"This land is ours!"
Marisol watched, an amused smile twitching at her lips as a small but fiery group of protestors marched around the construction site, wielding large signs and banners as they hammered right through the safety barriers and began planting themselves in front of the cranes and forklifts.
Ever since District Four's recent economic boom owing to the discovery of several offshore oil reserves and increased Capitolite investment in Panem's fleets, the upper class of Four had begun spreading their slimy tentacles all over the rest of the District, buying up more land and building new homes to fulfil their newfound lust for luxury.
And right here, on a peaceful little oceanfront hamlet, they'd found their latest target.
This land had been home to a small, tight-knit community of pearl divers and fishermen for centuries, with some of its colourful little buildings dating back to long before the Dark Days. If the building were completed, the elites would simply sashay their way in and kick everyone out to have this entire place to themselves, Marisol was sure of it.
They'd already done so in several other little villages over the last couple of months alone.
Plus, the beach here was a turtle nesting ground and had some pretty cool coral reefs that Marisol loved snorkelling in. Manta rays, dolphins, reef fish, crabs, eels, heck maybe even mermaids (who knows?), you name it, they lived here and called this place home.
"This land is ours!"
"This sea is ours!"
But of course, they'd soon be wiped out by none other than her own father.
She scowled as she saw him, perched on a stool as he oversaw the construction. How he didn't even give a damn about the people, some of whom were his friends, or about the marine life that gave this accursed District a wee bit of charm for a change, Marisol could never fathom it. As the protesters began to brawl with the construction workers, Marisol leapt away from the scene. Autonomous or not, the Peacekeepers still had their way in this land, and she did not want to be in their line of fire.
Tucking her long, brown curls behind her air, she hopped onto her bicycle and sped off, glancing back wearily as loud screams erupted from the hamlet, slowly disappearing from view behind a curtain of lush palm trees along the boulevard.
"Bloody barnacles," she murmured with a shake of her head.
She glided her bicycle across the oceanfront, swinging past flocks of seabirds soaring to their cliffside nests and hordes of little kids excitedly biking their way to explore coves and caverns unknown within their vast, wild District. In some ways, this place cast a unique spell of its own to anyone who came to visit, the raw beauty of many of its little nooks and crannies boasting a distinct charm Marisol doubted other more industrial Districts could match.
Perhaps that was why the Capitol wanted to rub their grubby little hands all over it.
The tourism industry, while still fairly new, had exploded in recent years, with hordes and armies of Capitolites storming into the District every summer and staying in one of the luxurious, heavily-guarded resorts on the outskirts of the District along the Baja and Oregon coasts. Marisol wasn't too upset, since it did give her a job crafting sea glass jewellery for those rich brats, but heck, if she ever had to see them to one of their cringy 'TikSnowTok' dances again, she doubted she could resist gauging her own eyes out.
Eventually, she jammed the brakes as she pulled into the local football field. As usual, it was jam-packed with people from all across this part of the District playing mini-matches with anyone who was up for a good time. This pitch hadn't always been here, in fact, Marisol's parents once told her they used to play on the streets, but ever since Coral Thiller won the Games, she'd made sure to provide ample sporting opportunities for anyone within their sport-crazed District.
"Hey there, Solly!"
Marisol turned, groaning as her best friend Kiera jogged over, grinning as she kicked a ball at her. She'd known Kiera ever since she was a little kid, she was probably the only person who Marisol ever felt truly liked being around her. With her signature wide grin and her twinkling eyes, she cut a sunny figure in Marisol's otherwise troubled life.
The only exception was her insistence on using that stupid nickname. "You know I hate that nickname," Marisol murmured.
Kiera punched her lightly in the arm. "And that's why I keep using it. Now come on, you wanna play or not?"
"Marisol Soto!"
Marisol rocked back and forth in her chair in the Justice Building, silently willing herself to be anywhere but on a one-way ticket to her deathbed.
"A three-year running streak of Careers just had to end this year, didn't it?" she murmured quietly, balling her fists as the thought of those stupid pirates deciding to chicken out today of all days swept over her.
There was a knock on the door. Marisol raised an eyebrow. If this was who she thought it was, well, she didn't want them to be anywhere near her right now.
Perhaps it's Kiera, Marisol let herself think, but as the door opened, all her optimism fell away at once.
Her father poked his head into the room, anxiety scrawled all over his ashen face. "Hey, Mari, I-" His voice began to falter as he took slow, cautious steps towards her, as though she were some sort of wild beast that could attack him at any given moment.
"Where's Mom?" Marisol asked, already knowing the answer.
Her father sighed. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder but Marisol brushed it off, giving him a cold, dagger-like stare. "She's with the diplomats' children. Believe me, Mari, she wanted to be here, but the diplomats, well, they wanted her to pick their kids up right after the Reaping."
Marisol scoffed.
Of course.
Because others' children mattered more than her own.
"Sure, that'll be the excuse I'll give her when she's on her deathbed. 'Oh, I've got other mums to take care of, have fun in the afterlife!'" Marisol snapped.
Her father's gaze hardened. "You don't understand. We are doing what's best-"
"I don't think you understand," Marisol cut him off, rising to her feet to meet her father's challenge. "This is the Hunger Games. The odds are that I will die by the end of the week, and she can't even bother to show up?"
"Marisol, that is enough," her father yelled, stomping his foot on the ground in frustration. "We've worked very hard for you, you see, and you've never shown an ounce of gratitude, always going to those stupid protests and ruining everything, heck, you don't even have a real job!"
"That's because I have school, plus, I take care of the family, something you two haven't done since I was like, five!" Marisol grabbed the chair, resisting the urge to flip it over in her father's face. "You've both stooped as low as the fucking Capitol, always doing their biddings and being their damned lackeys, you've basically betrayed your own District. And you've abandoned your own freaking family, heck, do you even know your youngest son's name? The one you've never so much as even uttered a word to? The one whose birth you weren't there for? Huh, Dad?"
