Chapter Eleven - "Quid Quo Pro: Part Three"
"Good morning, tributes. Today, a new category of training has been made available to you."
As the tributes around me murmur in speculation, Atala makes a quick motion with her head, prompting Sgt. Floris to move into the hollow square - a carbon black case in hand. I already know what the contents are before she even unlatches the case. Still, I can't help but inwardly grin as Floris hoists the rifle in her hands, displaying it for the entire gymnasium to see.
What causes me to outwardly frown, however, is the heightened murmurs that result in them showcasing the rifle. I immediately remember that some if not all of these tributes have probably gunned down a PK or loyalist this time last year. I can see it on their faces, the optimism and glee. The Head Trainer does too.
"Don't get too excited," Atala says with a mild edge. "The instillation of the shooting range coincides with the HG 75-76 year. Guns are just an additional variable tossed in with the bows and crossbows. They may or may not be relevant in your Games. If you ever were to come across a firearm in the arena, the maintenance alone would cause you to leave it where it was found."
Atala then goes on to explain the high-tech shooting gallery where we can test out our marksman skills. The rifles shoot non lethal bolts of light to decimate targets that take the form of human-shaped pixels. The targets shoot back and in order to feel it should their shot connect, the shooters have to wear special vests that register hits. The gallery is right below the VIP box where the Gamemakers watch us in earnest. They must have special screens in the room, because they all turn their backs and saunter out of sight when Atala declares that everyone will go either by district or individual if they choose.
Lilith, Tatiana and Eldwyn join the 'Twelves' at the far right side of the glass. Slate, Lucas Shadd and the Dixen's remain paired with me but make sure to keep their distance. With the Thirteens being such a top priority, I'd almost forgotten about my 'district partners'. They're a foregone conclusion anyways.
"Would you like to have a go with us, Rivendell?" Syndra asks as the tributes gather into their district group of six or whatever hodgepodges have formed over the past three days. I politely decline, wanting to do some individual training for once.
The gallery spans at least a mile long - perhaps a little bit less - cordoned off by wide panel glass that allows for viewing from one end to the other. Spinel Knudsen starts us off, smiling from ear to ear while skipping into the gallery. Once suited up she exchanges words with Sgt. Floris, who punches commands into a panel. Spinel then turns to us, winking at us as suddenly the glass glosses over, blocking our view.
"Polarization of the glass for privacy reasons is a thing." Atala says. "Wouldn't want to exhibit your skills for everyone to see...or maybe you do."
We couldn't see Spinel, could we could hear her through the speakers. I could hear the telltale cocking of a shotgun's pump-action before the simulation pops off. She's having the time of her life it seems, judging by the persistent gunfire and her joyous laughter.
"You want some of this!? Come to mama!"
When she finally exits the gallery, I'm not the only one who looks at the seventeen-year-old girl as if she had a spear through her chest. She thinks nothing of the gawking, flicking her ponytail as she struts away.
"I haven't felt this alive since the War...Oh man, what a trip." She sighs.
I simply shake my head in awe at her weirdness. And I thought the Four Capitols were naïve. I stand a little straighter, dismissing my dismissiveness of Spinel's character. Judging by the fun she had in there, she may be someone to look out for once the gong goes off. Despite all her digging, Viondra has nothing on the deranged One girl.
Not long after, it's my turn to shine. To my surprise as I enter the room, I notice that the entirety of the interior is made up of glass panels, alongside the typical concrete holding it all together. Sgt. Floris operates the computer that enables the gallery. Just like old times back at Overwhill, Floris smirks at me as I approach her. She always expects me to knock things out of the park.
"It's Rivendell's turn. Let's see if she's rusty since the last time she's been on a range." She says in a teasing manner. She then jerks her head upward. "You have guests, by the by."
I follow the direction of her head, noticing the cameras that dot the room. I don't mind this audience. I want them to see that my Aunt's skills don't just stop with her.
"You want the glass polarized, or do you wanna give 'em a show?" She asks.
"I already gave 'em a show by breakin' Rief's arm." I quip back.
"Polarized it is." Floris trills, punching commands into the panel before her. "I assume y'know that the oriental girl is all sorts of crazy."
"Don't have to tell me twice..." I murmur.
