Chapter Twenty-Three - "Duality of Man"

Sleeping intermittently throughout the night, I manage to catch the tail end of the Cicero-Syndra shift. 0700 on the dot. I happily reflect the grin Syndra offers me as they return from outside. Not bad for a people I usually assume are soft and mushy, given how some of the Capitol-born officers who are deployed to District 2 carry themselves.

"How was it out there?" I ask her, watching as she plops down beside me with a sigh. Like an open fridge, I can feel the coolness radiating off of her. It's been a while since the barrel went out. I mentally take notes to ensure we have a sentry for the fire too, as the arena seems to be getting colder and colder as the days roll on.

Cold," she replies. "But at least it was quiet. I see it all the time in the Games. Tributes ambushing other tributes in the dead of night. That alone kept my eyes peeled."

"Is it true that Capitolites don't wake up until like…eleven in the morning?"

Cicero snorts. "That's preposterous…" he replies, his mock-serious wall crumbling when I quirk a brow. "I mean, when school's out, that frees up a lot of hours that could be spent doing other things, no?"

Syndra snickers as I nod in approval.

I'm glad that they're adapting to something that until recently, was something restricted to holovision, fan clubs, and the occasional trip to reflect or participate in a reenactment. It's only going to get worse from here on out. I wonder to myself how they'd fare against the others, most importantly the Thirteens. I'd learn today, hopefully.

Cicero moves to wake the others. We dole out our rations and eat in silence. Scalloped potatoes and ham is how I start the day. Flameless ration heaters, just add water, come in handy and serve as a lift against the frigid morning air. I finish first, turning my attention to my rifle to ensure the thing works right. I can't help but notice as I give the gun a thorough clean, Troy eyes it like a cat does its prey.

"You any good with those knives?" I ask him, jutting my chin towards the bandolier strapped to his chest. He fancies himself a Career, looking the way he does.

He unfreezes, jostling his head from side to side. "I guess. We'll have to see."

I try for the life of me to remember his training score. District One was fairly average across the board, as I recall Syndra's scoring. Just seeing him with a bandolier makes my brain race with a bevy of thoughts. None of them are particularly good. I have them configure their rucksacks so that we can kit down and pack up at a moment's notice.

"So we're not staying here?" Max says with a scrounged face. "That seems kinda…off, doesn't it?"

"I'm sorry Zenobia, but I have to agree with Max," says Syndra. "The Games Digest always said that you should know your part of the arena like-"

"Like you know your own neighborhood block, I know Syndra," I interrupt, suppressing a sigh. I gesture to Daphne, Cicero and Max respectively. "What did I say about the Games Digest?"

"Throw it out the window," they recite in awkward unison.

"Exactly," I reply, watching from my peripherals as Troy rolls his eyes. I ignore it just this once, opting to file it away for future mulling. "This arena wasn't designed entirely for staying in one place, if yesterday wasn't a glaring example of that…"

Daphne blinks. "What, the gas?"

"I thought it was a one-time thing?" says Quartz.

"Then why have masks strewn about?" replies Syndra. "Obviously they're 'tightening the grip' so to speak."

All eight of our communicuffs screech out a familiar warning chime. I consult my watch, selecting the 'map' function. Just as I suspected, the heavy fog that shrouded this arena was eating away more territory and if we didn't move now, we'd be in the thick of it. The fog hasn't even come yet but I still smell the pungent odor of mold in the air.

If anxiety had a physical embodiment, it would be Quartz. "So, what about that plan you promised us?"

"Mask up and I'll tell you all about it," I reply.

We do just that, fixing our respirators onto our faces as the room gradually begins to grow more opaque by the second. Following my lead, I usher them out of the market that's been our home for two days and some change. Syndra catches my attention as she turns around, giving the rundown storefront one last glance.

"Goodbye Central Market, you've been great," she says with a playful bow.