"Well then, since you clearly show absolutely no respect whatsoever to your own family and clearly have no intention of making yourself useful in the future, I mean, playing football isn't a career, Marisol, why don't you just, I don't know, get lost!"
Silence.
Marisol gaped at him, horror creeping into her veins as the magnitude of his words sunk in, slashing deep into her heartstrings. Her father baulked, only now realising what he'd just said. "Marisol, I-"
"Your time is up, please leave the premises," the Peacekeeper called out.
"Wait, but-"
"Don't make me come in there, Mr Soto."
"Marisol, I'm sorry, I-" her father tried to reach out to her but she slapped him away.
She narrowed her eyes, every ounce of love that she'd ever had towards him or her mother suddenly vanquished. "Goodbye, Dad."
As the door slammed shut behind him, Marisol slumped in her chair, the last echoes of her so-called 'family' fading away with her father's frantic shouts out in the corridor. Mixed in with them was the voice of her brother Daniel. Marisol gritted her teeth. "Please don't let him in," she grunted, chewing nervously on her lip. She already knew what he had to say, something along the lines of, "Oh, just sit there and look pretty for the cameras, flirt with a guy, swoon when they do all the killing for you, seduce them because you're a girl so you obviously can't fight, let them take the lead, blah blah blah."
Yeah, not quite the rousing speech Marisol wanted.
"Don't mind the big wannabe pirate over there."
Marisol frowned as she scanned the train's dining car, staring skeptically at the, well, strange, paintings hung up on every single inch of the walls. Some bore a striking resemblance to President Snow himself, capturing the potbellied tyrant in various comically heroic poses. Others depicted idealised visions of life in seaside Four, with charming fishing boats and jubilant sailors trading the day's catch with benevolent Capitolites.
"Darned dolphins, those are awful," she uttered, shaking her head in disbelief. "I mean the texture and colours are hideous, but the scenes themselves, yikes."
Her mentor, Coral, sighed as she took a seat across from Marisol, a weary look already plastered on her face. Marisol knew Coral from her time playing football. Coral Thiller, the girl who could glide past entire football teams with the slickest, most eye-catching flicks and dribbles, the pride of their District with her long-range screamers and stunning tricks, she was arguably the face of District Four and Marisol's long-time idol.
But she's also a Hunger Games Victor.
A killer, a murderer who'd skewered her opponent in the finale of her Games. Marisol wasn't quite sure how to reconcile with such a reality, especially since Coral had spent half her time in the arena giggling like mad instead of well, looking terrified or remorseful.
Marisol narrowed her eyes as Coral scooped up a butter knife, twirling it aimlessly around her fingers. "What's our strategy, then?" she asked.
Coral shrugged. "I mean, I guess we could stick to the athletic, sporty Career angle we've always put out. What else do you have in mind?" She flicked the knife, attempting to spin it around her index finger, only to let it slip from her hands. The shiny blade clattered on the ground, prompting Coral to bend down to pick it up, but she didn't exactly achieve that either. "Ack!" she yelped, tumbling over her chair and hitting the ground with a deafening bang!
Marisol smacked her forehead. Inhaling sharply, she felt her heart slowly sink in despair as her klutz of a mentor, someone who was supposed to be the District's poster girl or whatever, awkwardly stumbled to her feet, accidentally banging her head on the table in the process. "This is gonna be a long ride."
"Cut her some slack, Marisol."
Marisol nearly toppled off her own seat. Whirling around, her eyes widened as Jolien Fisher, yet another Victor from years gone by, stood right behind her, close enough that her hands were almost touching Marisol's neck, nearly for a quick, Career-esque strangle.
How the hell had she snuck up on them?
"Coral, well, she's had to go through, Victor problems, you see," Jolien continued, her voice rueful as ever, a hollow echo in her throat, lost beneath what Marisol could only imagine was years of pain and sorrow. She could hear the strain in Jolien's voice, a stark contrast from the somewhat lively tone that the younger Coral still possessed.
"What do you mean by 'Victor problems'?" Marisol pressed her, her gaze darting between Jolien and Coral, who exchanged woeful expressions.
"Let's just say, you don't have much freedom after you win," Coral said, her voice suddenly taking on a mysterious, dangerous undertone. She leaned closer, glancing to make sure no one was watching. "The Games change you, the Capitol changes you, you're gonna be under their thumb for pretty much the rest of your life. I guess you should factor that into formulating whatever strategy you're thinking of. Piss them off too much and they'll make your life a living hell." At that last bit, Marisol could see the wrinkles on Jolien's forehead deepen, her face contorting into a tight grimace.
"Which brings us back to your angle," Jolien reminded, seemingly all too eager to change the subject. "What are your strengths, Marisol? Any special talents that can set you apart?
Marisol bit her lip. Good question, she thought. What was she good at? She almost blurted out 'football', but then realised her tricks and flicks would pale in comparison to that of Coral, clumsy as she may be. Or even last year's pair, who by themselves weren't the most convincing of tributes, even if they had volunteered. Her thoughts drifted to her social skills, which were laughably abysmal. There was, after all, only one kid around town who'd managed to successfully ward off Dennis Lee, widely acclaimed for his immense vault of patience and kindness. And yet she'd done it, by shooing him off when he'd tried to help her, making a snide remark about his (ugly) jacket, and that one incident with the sea conch, but that's a story for another time.
She scratched her head, a grim frown tugging at her lips. "Erm, I can make jewellery?" That was stupid, and she knew that. The sea glass rings and necklaces that she made were nowhere near top-tier quality, she wasn't even sure how she'd managed to make a living out of them to begin with.