"An' the others are pretty trash. Sure, they've fired a few pot shots here an' there, but it's nothin' t'write home about. When it comes to The Four, we'll get them to a decent level later tonight-"
"I figured."
"Good. I'll keep you posted on the other tributes as they come." Floris punches a few more commands into the panel, revealing a series of options to choose from before me. "Choose your poison."
There are a multitude of 'game modes' I can choose from. I choose 'Watch and Shoot' - where I bound from the six hundred meter line all the way to the twenty meter while shooting targets as they come. We do this all the time at the Academy as a build up to actual PK training once we graduate. One of the trainers hands me a special rifle with magazines that has to be charged by a battery. Once I slip the magazines in a load-bearing harness given to me, I'm made to start in a prone position at the six hundred meter line.
"Set your sight to two hundred meters." Commands Floris.
"My sights are set."
"With a thirty charge magazine, you may load your rifle."
"My rifle is loaded."
"Multiple targets, watch and shoot, watch and shoot."
"Watching."
"...Advance!"
Two human-sized targets materialize about fifty meters out, firing haphazardly at me. I return fire, 'killing them' after I give them each four shots. The technology is amazing. The dummies reacted with each shot I landed on them, not entirely 'dying' until I delivered a fatal shot.
"...Advance!"
I get up from the prone and heave the rifle into the 'low ready' position while bounding toward the five hundred meter line, which takes the shape of a berm going horizontally. To my surprise, the projector materializes a target on the upper floor. It shoots, striking me in the arm, rendering it partially limp. Firing from the hip, I manage to score a lucky shot, 'killing' it and dissolving it into smithereens. Two more targets advance with aggression, prompting me to switch the firing mode to 'auto' turning the targets into pixie dust. I take the next advance carefully, moving to the various covering walls to shield myself from a potential ambush. Six targets down, I make it to the three hundred meter line.
"You okay, Rivendell?" Floris says with a chuckle. I don't blame her. We've barely closed out two hundred meters yet I'm already sweating, my hand trembles as I slip in another magazine. Like my time out on the shooting range, I'm filled with a weird mix of anxiousness and joy.
"I'm good." I call out.
"Okay, if y'say so!" Floris chimes back. "...Advance!"
Upon exiting the gallery, ignoring the eyes that seem to forever stick on me, my mind runs haphazard with all the possibilities this gallery brings. If they were to add guns into the arena, it'd change everything, especially with the Thirteens skulking around. I also can't help but wonder how Syndra and the others will take to basic squad tactics.
"Did you have fun in there, Spitfire?" a male voice calls after me.
I halt in my steps, slowly pivoting to my right to see a boy - young man, really - from Eleven eyeing me down with an ugly sneer like he wants to come over and wring my neck.
"Just like razin' a hamlet to the ground, right Spitfire?" he continues, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Bet you did a lot of that during the War."
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, Eleven." I say to him, keeping my voice level. "I bet you heard about the boy from Four an' his busted arm? Well, that was me. If you keep runnin' that hole of yours, I'll do you a whole lot worse than a busted arm."
"You're full of shit, Spitfire." He claps back. "The worst Career I've yet to see, simply because of the fact that you're dumb enough to be here, despite everything being said - despite everything done."
We hold each other's glares for a few solid seconds. I cannot wait to waste every single rebel inside that arena.
Breaking the eye contact, I let out a breathy exhale, chuckling dryly while turning to go join Syndra, ignoring the sneer Eleven continues to level my way.
All will be said and done once the gong goes off.
"There are many ways to set off a mine," Says the Trainer. "Be careful, because the more you tinker with said explosive, the easier it goes off."
I exchange notes with Syndra and Max, who then exchange notes with Cicero and Daphne. The Four of us surround a large steel table. In front of us lays an anti-personnel mine with the trainer using a laser pointer to describe each component.
Traps are something Forge would be interested in, being a budding weapons technician - 'budding' meaning a full-fledged expert - I wish I had his brain for a subject like this. Still, I find the concept of traps intriguing. With ninety-six tributes, locking down an area and setting a trap or two could come in handy. Imagining Rabe or a Thirteen turning into minced meat propels me to keep focused and learn everything there is to know about traps.
"Give it back!" until that, that is.
My head snaps toward some nearby benches used for breaks. The little black girl from Twelve struggles to get back her purple notebook from Spinel, who keeps her at arm's length by fastening her hand onto the top of Twelve's head while using the other hand to hoist the notebook up high out of her reach.