Being the protective cousin that he is, Quartz leads Gem out by the hand while murmuring some encouragement. Troy is the last to come out, casually glancing around as if we were sightseeing instead of fighting for our lives. If there was one thing life has taught me, it's that one should move with a sense of urgency no matter what the task. Years in the Academy being yelled at by NCOs, coupled with sixteen years of being under the parentage of a senior NCO like Dad was, I had half a mind to lay into him then and there. Instead I suppress it with a barely audible groan and a glare to boot.

Once we reach the nearest intersection, I consult my communicuff's map once more. I point north where just a couple of meters ahead, is a giant wall of fog.

"This way."

The seven of them gawk at me as if I had a million heads. Quartz strides forward, shoving past Gem and Cicero.

"Really?" he says incredulously. "Towards the danger? I know you have a bit of a daredevil streak in you, Zenobia, but-"

I roll my eyes. It's times like these I wish that I had three D1 Careers instead of whatever the hells these three are. "This is part of the 'strategy' you've been moaning at me to tell you about," I hiss at him. That shuts him up. "The masks hold up against fumes, right?" they nod. "Alright. Follow my lead."

As we trek northward, I explain my plan in detail. I want payback (this is…withheld of course). Judging by the map, it seems that the Market was some meters away from Cathedral Park Subway, which means I trekked further north to 116th Street Station. That's where the mutts attacked. Rief and his gang took a significant hit, losing some ten people within his combined alliance...if they even are an alliance at this point.

The point is, whoever is left from that makeshift alliance has to be hurting bad from whatever happened since Syndra cut them off by blowing up the entrance. If they made it to the surface, they didn't make it far. So, if we 'hug the border' in a clockwise motion, made easy by the circular layout of the arena, we'll pick off stragglers who are on the fringes of the fog trying to escape. Rinse and repeat until hopefully, we catch the Thirteens unaware (I also skimp on this detail). Eight against eight. Sure, my team isn't the best, not by a longshot, but all they need to do is last a minute or two. I'm sure I could figure out the rest.

"That makes sense…" Syndra nods, as if to assure herself more than anything. "I like the plan."

The Capitols do so as well, jostling their shoulders and heads in approval. The Ones seem less gung-ho, Troy staring blankly while the cousins exchange looks.

"Why not just head to the middle, where it's safe?"

"Because everyone probably thought of the same thing," says Max.

I gesture to the tall Capitolite in approval. Those extra sessions with Sergeant Floris truly paid off. "Let's get moving."

More or less, we make sure to straddle the border between the safe zone and the encroaching fog. We dart through alleyways, though clogged intersections and vine-choked tenement buildings. The fog works intermittently, pausing every now and then only for our cuffs to chime out in warning to get us to move again.

We stop at a convenience store, where we find an open low-tier crate. As I inspect the box, I wonder how recently it was opened. Days…hours?

"Zenobia," Gem calls out. "Look."

I ease my way past fallen shelves and follow the younger girl's finger. A bundle of used gauze lies at her feet. Most of it is old blood, dried and crusty, while some pieces are evidently wet. I can't help but grin as Syndra and the other Capitols frown at my handling of the soiled cloths.

"We're getting closer..." I muse. "Let's keep moving. Hopefully they aren't too far off."

By noon we're at the northernmost point, an old church. It's here that we decide to hunker down until the next boundary shift. I order Max and Quartz to shut the door and have the others sit alert for at least ten minutes, just in case we were followed. Once the listening halt is over with, we're free to explore this ancient place we find ourselves in.

Surprisingly, the church is untouched from the debris and destruction surrounding it. Besides this place, there isn't a single area within this arena besides the market and my apartment that's somewhat presentable.

I find a femur bone on the ground, nudging it with my boot. I find it odd, this church. Judging from how the movies portray it, people would gather here and do what exactly, learn about the feats of some imaginary man? All while cities were being turned to ash, territories were being flooded and their neighbors were killing them over a can of beans? On the stage, just before the cross, is a low-tier crate. A quick glance around allows me to see that no one else has picked up on it yet.

Except Troy, who locks eyes with me for the briefest of seconds before shifting them back towards the box in question. We both break into a brisk walk toward the box, breaking out into a sprint halfway down the aisle. He tugs on my shoulder, prompting me to shove him aside, effectively securing the box for me, myself and I. I shoot him a glare, causing the One to raise his hands in surrender.