Perhaps the Capitolites really thought scratched pearls were 'fine local culture' or something.
Coral perked up. "Oh, you're Ms Bishop's girl, aren't you? The one who makes those cool figurines and stuff? Those are awesome, man! Do you by any chance have any that you can, I don't know, show the interview audience or something?"
Marisol shook her head. "No, and it'll take me ages to make one from scratch, provided you even have sea glass here to begin with."
"We can incorporate that into her outfit," Jolien suggested, her voice sounding distant even as she said those words. "I'll get in touch with Tigris, let's see if it fits with any of her current design ideas."
Outfit?
Marisol bit back a dejected sigh.
Right, the Chariot Rides were up next.
Brilliant, tens of thousands of people staring doe-eyed at her as she paraded herself around a foreign city.
What could possibly go wrong?
—-
"Oh for the love of smoked salmon, they're actually naked."
Marisol's jaw dropped as the meek pair from Twelve shuffled towards their chariot, dressed in nothing more than coal dust and a miner's helmet with a dodgy light. They desperately tried to cover themselves as the spotlights roared onto them, showering them with the hollers and jeers of front-row Capitolites who'd managed to catch a glimpse of the tributes getting ready at their chariots.
"Sucks to be them," her District partner, Cyrus, whistled. He stood casually beside their horse, gently stroking its mane even as it whinnied in protest, as if to say, 'Fuck off, dolphin boy', or something to that tune. He chuckled, gesturing at their costumes. "Hey, at least we got Tigris, she's awesome, man."
Marisol glanced down at her dress, her brows furrowing in disdain.
It was a flowing dress that cascaded down her body almost as fluidly as liquid water itself, with shimmering, iridescent fabric that mimicked the play of sunlight on the surface of Four's oceans. It shimmered and changed colours as she moved, evoking the shifting hues of the sea. She wore a satin belt dotted with shades of pastel blues, pinks and greens in perfect representation of the sea glass she worked with back home. A pair of shoes that glowed neon blue in the dark of the night, adorned with tiny fragments of seashells, lay at her feet.
It was perfect.
Too perfect.
She grimaced at its sheer beauty, curling her fingers ever so tightly onto the precious fabric in utter disgust. No one in District Four could possibly afford such an extravagant outfit, and anyone who could, well, they were usually hell-bent on making sure everyone else was dressed in rags and sackcloth.
The materials, the patterns, the accessories, they all made her feel like one of them. Like part of the problem, as though now she'd been forced into the ranks of the loyalists empowered by the Capitol to let District Four know their place in Panem's hierarchy of horrors. Her mind wandered to those rabid tourists that flocked to the resorts every summer, how they treated the locals like zoo animals and spat at their 'peasant' outfits, all while strutting around in dresses not too different from the one Marisol was wearing right there and then. Fancy clothing, to her, was nothing more than a symbol of the inequality that perforated every aspect of her life back home in Four.
Not to mention, the thought of her being dolled up and paraded like some caged circus animal was more than enough to drive her nuts.
Just grit your teeth and get it over with, Marisol, she told herself, taking a deep breath to soothe her rampaging heart.
"Eyes up, Soto, we've got trouble over there." Cyrus wagged his chin straight ahead, a smirk creeping on his face.
Marisol followed his gaze and her eyes widened at the sight of the pair from Two bickering over at their chariot.
Scratch that, they weren't bickering.
They were having a pre-Games fight to the death.
"No, Draco said I'm in charge!" the girl, whose name Marisol vaguely remembered being Cassandra, screamed, wringing her arms around her District partner's neck in an attempt to bash his head against the chariot.
"Well, Freya said he changed his mind after he heard you diss the President!" the boy howled, gripping her tightly by the waist. He tried to lift her up, probably in preparation to swing her to the ground but from a distance, Marisol could've sworn they were about to make out.
Hey, at least an enemies to lovers trope would make for some good entertainment.
"You liar!" Cassandra hissed. "Who the fuck would believe you? You're the guy who tricked my sister into poisoning herself so your girlfriend could get into the Games last year! And we all know what happened to her!" A grin of insanity spread across her face as she taunted him, baring her fang-like teeth while she continued to drown him in a swirl of traumatic memories. "Frigg Welch, the disgrace of Two! Knife to the head in the finale by some amateur chess player from District Ten of all places, ha! I remember how you cried and shat your pants all day and night, I even collected some of your tears to spice up my morning coffee, they were de-licious!"
The boy roared in fury, his bestial scream echoing through the walls, drawing more than a few delighted gasps from the crowd who must've thought there was a wild mutt caged among the tributes somewhere, waiting to be released for an even more awesome show.
But as Marisol watched him knee Cassandra in the guts, a tiny plan began to etch itself in the folds of her mind. She whirled around to face Cyrus, a ghost of a sly smile carved on her face.
"How are you with conspiracies?"
"Alright, listen up, you filthy little pansies, from now on, I'm in charge."
Marisol watched as the boy from Two, whose actual name was Thelonius but Marisol decided to instead call him 'Telly', marched around the assembled Career pack, his left cheek noticeably covered in patches of bruising as he glared daggers at each of the Careers like a drill sergeant.
"After consulting with our dear leader Draco Hadley, he's appointed me to lead this pack, and I expect all of you to fall in line," he barked, keeping an eye fixed on Cassandra, who was rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Especially you, Cassie."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, let's just get this stupid training session over and done with," she murmured, rolling her eyes as she brushed past Telly and hurtled her way into the Training Centre.
Telly scoffed as he watched her, shaking his head in frustration. Marisol bit her lip.
Now was her chance.
