bombs and he's caught in the crossfire.
Displeasure flickers in Naya's gaze. "Is there a problem?"
Blade hesitates, then signs. "It's just... I should probably be with Alessio, so that he can interpret."
Tremor just smiles complacently. He doesn't really mind the arrangement. He can bend any group to his will.
Naya sighs. "Yes, you're right. Never mind. Splitting up probably isn't the wisest idea. You all go hunt and retrieve supplies, and I'll just scout ahead and fill in as needed."
An interesting choice. Is she sacrificing for the team in some strange form of martyrdom, or does she have other motives? Is she plotting against them?
Tremor almost smiles. If anyone were planning to betray them in the night, it would be Blade Cassidy, the Anti-Capitol scum. No matter. Tremor has to play his cards very carefully. If he doesn't calculate this exactly...
Marquis grins and nods, breaking the loaded silence. "Sounds good! Let's go!"
Funny, how easily the boy matches energies around him. He'd make a good friend, in another life.
But Tremor's not looking for friends. He's looking for pawns.
As soon as they depart, Alessio falls in beside Blade, and they sign rapidly, making no move to enlighten the rest of them. Like some kind of secret code. Jealousy sparks, white-hot, behind Tremor's sternum. Of course, Blade looks innocent here, even friendly. Alessio looks to him like some kind of friend, even though Tremor was the only one awake when he was shaken by Four's death.
Tremor chastises himself. He's getting off track. He matches pace with Marquis, standing right beside him. The boy glances at him with a smile, though his voice sounds nervous.
"Hey..."
Tremor wears a loose, easy smile, willing Marquis to relax. "Hello."
He waits patiently. Soon, he'll talk. Tremor doesn't need to do anything but smile. While he's never really tried to make friends, it seems like people get more loose-lipped around him, spilling their secrets like coins into his waiting hands. Tremor has always wanted to be liked, and that's never been hard for him. People take to him like a fish to water.
So why is Alessio so closed-off?
The boy intrigues him, almost irritates him. Like a puzzle he can't solve. Marquis is expendable, but Alessio could be an ally. If he can only get him on his side and away from Blade...
"So..." Marquis glances at him awkwardly. "Was there something you needed?"
Easy. Loose.
"I just figured we could talk."
Marquis nods, but he still looks uneasy. "Cool."
"What's wrong?"
"It's just..." Marquis pauses. "Why would you want to talk to me? I mean, you seem so confident. Like, you don't need anyone."
Tremor shrugs. "We all need someone to talk to, right?"
Tremor doesn't. All he needs is himself. Or, at least, he tries to think so. Yet even he needs a confidant sometimes. He can't deny that the prospect would be beneficial.
Marquis nods, his posture relaxing. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."
He apparently needs more prompting. All Tremor needs is his trust, and of all the people at his disposal, his seems the easiest to win.
"So... you seem unhappy here. With us." He speaks off-handedly, though cold rage is spreading through his veins.
Marquis looks at the sky. "Oh. It's just... murder isn't cool with me, you know? It's just... pretty disturbing, right? But nobody else seems to think so."
Tremor just nods. Yes, killing had disturbed him once, when the rebels destroyed his parents. But now he sees it as necessary. Essential, sometimes.
"And I just... like, I have nothing against any of you. I just think it's kinda messed-up that people choose to do this."
Another nod. Tremor sees the Games as a consequence for the people that deserve it. That's why he doesn't belong here. That's why he needs to prove himself.
"And it's like... I feel guilty even being here. Like, by being with you, I'm a part of the problem. Shouldn't I be doing something to change things, if I want it so much?"
They walk into the marketplace. The stalls are sparse, and Tremor makes some quick calculations. If the Capitol is not preplenishing the marketplace... well, things could get very ugly very quickly.
"I just miss my friends," says Marquis softly. "I miss talking to people."
Tremor just nods. He has all he needs.
Alessio stops abruptly, pressing a finger to his lips. Tremor is immediately alert. He looks around quickly until he sees her.
Sitting cross-legged, out in the open among the stalls, staring into the distance. A small blonde girl, all alone.
Marquis sucks in a breath.
He knows where this will go.