"It's all yours…" he drawls. The mask covers it, but I bet he's hiding a shit-eating grin under it.

Ignoring him, I turn to look over the box's contents. The dried fruit and two smoke grenades should come in handy, but it's the silver, compact pistol that catches my eye. Warmth washes over me from head to toe as I study the pistol in my hands. This'll come in handy. I release the magazine to find it empty. Shame, but I bet the rounds I've scavenged will feed it.

I look back towards troy. I barely catch a glimpse of him wandering elsewhere.

Paulus leans onto the podium situated to the right-hand side of the stage. "Better you than him, that's for sure."

I nod, slipping the pistol into one of my many cargo pockets. "Mhm."

Fidgeting with an ancient book, Syndra lets out an audible grumble.

Max sighs while easing himself onto one of the many pews. "What's the matter, Syn?"

"What did they get out of it?" Syndra replies aloud, flashing the book for all to see. ""Oh my God", "Oh my Gods"...I mean, if a god truly existed, why would he tolerate the Apocalypse and the mess surrounding it?"

"President Penderghast believed in god," adds Quartz. "And he's probably one of the more notable presidents we ever had."

"That was his only flaw," says Max. "He was right about America being weak and selfish and us needing to be stronger as a people. Though I wouldn't call on the nation to draw nearer to some man in the sky especially when he allows what happened to happen-"

"Humans are a wicked species."

We all whip our heads around to look at Troy, who seems somewhat surprised that all eyes are on him now. With shifty eyes, he says "You asked why did he allow the Apocalypse to happen. 'God'. Well, it wasn't exactly 'God' who brought us here, but I was human nature that brought us to this point. We may not see it at first, but suffering does allow good to be accomplished…"

"Like Panem?" pipes up Gem. "I mean, the rest of the world was destroyed and Panem's here."

He murmurs his reply under his breath, none of us catch it. Max shrugs, and Syndra suggests we eat something, quickly changing the topic. But then there's the question of air quality. Syndra goes to remove her mask, but quickly stops when she sees everyone else not following. I grin as all eyes turn to me - their leader. I nod to Quartz.

"You, take your mask off."

He raises his hands in the air frustratingly. "What? Syndra was about to-"

I shrug dismissively. She's more useful than him by a million miles. "There's seven of us here. If you drop to the ground and start squirming, I'm sure we can help."

He glances from left to right, supposedly looking for an 'out'. No one's giving it to him though, judging by the pointed stares behind each mask. Even silent Troy waits on him. He fixes his glare onto his cousin.

"Gem-"

She offers a pitiful shrug. "We're here to help you if you go down…"

"Do it and maybe I'll allow you to have first watch tonight," I say.

The gangly boy sighs deeply, ripping off his mask in one fell swoop. Five seconds pass and he doesn't crumple to the ground. Instead, his face scrounges up as if he got a whiff of something rotten.

"It's in the air, the gas…" he says. "But I'm not dying so…"

Good enough for me. I follow suit, ripping the respirator from off my face. Everyone else immediately follows. If we can smell the scent, it won't be long before this place is enveloped in the stuff too.

"Hurry up and get some food into you," I tell my allies. "Don't get too comfortable, it makes getting outta here a million times harder."

I watch them now as they dig into their packs for their rations. The Capitols seem a bit wide eyed but they get down to eating quick enough, together taking up a single pew. Behind them sits Quartz and Gem.

On the opposite side is Troy. Being acquainted enough with the others, I decide to pick his brain, slipping onto the space next to him. He seems surprised at my sitting beside him, as he offers me a nod and shimmies back even more to allow me space.

"Enjoying your sandwich?" I ask.

"It's a pretty good sandwich," he replies. "Although, I would've preferred if it were made fresh instead of stuffed into a vacuum-sealed pack.

I find myself frowning somewhat. What's a 'sammich'? Awfully odd way to pronounce 'sandwich'. "Right. So, what'd you do in One before everything went to shit?"

He swallows his food. "I'm sorry?"