"Annoying, isn't she?" she grunted, feigning a look of irritation. It wasn't exactly difficult, Kiera always told her it was her 'natural' look.
"You tell me," Telly growled. "She's been a diva ever since she came out of her mother's womb."
Marisol forced a cackle. "Eh, at least she can fight," she reasoned, gesturing at Cassie, who was effortlessly dragging the poor, flailing wrestling instructor across the Training Centre. "She kept on telling me on the elevator how good she is compared to Frigg Welch, whoever that is."
Telly glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "What else did she say about Frigg?"
Marisol gave a nonchalant shrug. "Oh, she went on an absolute tangent about that girl. Calling her a whore, a bitch, a traitor, a disgrace, a coward, all that stuff, you know? That's kinda harsh, if I do say so myself. Frigg was a pretty good candidate for victory last year, shame Colt had some beginner's luck. What's it to you, anyway?"
His face darkened and for the briefest of moments, Marisol could see a tear brimming in the big warrior's eyes. He hung his head, his hardened expression softening to one of abject sorrow. "Frigg was my sister. Last year, during the selection trials for the Games, Cassie's sister rigged the whole system, so we decided to get back at her. And then…" His voice trailed off, and for a heartbeat, Marisol almost felt bad for the guy. While she hated her own family, she didn't know how she'd feel if one of them was brutally murdered on live television. Perhaps an ounce of regret that they'd never been able to reconcile? Or would she be as cold and heartless as she'd been in the Justice Building? Maybe she'd never live to know. And perhaps that in itself was a good thing.
Marisol patted Telly's shoulder sympathetically. "It's alright, I'm on your side, I tried to calm her down but she still has it out for you and Frigg. She also kept on mentioning how she was 'planning something better' with Freya. Don't know about that, but hope it's something good."
Telly scowled. "So she's been talking with Freya, huh? Well, thanks for letting me know, now I can't wait to deal with her in the arena."
Marisol smirked. "I'm sure you can't." With that, she sauntered right into the Training Centre, heading straight for Enzo Cooper, the boy from One.
He gave her an indifferent wave as he flung a throwing knife into the air, watching with dull amusement as it hit his target's bullseye.
"How's it going?" she asked. Her hands were shoved firmly in her pockets, trying to stop herself from squirming from the sheer amount of social interactions she was having to do for her plan to work.
Why was she even doing this again?
If she won, she'd be returning home. To a family that never loved her. To a District crumbling under the Capitol's yoke. To a life of endless trauma and if Coral and Jolien were right, more suffering at the hands of the Capitol.
Was there really a point in going back?
"Stay strong, Mari," Kiera had told her in the Justice Building. "If you can't do it for your family, do it for me. I've already lost my little brother, I can't lose you too, you're my only friend, Mari."
Marisol chewed on her lip.
For Kiera.
Enzo had lost all interest in their conversation, his attention drifting towards his District partner, Jada Montgomery. His eyes reeked of longing, like a pathetic little puppy pining for the love of its master.
Marisol resisted the urge to snicker.
This is too easy.
"You like Jada, huh?" she casually remarked.
Enzo frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but to Marisol's delight, he didn't object. He tapped his foot nervously on the ground, his head hung in dismay. Meanwhile, a huge grin was plastered on Jada's face as she swung her sword at Telly, along with a flurry of playful banter peppered with just a tinge of a flirtatious undertone. "It's the Hunger Games," Enzo bemoaned. "I'll kill her if I have to and all but-" Marisol watched as Enzo's grip tightened around the hilt of his knife. "Seeing her with him…" His voice cracked a little, his eyes turning glassy as his mind began to wander off into the realm of possibilities and imagination.
Marisol grinned. "It makes you mad, doesn't it?" Enzo nodded wordlessly. Marisol leaned in closer, placing her lips right next to his ear. "So, what are you gonna do about it, tough guy?"
Enzo gaped at her, reeling away as his eyes fluttered between her and Jada, wrapped in a tight embrace with Telly. Marisol whirled around, already knowing his answer.
"May the odds be ever in your favour."
Those eight words, shrouded in nearly six decades worth of infamy. Those eight words, signalling the start of a new cycle of the nation's annual massacre. Those eight words, marking Marisol's impending doom.
She stood precariously on her pedestal, her gaze sifting through the arena landscapes that swirled around her.
A beach resort.
They've put me in a fucking beach resort.
A silent fury began to bubble in her chest, slowly rising like magma right before a volcanic eruption as the cruel irony struck her. Three pedestals down, she could see Cyrus shaking his head, his face in a tight grimace. Right here, right now, she could just picture that bumbling barracuda President Snow cackling like a maniac, patting himself fervently on the back as he watched her crumble in the face of the sheer inequality and injustice that had plagued her entire life.
She could just imagine her parents in a corner of the lobby, where the Cornucopia had been placed, dashing around to tend to the needs of the Capitolite tourists, completely oblivious to their own daughter about to meet her grisly end.
And whether she liked it or not, that would be the reality she would face for the remainder of her life from that point onward, however long or short it may be.
Going out in the Bloodbath would be so easy.
Jumping off the pedestal, even more so.
Marisol contemplated just giving up, succumbing to a fate that had been bestowed upon her since birth. After all, who did she really have to fight for? Kiera? Perhaps she'd move on quickly enough and Marisol would be nothing more than a mere afterthought once Kiera had grown up.
Don't be ridiculous, Marisol.
Her hand tenderly grazed the dainty gold ring around her fingers, gently caressing the smooth surface of its pearl. She and Kiera had found it washed ashore on a remote beach when they were seven, along with a matching diamond ring. Those rings had long been emblems of their friendship, encapsulated in that shiny surface was everything Marisol cherished about her best- and only- friend, her smile, her laugh, her windswept hair, her wit, her compassion, her footballing skills and everything in between.