Tremor walks briskly over, passing Blade and Alessio. "Let me handle this," he says, standing tall. He is confident where Blade is stoic. He takes action.
The girl sees him and does not move. Her hands, where they rest on her knees, start to tremble.
Tremor kneels beside her, feeling a steely calm settle over him. "Hello," he says quietly.
She watches him with wide eyes.
"What are you doing here? And why are you alone?"
"Just kill me," she whispers. Her eyes are surprisingly calm, matching her mask.
"Let's not be hasty." He can feel Marquis's eyes on him. "What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't stay with my friends anymore," she says carefully.
"And why is that?" He watches her carefully, waiting for any sign of rebellion.
"They..." She closes her eyes. "They were going to attack you. The Careers. And I knew it was a lost cause."
"So you abandoned them?" His voice is emotionless. Conversational.
Cady stares at the cobblestones. "I was trying to protect them. Please... before you kill me, please don't hurt them. You can fend them off, but don't kill my friends."
Tremor may as well keep pressing. See how much he can glean.
"Where are they located? And when are they attacking?"
She shakes her head. "I'll never tell you. But they're planning to strike soon. Just... please, don't hurt them. They're just kids, this is all just a game..." Now, her eyes fill with tears.
Tremor stands and turns away, walking back to Marquis.
Now, Alessio and Blade stand before her.
Blade glances at Alessio. The other boy stares at the ground.
A traitor to her friends... surely Blade will be angry at that. Surely he will do what needs done. He will do anything to make Tremor look stupid... or so he thinks.
"You're not going to kill her?" Blade says. It sounds haunted, in Alessio's voice.
Tremor just watches him. "She is clearly not against the Capitol. She's practically waiting to die."
Blade steps forward and withdraws a katana. Marquis stiffens and the girl stares at Blade with wide eyes.
Something about her gaze is resigned. Tremor wonders how someone can have so little zest for life, so little purpose. How they can go to their death gently. Where is the fight? Where is her backbone?
Blade's eyes are mournful. He signs something. "I'm sorry," Alessio interprets softly.
A pause. And then his face smooths over like a layer of ice on a pond. He kills her quickly, efficiently. Her death is soundless.
The cannon is harsh. It vibrates deep in Tremor's bones.
He glances at Marquis, who is shaking, anger contorting his features. Tremor speaks softly.
"See how he kills without remorse? He chose this."
Marquis nods sadly. A bitter satisfaction suffuses Tremor's words. He tries to hide it.
Once again, he is the innocent one here. And how could anyone doubt that? Even himself.
He's never killed a soul who didn't deserve it. And Blade deserves it. He's only more sure of it now. He is exactly the kind of blight the Capitol abhors. It's a wonder Tremor hasn't destroyed him already.
Blade closes the girl's eyes.
Tremor can be patient. He is arranging the cards in his own favor. All in due time... justice will be served.
Tremor will make sure of it.
...
13th Place: Arcadia "Cady" Wilson, killed by Blade Cassidy. I'll just say this about Cady: in a cast of big personalities and dark backstories, she was cool, calm and refreshingly normal, and she added a lovely contrast to the rest of the cast. She played an important role and was always just so nice to write. I did not originally plan for her journey to end here, but circumstances change. To me, Cady represented a chill friend whose slice-of-life moments were always so enjoyable to explore. Here's to Cady, our chill bestie; may she move on to more peaceful things.
Hi besties! How are you? I'm honestly pretty stressed; I hate school. I'm super tired. But this chapter sure was eventful and enjoyable to write. First, we have a little bonding moment between Asa and Callisto; next, we see Cady grappling with a difficult choice; and lastly, Tremor is very subtly "bending the Careers to his will," as he'd put it. Thoughts? I love all your comments. Just wanted to take a moment to thank all you readers, for sticking with me. It seriously means so much to me. I hope that I have brought your characters to life in the way you envisioned them, and that my little story could bring you some kind of joy. You all light up my day with your kindness. I hope you all know how amazing you are. And with that, I have nothing else to say! I'll just see you all around next chapter, which will be Day 5, Part 2. Stay tuned, and have a wonderful week!
Much Love,
Miri