"You three are the weirdest Ones I've ever seen." I say, pointing a gloved finger towards him. "You most of all."

"How can you peg a One as 'weird' when all your information on them comes from holovision?"

"The Games are all the info I need."

"I disagree," he counters. "There's more to One than blonde bombshells, designer clothing and fancy jewels."

Paulus occupies the pew behind us, resting his arms and chin against our backrest.

"What a queer," he scoffs with an eyeroll. "Dames and gold are the only things that matter in District One!"

I lean against the pew, maintaining my gaze with him. It's the accent. That's what's jarring about him. Where's the creaky, throaty voice? The inflection that makes it so that every sentence seems as if it's a question when it's not?

"I take it you're not from…What's the capital called, Helena?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm a little ways north of there. From a mining hamlet."

Two has miners, quarrymen. They're bounds better than any miner you would find in Twelve. That's for sure. If I know anything about miners, it's that they're all ungrateful rebels. The holovision says so, as well as the history books. "Miners are no good, if Twelve is any example. Being from a miner village must make you a rebel, no?"

"Our town was torn between the Loyalists and the Rebels."

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Didn't answer my question. "So that must make you-"

"Our family was between a rock and a hard place," he continues, hesitantly. "When you live in the middle of nowhere with a sick gran and a pittance of support while a handful of miles away people are living it up…You'd be pretty upset too."

"So-"

"So we fought. 'Aided' is more like it, because that was the trend at the time, lest you get dragged out of your home and killed. Like Snow says in his yearly video, "Brother turned on brother". People were literally being killed in the streets because they had it a teeny bit better than the rest of us. Like my uncle's side of the family, for example…"

I size him up. He definitely has the build of a young man who hauls rocks and operates heavy machinery all day. The seriousness of him contrasts with the skinny Quartz and wide-eyed Gem. "You have the mass, why didn't you go to Helena and attend Edenthew?"

"As much as I would love to fence on the quad and attend black-tie galas, I'm not a rich doll."

I leave it at that, deciding to try and force myself to stomach another meal. All I know is that if he's in here, he could be just as nefarious as the Thirteens or Spinel Knudsen.

"Still, I just wanted to live," he says. "And because of that, I'm stuck here. Sure the Capitol may be stringent, but the Rebels aren't all that innocent either."

Or maybe not.

We enjoy an hour's respite before our communicuffs start chiming again.

I don't have to say a word, as soon as the cuffs sound off, everyone is halfway through with slinging their rucks over their backs and securing their respirators over their faces. It takes a little over a minute to be suited up and ready to go once more.

Slowly but surely, we follow the motions of the storm. We push south towards an intersection, allowing the fog to shroud us as we skulk along with it. I make sure to take the lead, my combined years of Academy training and Dad's personal lessons, makes me more able to hone in on anything out of the ordinary.

Speaking of 'out of the ordinary'...I hiss at my allies to get down and take cover. Just up the street, at the edge of the fog, is a pharmacy. Standing just outside of it is a District 11 female. She's hypervigilant, her head whipping from left to right in search of tributes like us. Thanks to the median strip that stretches the length of the street, which consists of a long hedge, she can't see us. Besides a machete, I see no signs of a gun she could whip out in a pinch.

"So, Zenobia, what's the plan?" Syndra asks.

I bite the inside of my lower lip, thinking back to how I was almost burned alive and pummeled to death by these…I don't really have words to describe them. They're beneath ordinary 'tributes', that's for sure.

I glance down at my chest, where the smoke grenades remain hooked onto my harness. I've come up with my plan.

"No guns. And leave your rucks here, all of you," I say. "Use your blades. Remember your little group training? Four against one?"

Gulping, Syndra nods, exchanging looks with Cicero as they put away their guns and instead pull out their sickle and spear respectively. The group is tense, I can see it on each of their faces and by the way they grip their respective weapons and bounce on the heels of their feet. I can't help but frown. If they could rush into a mutt nest guns blazing, then they can take a tribute or two. Still, just to make sure, I check down the line.

Max is alright, eyeing the pharmacy while maintaining a good grip on his hatchet. He's ready to go.