Someone's waiting for me back home.
With ten seconds left on the clock, Marisol did a quick scan of her surroundings. There was a silver-hilted dagger in the centre of the Cornucopia that she could swipe. The tributes adjacent to her were the boy from Eight and the girl from Twelve, neither of whom were by any means threatening with their combined training score of four, less than half of Marisol's score alone. They wouldn't be too much of a problem for her, and could be easy pickings for her, after all, she needed to prove her worth to Telly, lest he decide that she was no more than a thorn in his side. Her closest ally was Cyrus, Jada and Telly were a little further down the ring of pedestals and she couldn't see Cassie or Enzo.
The further the better, probably, wouldn't want to get in the way of those maniacs.
Her nearest threat was probably the muscular boy from Seven, who was at least a head taller than her. Glancing warily at him, she was grateful to see he'd positioned his stance to run away from the Cornucopia instead of towards the fray.
"Five, four, three, two, one."
The gong rang and Marisol charged right ahead, letting her years of training and playing football propel her forward. For a brief moment, with the wind running down her back, the soft, gentle sound of waves lapping in the distance, and the salty smell of the sea filling her lungs, she felt at ease, as though she were in a quiet, undisturbed cove back home in Four racing Kiera through a strip of sand.
Then, she heard a bloodcurdling scream and the sound of metal slicing through flesh and the momentary illusion was shattered.
Scooping up the dagger, she swerved to face the oncoming surge of tributes.
Now was the hard part.
Marisol gritted her teeth. Just one kill, she told herself. Just one, then you can chill out for the rest of the damn thing.
But one kill seemed like one too many. After all, these were children, poor, hapless kids, defenceless in the face of their own, miserable plights, forced into a world of terror just like her. She'd thought of Coral as a murderer, now, faced with the Games herself, Coral's coping mechanisms didn't seem so bad after all.
Her eyes trained on the girl from Six, stumbling to a halt as she bent down to pick up a stray backpack. She was slower than most of the lot, but from what Marisol had observed during training, this girl had an excellent memory and could make a decent trap. And Marisol knew better than to let her slip away there and then, weak as this girl may have seemed, she'd seen the underdogs with this girl's skillset pull through and defy the odds before.
So, with a pang in her heart, she rushed forward and tackled her to the ground.
The girl screamed, a blazing terror flaring through her hazel eyes as she squirmed, thrashing about and trying to kick Marisol off of her but she hardly had any strength in her. Marisol flinched a little as one decent kick managed to land squarely on her thigh, but that was the best effort this girl could unfortunately muster. "I'm sorry," she whispered softly as she brought the dagger down into the girl's chest. She cried out, tears flowing down her rosy cheeks as her arms flailed for one final time. Then, her face twitched and her body went cold.
Marisol stared in horror, the damning reality of what she'd done creeping into her heart. Suddenly, all thoughts of wanting to win for her friend vanished from her mind, replaced by a cold, horrified feeling of trepidation as she ogled at the corpse that lay in her hands.
"Murderer. Criminal. Hypocrite."
The voices began to echo through the back of her mind and Marisol staggered backwards, her mouth wide open in shock as blood streamed through her fingers, the blood that she had spilled so cruelly and mercilessly.
No different from the Capitol.
"Marisol! You good?"
Cyrus's voice snapped her back to reality. With a forced look of determination, she slowly stood to her feet, raising her dagger in feigned triumph.
"I'm good, anyone else I need to take care of?"
"Careful, there might be traps all around us."
Marisol trudged through the resort, her dagger belted by her side as she gazed blankly ahead, the weight of her actions still prodding her with an unquenched thirst for driving her to insanity. She was mildly aware of her surroundings, but even in her dazed state, she'd been able to spot two traps in the floorboards and another on a treadmill in the resort's gym that Telly and Cassie had insisted on using, if only to flex their athletic prowess to the cameras that were undoubtedly trained on the ever-popular pair from Two.
Still, the girl from Six lingered in her mind, her final, petrified scream a constant, ghostly echo in her ears, and from time to time, Marisol could almost see her in the corner of her eye, watching, waiting, yearning for revenge.
"It's nothing, everyone here does it, you'll get over it soon enough," Cyrus told her nonchalantly, sharpening the blade of his scythe against a marble plinth.
But deep down, Marisol knew otherwise. That girl, a nameless face she hadn't even bothered to pay any attention to, a young child who couldn't have been older than fourteen, haunted her mind, the entire weight of her cruel murder lying squarely on Marisol's shoulders.
In a desperate bid to stave away the guilt that rotted in her chest, her attention drifted aimlessly towards an old nautical map strewn across the walls of the resort corridors. She peered closer, her mind filled with a deep curiosity. She'd rarely ever had the chance to learn about the world beyond the shores of Four and heck, this map was huge, not to mention it looked rather ancient, perhaps, overlooked by the Gamemakers, she'd find traces of a world beyond even Panem.
Sadly though, the Gamemakers hadn't been so stupid after all. There might've been some engravings and markings further south of the boundary lines of Ten and perhaps an island chain a little way off the coast of Four, but these had been aggressively scratched out, shielding their secrets from the televised world of the Hunger Games.
Marisol frowned but she hadn't exactly expected any different either way. With a sigh, she trudged on, quietly humming to herself as her eyes scanned for any further traps. At the front of the pack, Cassie and Telly stood side-by-side, an uneasy truce the only barrier to their inevitable conflict. Occassionally, Cassie glanced precariously at Telly, as though she expected him to pounce on her when she least expected it. They'd had a pretty big argument the night before, and while Marisol had been half-asleep, she did manage to hear her accuse him of trying to poison their dinner.