"Give it back!" the Twelve girl says again.
Syndra makes a move, as if she's about to leave the table to intervene. I grip her wrist before she can go any further. She tries to pull away but I keep her pinned as the commotion continues. More and more heads begin to turn toward the two girls.
"But she's a Capitol!" Syndra hisses, glaring at me with disgust in her eyes.
I continue to shake my head. We're already targets in the eyes of the more rebellious tributes. Rief and the Eleven boy already confirm this. Syndra and the others would be no use to me with targets on them.
"Y'know Twelve, I've been watching you." Spinel jeers, raising the notebook higher as the girl continues to reach for it, going as far as getting on her tiptoes. "You've had that schnoz of yours in that book ever since we got here! What? Are ya keepin' tabs on us or something?!"
"Are you hard of hearing?!" the little girl is practically shrieking now, ripping off her glasses and shoving them into her pocket. "I said give it back!"
She kicks Spinel in the shin, causing the older girl to yelp before shoving Twelve to the ground. By that point the PKs and the absent older brother of the Twelve girl comes rushing over, ripping the two apart.
"I don't like snoops!" Spinel calls out to the two as the Peacekeepers escort her elsewhere. "Trust me, I really don't like snoops!"
Syndra rips her wrists from my grip, frowning as we watch the elder brother console his teary sister. "She's the youngest tribute here, why not pick on someone her own damned size?"
"Ignore her, she's a spastic." I reply, turning my attention back to the Trainer as he resumes his lesson. "Spastics don't last long in the Games. Just look at the Titus guy."
"Oh yes, Titus!" Daphne exclaims, smiling sadly when the Trainer shoots her a stern look. "Do you really think she's a cannibal as well?"
"Wouldn't surprise me one bit." I say, smirking as the Four begin to chuckle. I try to find the nutbar, locating her by the by the section of melee weapons that fall under the 'club' family. Armed with a spiked bat, a pair of trainers watch as Spinel tenderizes a dummy with consistent strikes to the head without fatigue.
"Rhodos, you're back!" Daphne cheers, scooting over so her district partner can sit with us.
The Capitol-turned-District 9-male slips into the booth beside Daphne with a plate piled high with food despite the last two days of him barely eating. He looks better, to say the least. No more bags under the eyes or blank slates for pupils. To my surprise, he eats like any normal person would.
"You're allowed to sit out training?" I ask him with a raised brow.
He shrugs. "The escort was nice enough to let me sleep in."
"Our escort understands...maybe because we're Capitols." Daphne adds with a nod. Padding down her pink hair, Daphne places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I'm just glad you're feeling better."
"You do look well-rested." Max comments as the other three nod in agreement.
"Maybe you can finally join us in training!" Cicero adds, nudging my shoulder as he says, "Rivendell and the trainers have been teaching us so much, I feel like a Career myself."
Rhodos grins weakly, offering a non-committal grunt and nod in reply - as if he isn't wholly interest in the prospect of living a little longer than most tributes here will. No one calls him out on it. As we continue to eat away at our food, I can't help but watch the Twelve table as they engage in rapid conversation - about strategy no doubt. That isn't the only thing I look out for, as DeWynter and I discovered something of note yesterday night while reviewing footage.
I watch as the ginger, Thom, eyes Matix like Domita eyes Forge.
After lunch, the four insist that they practice with knives again. They've improved since the first 'private training' sessions a day ago, no longer striking with hesitance but instead aggression. Maybe Syndra is right about the 'mini Career' nickname. Cicero and Max spar with trainers over one knife each. They're boys - Capitol boys - but boys all the same. If you tap into their aggression, they could get the job done.
Syndra is really going to town on the gel dummy torso in front of her, practicing all her strikes, causing the dummy to 'bleed' onto the floor and pedestal it stands on. She seems uneasy about it, moving her mouth around as if she's holding back bile.
"Feeling confident?" I ask her.
"I'm getting there..." she grins back in return, sighing softly. "It might be an entirely different story once the pedestals rise but...At least I have an iota of training to fall back on should things go haywire."
"Good." I nod. "As long as you grasp the principles-"
Daphne shrieks so loud, I mistake her for a fire alarm rather than a person.