Cicero stares me down like his life depends on it, waiting for my next command. Syndra as well, of us although the cracks are evident in her stoic expression. She's anxious.

Daphne on the other hand is wide-eyed, breathing heavily through her nose. I forget she isn't exactly the fittest of us all, neither the most confident given what happened to Rhodos and our last day in the Capitol.

"Are you alright?" I ask her.

Wide-eyed, she lets out a shaky breath. "I think so...I'm sorry." I watch as Max gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"You'll be fine," I say.

"Do you mind filling us in?" Quartz hisses. "I can't help but feel a bit out of the loop here."

And then there's the Ones. Silent Troy has gotten his hands dirty before, no need to worry about him. On the other hand, Quartz and Gem are just useless bodies. Cushioning. Can't go wrong with some cushioning.

"I'm going to draw 'em out…" I tell him, grinning from ear to ear. "Straight into your guys' loving arms." I exchange nods with Max and motion for him to come up front where I am. "Just follow Max's lead. Troy, you stick with Max, he'll fill you in."

Uncertain, the elder male from One complies and makes his way to Max's side. Silently, I point towards the boarded up tenement building and watch as the six of them scamper across the road and onto the sidewalk without a peep. Max looks my way and gives me a thumbs up.

I nod in return. So far so good.

Using the hedge as cover, I continue along the road until I'm face to face with the storefront. The windows are bombed out, allowing me to observe the one Ten male and Two Elevens inside. I can't help but shake my head and smile at the sight of them. Just as the rags Gem showed me, they're obviously nursing wounds from the mutt attack in the subway the other day. The Ten male has a very noticeable binding that takes entirety of his face. I imagine his two other friends are hurting too. This'll be a turkey shoot.

Even still, my heart is thumping a mile a second as I detach the grenade in question, pulling the pin as I feel the canister's contents warm up against my gloved palm. I lob the canister into the pharmacy, watching while the entirety of the storefront becomes choked with smoke. I keep my rifle ready as I hear them clamor in surprise.

They can't go further into the store. That'd be stupid. The only way out…is out.

The Eleven female is the first to tumble out of the smokescreen, seemingly blinded by the smoke screen as she stumbles forward while coughing up a storm. What I notice most of all is the crossbow in her hands.

I close the distance between us, jutting the butt of the rifle into her face. It connects with an audible clack and she goes down with a sharp cry, dropping onto her back as her crossbow skids out of reach.

She turns onto her belly in an attempt to clamber toward it, only to earn my bayonet into her shoulder. She cries out again. Remembering the pain I felt when she fired that bolt into me, I plunge the bayonet downward and twist, her cries of pain turning into screams while she tries to no avail to reach back and remove the blade.

The bayonet still in her, I forcefully drag the Eleven girl around to watch the handiwork of my allies.

The male from Ten, hindered by his head wound, is all turned around by the smoke that when he sees Syndra and Cicero coming his way, he trips, allowing them to easily skewer him. One spear to the chest, the other into his abdomen. It's over.

Even though it's over, Ten still has some fight left in him, crying out as he flails his knife out towards the two Capitolites. Cicero manages to pierce his side while Syndra delivers a blow into his back.

On his side now, Ten lays his unbandaged eye on his partner and I, blood flowing from his mouth while his grip on the knife slackens, causing it to clatter uselessly onto the ground. Ripping the spear from out of him, Syndra and I exchange nods. Not bad.

Eleven continues to scream out and call me every cuss in the book. I simply maintain the pressure. The profusive bleeding makes it so that the chocolate brown of her jacket is an even darker complexion now.

Her district partner proves to be more of a challenge. I recognize him as the Eleven male who compared my time on the gun range to killing innocents. Armed with a machete, he boastfully eggs the six of them on, making feints toward them, causing them to stagger back cautiously.

"Look at you," he hisses toward Max. "Killin' your own kind, for them! You're so damn blind."