Wonder when those two are gonna explode like a pair of whale carcasses.
Cyrus and Enzo stood behind the Twos, Jada right behind them. The trio were engaged in an animated discussion, laughing as though they were a gang of old friends sauntering through an old childhood haunt, though Marisol didn't miss the little bits of subtle slander about Cassie and Telly that Cyrus slipped into the conversation.
"I think he likes you, Jada," Cyrus whispered, giving Telly a side-eye. Jada giggled, fanning her face in a dramatic fashion. Enzo laughed too, but Marisol could tell he wasn't too happy with Telly intruding on 'his girl'. The caffeine powder and tiny drops of toxins that Marisol had slid into his breakfast drink certainly didn't improve his mood, either.
Just then, she caught sight of a fruit platter placed tantalisingly on an ornate oak table at the end of the corridor. To a starving tribute, it would've been a sight for sore eyes. But Marisol knew instantly that it was almost certainly a trap. Those bananas were the wrong shade, the oranges the wrong shape.
And she'd bet a million sand dollars those berries were nightlock berries.
A thought crept into her head. With a sly smirk, she scooped up a handful of berries, a satisfied glint in her eye.
Oh, these were perfect.
Cyrus scowled at her, raising a perplexed eyebrow. Marisol waved her hand in a carefree gesture. She didn't plan on poisoning anyone, at least not yet.
Actually, that might be a convenient side effect of her quickly emerging plan.
That night, the Careers set up camp in one particularly luxurious room with a balcony overlooking the ocean, which under the guise of nightfall, seemed to expand eternally into an abyss of darkness in gentle, serene waves. The moon shone brightly ahead, illuminating the beaches down below, where trails of footsteps, both human and otherwise, littered the golden sand. The room itself was huge, with a king-sized canopy bed adorned with billowing curtains as its centrepiece. Two bedside tables, designed to look like old pirate treasure chests that were a staple of District Four children's literature, stood off by the side, now used to hold the Careers' smaller possessions and weaponry. The living room had a plush sofa and five comfortable armchairs draped in sea green fabrics, alongside a coffee table peppered with driftwood pieces and shimmering seashells. Inside the en-suite bathroom, a pure-white stone bathtub sat beside a tainted glass window, giving mesmerising views of the ocean. The floor was made of cool marble, gently caressing Marisol's feet with a cool touch as she glided across the bathroom. And of course, there was the jacuzzi, set underneath a ceiling that would, once the lights went out, transform into a starry night sky.
It was horribly delightful indeed.
Marisol could hardly repress the deepening scowl on her face as she sat gingerly on one of the armchairs, staring down at Jada, who, left with no remaining armchairs to sit on, lay on a small blue hammock that sat in the corner of the room. Jada sighed blissfully, swaying gently as she popped a couple of succulent berries into her mouth, her perfect makeup still shining upon her face even after their chase and capture of a young but feisty Outlier a mere thirty minutes prior. Telly and Enzo stole quick glances at her, those two suckers unable to resist her natural District One charms. Cassie, on the other hand, glared at her in contempt. Marisol gave a small chuckle. "Why the long face, Cassie? You jealous of Jada or something?"
Cassie scoffed. "Why would I be jealous of her?"
"Maybe because she outran you? Or perhaps because she's gotten more sponsors than you? And ooh, just a hunch, but maybe because she's stealing your spotlight!" Marisol chirped, trying her very best not to cower at Cassie's malevolent glare.
Jada laughed, shooting Marisol a bright wink. "Maybe she's mad after Telly and I shoved dirt on her face while she was asleep!"
Telly gave a nervous giggle. "Okay, we didn't shove it…"
"Oh, that was hilarious, though!" Marisol chimed in, starting to sow even more seeds of discord into the conversation. "You should've seen Telly, how he gloated about-"
"That's enough, Marisol," Telly snapped.
"About what?" Cassie hissed, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
"About the same things Enzo and Jade've been talking about you behind your back," Cyrus answered, giving Marisol a knowing look.
Cassie howled in rage, but before she could act further, Jada slumped to the ground, her face suddenly turning a deathly shade of purple.
"Jada!" Enzo cried out, dashing over to her side. Jada's fingers, purple as the juice that dribbled down her chin, clutched desperately at her throat, her eyes rolling wildly around as she thrashed her legs, choked gasps spluttering at her lips.
Marisol squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear the sight. She tried to tune the world out, tried to seal the walls around her mind as the shouts and screams of the Careers roared around her, in perfect rhythm with Jada's choked screams and cries for help.
Then, all was silent.
The cannon boomed.
"This is nightlock," Marisol pointed out, yanking a couple of berries still stuck in Jade's palm. She squirmed, trying to look away from Jada's pale, lifeless corpse as she held out the berries for the other Careers to see. Her eyes scanned the other Careers' faces, weighing in the shock that each of them now wore, mixed with a palpable fear of getting called out for the crime. "And I think one of us did it."
She hadn't explained why she thought it had to be a Career, heck, the most logical arguments were that it was probably a clever, sneaky Outlier or Jada's own stupidity. Yet, she'd banked on Telly, Cassie and Enzo being the daftest tributes around, and she was proven right.
Without hesitation, Telly whirled at Cassie, a wild, deranged look in his eyes. "You. You did this!"
Cassie gaped at him, a hand flying to her chest in stunned bewilderment. "Me? Why would I-"
"Marisol said so herself. You're jealous of her," Enzo pointed out, rising to confront her too. "Not to mention, you've been glaring daggers at Jade since day one, even I could see that."
"Jada did say a couple of nights ago she was worried Cassie might poison her or something," Cyrus murmured thoughtfully, giving Marisol a subtle wink. "Then again, she said Cassie almost admitted she wanted to poison Enzo first."