All training ceases, all heads whip around to watch as she continues to shriek like a madwoman, cupping her hands together just as Rhodos collapses to the ground face first. There's already blood surrounding his head. From the pool of blood, I lift my head up toward Daphne. As tears drip down her face, Daphne shakes her head a mile a second, causing her pink hair to flail around her.
"I-I...He-he...Oh Rhodos, why?! Why would you do that?!" she cries.
I zip over to him, rolling him over and freezing upon the sight of a knife in his neck from hilt to tip. His body continues to tremble on the floor. Every breath he takes prompts more crimson liquid to gush from the wound and his mouth. They're guttural, wet gasps, sounds that sound natural from an animal, not a human. Coupled with Daphne's crying-screaming hybrid, I can't help but remain stuck in place, bearing down into his half-lidded eyes as I remember.
The road. Naked. Cradling Paulus. Screaming for someone - anyone to help me.
There's a clamor of commands as Trainers and Peacekeepers rush over, some with trauma kits. One of them moves me aside so they could get better access. The VIPs gather at the balcony, seemingly confused as they try to get a closer look. Tributes begin to gather around, only for PKs to halt them. Max holds Daphne as she continues to bawl into her hands. Cicero and Syndra look as white as paint.
"Attention tributes, attention tributes!" Atala's voice booms over the PA system. "Training is postponed until further notice! Return back to your dormitories at once!"
Rhodos' decision to end it all seems to have inspired someone else.
The next day, Viondra tells me that down in the tribute dormitories, at breakfast, a girl from Six intentionally ate something she was allergic to, not telling anyone despite her growing discomfort until she died from her reaction. Her replacement tribute is set to come early tomorrow morning. We're to be trained in 'pods' now, since were considered untrustworthy as a group of ninety-six. By 'pods' they mean the alliances established ourselves or the six tributes reaped as a district. Training didn't start until twelve in the afternoon and lasted until five, and in that time the pods had their individual training periods. The Capitols come down to my floor at Five, since we usually do our secret after hours training at this time.
Naturally, they don't seem as invested this time around, preferring to take things slow and read up on past Games like HG 50. Everyone is looking at HG 50 for pointers. I take Forge's advice and take HG 73 into account as well, alongside other cramped arenas like the first ten Games - all of which took place in the Capitol Arena.
"They're bringing someone in - as a replacement." Daphne says in between sniffles as she dabs her tears away with a ball of tissue. "Our escort said so...Something about a 'list'."
"How is he supposed to get up to speed?" Cicero wonders aloud.
With bloodshot eyes, Syndra shrugs, sniffling herself. "His loss, I suppose. Poor, poor Rhodos..."
"I'm surprised there aren't more deaths." I say. There probably will be. I could see people hopping off their pedestals prematurely to escape their fates.
Syndra wipes away her tears, sighing deeply as she fixes me a hard look. "You know, Rivendell, I was scared beyond all reason when my name was called."
"I don't blame you."
"Yes, there are still a lot of unknowns and the path is still quite dark. But I have an idea." She continues. Her voice is sad but firm. "And as long as I have an idea, I have hope, right? Rhodos didn't deserve his fate. So if I win, I'd advocate for all deported Capitolites who didn't have a hand in the War. I hope every other Capitolite in these Games - you guys included - will do the same."
Daphne and Cicero frown with unease on their faces as Max shakes his head, chuckling hesitantly. "Syn, my main goal is to survive-"
"Which is noble, but the victor of this Games has a huge role to play in how Panem will be going forward." She replies in earnest, balling her fists. "It'd be dumb to just 'clam up' as the Fours say..." her eyes scanning the entirety of the table, she shrugs. "That's how I feel, anyway..."
I simply offer a non-committal nod. Like she said, she has an idea. As long as it stays that way, I'm content.
"Alright you guys, egghead hour is over." Sgt. Floris says from across the way. "I wanna run y'all through the shooting gallery as a group, see how you guys do."
Wordlessly, we return the datapads back to their sockets and join the Sergeant at the gallery. He didn't even try, Rhodos. It gnaws at me every single day - that December morning - from the time I get up to the time I lay down. There were many times I thought about ending it all. But I'm glad I decided to keep breathing - if only for a little while longer.
Coming Up Next...
We hear from the mastermind behind the 76th Annual Hunger Games.