Gem makes a pitiful thrust towards him with her spear, causing her leg to get kicked out from under her. She tumbles onto her face. Daphne and Quartz charge forward. Then everyone charges forward. It's too much for Eleven, obviously, as multiple spears enter him from a myriad of directions, effectively putting him onto his back. Like Ten, he's still got fight in him, screaming out now, he manages to get a few stabs and cuts in, Daphne crying out and clutching her bicep as she retreats from the dogpile.

It's Max that ends it, maneuvering around the others as he plunges his hatchet into Eleven's head, silencing his hollering immediately as he stills.

Watching the scene unfold, I can't help but grin at their handiwork. Not bad at all. It's interesting how a few more extra hours of training could turn all them into semi-competent tributes. Except Silent Troy over there. I glare at him now, standing idly with eyes as wide as saucers. He didn't even lift a finger! I turn my attention back to the Eleven female now as her curses turn into weak whimpers. She whips her head back, glaring at me.

"Why!? Why!?...I hate you!" she cries in her district twang. "Zenobia Rivendell, you low-down, good for nothing-"

"Oh shut up," I clap back, ripping the bayonet from out of her shoulder. She immediately tries clambering onto her knees, but a firm boot from me onto her back pushes her onto the concrete with a whimper. "You knew this was comin'. You think I'd just let it slide, you n' your gang tryna chase me down and bump me off?"

The rest of the alliance joins me now from the pharmacy, forming a loose circle around her crumpled form. Some of them carry loot from Eleven and her friends.

"I think…" Quartz says. "I think she's the last Eleven left."

"If things were right, it'd be ya'll!" she snaps. "Or better yet, I wouldn't be here at all!"

I'm about to reply when I hear a very distinct sound, loud and clear. Sounds like snoring. I peer my head to the side of Syndra, causing the rest of the group to turn around and find the Ten male on his back now. The 'snoring' makes sense now. Ten is just on his way out, just like the Eleven male a few meters away. This causes the group to uneasily step away from the fallen tribute.

Syndra turns my way. "Should we…?"

She drifts off, but I know exactly what she's trying to say. Put them out of their misery? I take an aim shot towards Ten's head, but decide against it. Nah. Ten and Eleven are getting exactly what they deserve. "Nah, let 'em…reflect."

Blood continuing to ooze from her nose, Eleven spits a wad of blood onto the street. "You're sick."

"Hey," I retort with faux defensiveness, raising my hands into the air for added effect. "You guys were the ones who-"

A cannon fires. My eyes immediately snap onto Troy, who tugs his knife from out of the Eleven male's neck.

"Oh look," I cry out, launching my hands exaggeratingly into the air. "Troy finally decides to participate!''

"No need to prolong their deaths," Troy replies, stabbing Ten in the neck. His cannon fires. "It's unnecessary-"

"If you ask me, it's more than necessary-"

My eyes jump to Syndra as she vomits into the nearby shrubbery. Seeing this, the Eleven girl scoffs, shaking her head like a parent disappointed in their child.

"Would you look at that…" she spits. "Some of y'all have a conscience…Yet you follow her blindly without question. How does it feel, you Capitol clowns, to be one of us? Jus' goes to show you that they don't care 'bout their-"

I plant my boot onto her back, effectively winding her as I press her against the pavement. I sink my bayonet into her other shoulder, twisting it as her screams reach their highest pitch. While the others have done so, Max doesn't avert his gaze. Troy shakes his head.

"Zenobia, we won. Just do it already so we can move on!" he yearns pleadingly.

"Well!?" Eleven roars, wincing. "Go on, finish it then! Finish it!"

Max steps forward. "If you want Zenobia, I don't mind doing it. The nerve they have to say I'm anything like them is enough to slam this ax into her head."

I grin at the older Capitol boy. I'm liking him more and more.

"Nah," I rip the bayonet out, prompting her to cry out as she flounders on the ground. With both her shoulder blades pierced, her arm strength is useless. I can see this now as she attempts to push herself up but continues to fail. "I want you to run, limp, whatever you need to do to get out of my sight."

She scoffs, but it comes out as a groan due to her pain. "You're gonna make me walk away so you can gun me down like a dog…Seen plenty o' that back in Eleven when your folk invaded. You're a real D2 brute, y'know that?"