"Traitor!" Telly cried out, raising his sword to strike Cassie. "Disgrace to our proud District!"
"Wait!" Marisol yelped. All eyes turned to her, swords, shields, scythes, daggers, maces all now pointed in her direction. She resisted the urge to gulp and shrink into herself, but as calmly as she could, she raised a finger and pointed at Telly's bag. "There's juice dripping out of his pack. Check it out."
Telly blinked and suddenly, he looked like a pig about to be slaughtered. The alarm bells were clearly ringing in his head as he swept his backpack aside before Cassie or Enzo could make a dive for it. "That's- that's, I-" His voice faltered, fear and panic blaring in his eyes as Enzo charged at him, mace raised high above his head in a thirst for retribution.
Cassie gave him a hissing snarl as she too lunged forward, sword in hand, ready to strike. "And you thought you could accuse me, eh?" she taunted, swinging her sword but Telly managed to block it with her shield. This, however, left him exposed to Enzo's mace, which hit his knee in a crunching blow. Telly screamed, nearly letting his shield tumble to the ground. A week's worth of rising tensions had brought the three enraged Careers into a violent crescendo, fuelled by their mutual hate for one another and their lust for power within the pack.
"Come on!" Marisol urged Cyrus. "We have to get away, this is our chance!"
"No, we have to stay behind," Cyrus countered. "Once they've weakened each other, we go in for the kill!"
Marisol bit her lip. It was risky, especially since one of the Careers might come out on top with much of their strength still fully intact, but seeing as the three Careers' fight had now devolved into a hand-to-hand brawl, she could see he had a point. "Alright, fine, but we stay out of the way for now- whoa!" She ducked, narrowly dodging a rogue boot that flung her way.
"Yikes, they really are having a go, aren't they?" Cyrus muttered, shaking his head as Enzo grabbed Cassie by the ear and began to twist violently, letting blood squirt out in a fountain of mania.
Marisol nodded briskly, recoiling as Telly raked his nails through Cassie's skin, slashing deep, horrible wounds into her flesh. She ducked her gaze beneath the palm of her hand as the girl from Six's voice cackled in her mind, alongside that of Jada's.
"Scoundrel! Traitor! Criminal!"
She glanced at her fingers, and for a brief moment of horror, could almost picture a stream of blood mixed from all the deaths she'd caused streaming through them, dying her hands in a thick, horrendous coating of deep red. Biting her lip, she turned to gaze at the ocean in a vain attempt to block out the sounds of fighting that emitted from right in front of her, trying to think of Kiera, watching from home, but the thought was far too painful for Marisol.
What would she think? What would my family think? What would my District think?
Suddenly, she began to understand why many Victors seemed so despondent, why so many tributes had chosen the 'easy' way out. The greatest curse of success in the Hunger Games wasn't what the Capitol could do to you, it was what your own mind would.
She was so close, if Telly, Enzo and Cassie died right now, she'd be in the final ten and would arguably be the favourite to win the whole damn thing.
But was it really worth it?
Cyrus grabbed her arm, yanking her out of her trance as he pulled her towards the bathroom, just as Telly grabbed Enzo by th neck and gave him a monstrous punch to the head. Marisol could've sworn she heard the sound of bone shattering. The roars of battle raged on, as Telly continued to let out loud, agonising screams, each one more horrific than the one before, until they devolved into cries of pain. Peeking out the door, she let out a low, horrified whimper as Cassie, drenched head-to-toe in blood, rose to her feet and with a shaky breath, grabbed a limp Telly before flinging him over the balcony. The girl from Two, now unrecognisable in her torn clothes, let out a bloodcurdling roar of victory, gnashing her teeth as she swivelled her head in search of the Fours.
In search of her.
Cassie barely resembled anything human now. She dropped on all fours, groaning as her left leg dangled at a horrifyingly skewed angle. Baring her teeth, Marisol realised that she barely had any left, her mouth nothing more than a bloody mush of gum and flesh.
"Fo-" Cassie gasped, barely able to speak as she crawled her way to Marisol.
But she never got the chance to come close to Marisol. Cyrus charged forward, and with a clean, effortless swipe, finished her off.
The cannon boomed.
And for a brief moment, Marisol found herself wishing it was hers.
"Where am I?"
Marisol groaned, dabbing her sore eyes with her fists as she stirred from her slumber. Glancing around her, she realised that she was in a much smaller bedroom than before, one that had neither an ocean view nor a living room, not that Marisol gave a flipping fuck.
The night's events came crashing down on her harder than a tsunami.
Enzo was dead, his head smashed to bits by Cassie and Telly.
Telly was dead, his body broken beyond repair and flung from the balcony by Cassie.
Cassie was dead, mangled and disfigured, with Cyrus delivering the final blow.
Cyrus was gone, having split up with Marisol after she'd spent half the night screaming until she nearly went deaf. The last Marisol saw of him, he was heading over to the resort's swimming pool to scout out more tributes.
Marisol was all alone, at long last. Alone to confront her own thoughts, alone to sit down and cry herself to bed, alone to bear the shame and grief of the killing and manipulation she'd so willingly carried out.
Outside, she could see the sun's rays slowly flooding into the room, basking her in an unwanted bath of golden light. Mumbling under her breath, she groggily rolled over and threw her feet off the bed.
"Ow!" she winced, rubbing her foot. She hadn't hit the smooth, silky carpet on the floor, no, she'd hit something hard and slightly pointy. Peering over the edge of her bed, she let out a small, faint gasp at the sight of a sponsor gift. Grabbing the silver packaging with eager arms, she tore through the plastic to find a bag full of resources, including two bottles of water, some crackers, some chocolate bars, a bag of crisps and, strangely enough, two pairs of inflated kiddie flotation devices that parents in Four sometimes gave their kids when they were 'late bloomers' in the swimming department. Marisol frowned. She was an accomplished swimmer, heck, she'd even won a couple of races back when she was twelve, why would Coral waste all that money to buy her something that for one, looked utterly ridiculous and second of all, she most certainly wouldn't need?