Her words roll off of me like rain on a slicker. "You're useless, the last person standing for your district," I tell her. "I want you to simmer on that a little. Take it all in." I grab her by her braids, twisting it in my grip so that her neck is strained. I kneel down to her level, my lips inches away from her ear.

"In the Academy-"

"...Your murderer factory back in Two-?"

"Yea, that one. I know plenty of ways to end you real slow like. I'm givin' you an out. Best take it 'fore I make this a whole show. And Panem knows my friends back home would love it if I made an example out of an Eleven."

She winces as I strain her neck even further. "...Y-You're sick."

"You brought this on yourself, Eleven," I forcefully tug her onto her own two feet, and then shove her forward. "Get out of here. If you turn around, so long for Eleven's chances in the Games."

She mutters something under her breath but I could care less. She's a dead girl walking. She may talk a big game, but judging by her increased pace, Eleven's glad she was 'spared'. When she nears the hundred meter mark, I hold my gaze with Silent Troy who looks at me as if he's hanging onto my every decision. I stride forward, causing my wide-eyed allies to bound backward in what I assume is fear.

After all, they're seeing first hand what I came here to do.

"Hey, Silent Troy!" I drawl, grabbing him by the hood of his jacket. "You shot before?"

His face contorts into a frown, as if he already knows what I have in store for him. "You're joking…"

"Nah, I'm not jokin'," I reply with a sigh. "Can't have someone on the team who hasn't fought before. Everyone else has."

"Zenobia," Quartz says from over my shoulder. "I'm sure there'll be other opportunities…"

I whip my head toward the scrawny One male. "Shut the fuck up."

The gawky One boy looks like he swallowed a lemon, but says nothing. Troy continues to shamble along in my grasp.

"Zenobia-"

"It's simple, you just point and shoot," I explain oh so casually. "You have the sight there to help you, should be zeroed for the range-"

Troy says my name again, more desperately, "Zenobia!"

Once we're lined up with the Eleven girl, I press the rifle into his chest. His wide eyes continue to bore into mine.

"Think of her as one of the Rebs who killed your family member, your foreman." I spit. "The people that put you in here in the first place."

Thankfully Eleven is pretty much useless, continuing her slow, shambling shuffle down the street. After minute of mental contemplation, Silent Troy takes up a firing position. Oh yes, he's most definitely shot before, taking up a stance you'd see from a cadet back at Overwhill. I reach in and flick the fire selector to 'automatic'.

"More bullets in 'er wouldn't hurt," I say, clapping him on the back.

Troy reassumes his position, teetering back and forth. Syndra and the others' eyes are glued on the back of Eleven, watching - waiting. I'm about to yell at him to hurry up and fire when he lets off a single burst, prompting me to stagger back in surprise. Eleven on the other hand falls forward and disappears - most likely into the culvert that took up most of the intersection we came from. If she wasn't dead now, she'd be soon.

"Why the hesitancy?" I ask, taking the rifle from out of Troy's gasp. He looks drained, as if he ran five miles. Clammy skin, slight shakes…

"Would've rather just got on with it," he explains. "At the end of the day, we're just kids paying for the mistakes-"

"They're not just 'kids', they brought this on themselves. Remember that," I say, glancing up at him. I grin. "Not bad of a shot. Personally, I dislike automatic from a distance."

With his eyes as wide as saucers, Paulus gawks at Troy before shifting his eyes onto me as I breeze past him.

"Jeez...And I thought the bloodbath was your moment of truth," he says, snorting. "Guess I was wrong."

"Haven't seen nothin' yet," I murmur in reply.

I can't afford to have laggards with their heads in the sky on my team. For a heavyset miner, he's as useless as an twelve-year-old outlier. As he continues to stand lamely by himself, I turn my attention back to my dazed allies, who immediately scooch in a little closer, ready to hear out my next order. One or two more of these attacks and they'll be full-fledged mini-Careers in no time.

"Get your stuff back on," I tell them. "With any luck, we could get the Fours next."

Coming Up Next...

"With everything said and done, we all decide to relocate into a singular bedroom. None of us dare shut our eyes. "