The sponsor gift, as always, came with a small note. There, typed in the Capitol's elaborately cursive font, were the words 'Swim safely - Cheerio, Coral'.
Marisol's scowl only deepened. Was this some sort of joke? But even as she rolled her eyes and slung the bag over her shoulders in preparation to leave, she couldn't help but wonder if Coral did have some sort of hidden, cryptic reason behind sending the gift. Surely, surely, Coral didn't think she was a late bloomer now, did she? Maybe she wanted her to swim in the resort's infinity pool in search for some secret arena treasure, maybe the ocean was the way to go for her, Marisol hadn't a clue.
"Murky mackerels, are the Gamemakers gonna spring some sort of horrendous trap on us?" she wondered aloud, stepping out into the corridor and momentarily forgetting she could well be attracting attention to herself. Furiously, she clamped a hand over her mouth, biting back a curse as the door to her room slammed shut with an agonisingly loud whack!
Too late.
A low rustle came from behind her. Marisol swung around, dagger at the ready, coming face-to-face with Gellert, the towering boy from Three. Gellert snarled, half his face a pulverising shade of burnt red, one eye crudely wrapped in a makeshift eyepatch. Marisol blinked, thrusting her dagger at him in a fit of panic.
How the heck had he gotten those injuries?
She could, however, dwell on such details later. Gellert slashed his sword at her and she narrowly managed to duck out of the way. The blade swished past her, lightly grazing her knee. Marisol hissed, the pain light, yet a sting nonetheless that took her a precious second to recover from. Geller swung again and Marisol barely dodged it, before thrusting her blade forward again.
To both her horror and delight, it struck him right in the eyepatch, blood spewing out like a geyser. Marisol yelped but she couldn't take her chances now. She thrust the knife again, embedding it right in Gellert's chest. The looming boy groaned and a slow, agonising moment later, he crumpled to the ground.
Marisol ran away, the sight of blood and goodness knows what else gurgling out of Gellert's eye socket etched firmly in her mind, replaying like a twisted horror scene, only in this case, she was the monster.
"Two left to go."
Marisol rocked back and forth, swinging her legs as she sat on the edge of a small bench right beside the resort's lavish, two-story children's playground, filled with a multitude of slides, climbing nets, obstacle courses, colourful ball pits, swings and many more.
Echoes of a childhood she'd never experienced.
She sighed to herself. The days had been long, hard, dreary as always in the arena, yet somehow, she'd managed to dodge her way around trouble and had reached the final three. Soon, the finale would undoubtedly commence, where Marisol would be pitted against Jarvis, the boy from Twelve and, to her utter dismay, Cyrus. Somehow, he'd survived and Marisol might end up having to face him off as the final two, if the odds were to be believed.
Or perhaps they'd fight it out and Jarvis would end up killing them both, who knew in the Hunger Games?
Marisol whimpered softly, burying her face in her hands. Her fingers felt cold, numb from the biting winds that had swept through the resort the night before. A cannon had boomed, that of the girl from Nine, Minerva. Marisol guessed that hypothermia had gotten the better of her.
"One less competitor, one step closer to home."
As Marisol's fingers gently massaged her temples, she could see trickles of blood streaming through them. And yet, she could no longer bring herself to care. They could be hers, or they could be that of another tribute she'd killed, or perhaps even a mere figment of her imagination.
Whatever the answer was, Marisol didn't give a damn anymore.
The indoor playground she was in seemed untouched by the other tributes. Marisol had spent the night scouring it for potential traps or some useful items she could use. Nothing, however, seemed out of the ordinary, although a slightly discoloured purple ball in the ball pit amidst a sea of blue and green had been slightly alarming.
The place was spectacular, an awe-inspiring display of extravagance fit for rich, spoiled brats from the Capitol. Everywhere Marisol turned, she was met with the damning reality that she had never- and would never- experience such blissful days of joy and happiness that Capitolite children always seemed to enjoy in places like these. She tossed that discoloured purple ball up into the air and caught it again, clinging on to that last bit of imperfection that she'd managed to sieve out, staring blankly ahead at the gently rocking swing…
Almost instantly, Marisol shot to her feet.
Rocking swing…
But there was no wind.
And no rider.
And no one within close reach of it.
Yet there it was, a turquoise swing, rocking back and forth, each swing into the air seemingly gaining vigour, pushing the swing further and further into the air.
The ball dropped from Marisol's palm and rolled onto the floor, straight towards the bewitched swing. Rolling ever so slowly, until it came to a slow halt right in the shadow of the now violent swing.
And then the ball began to roll backwards. Slowly, yet surely, a creeping, daunting march back to its thrower.
Marisol's eyes widened.
Grabbing her backpack, she dashed out of the playground, just in time to evade the impending doom that awaited the once-serene playground. The ground split open, large cracks slicing through the blue flooring, devouring all manner of play equipment in its wake like a relentless, bloodthirsty monster. From its depths, a towering figure emerged, a haunting visage wielding a spectral net and a decaying fishing rod, embedded with runes of a bygone time. It let out a mournful wail that echoed through the walls of the resort, a chilling warning to all who dared to disturb the tranquillity of its home.
Marisol shrieked, bursting into a heart-pumping sprint. The figure didn't seem particularly quick, slowly lumbering its way through the now dimly-lit corridors, but she didn't want to take her chances. She'd seen it happen before in both Miller and Valkyrie's Games- mutts that appeared slow and weak at first evolving into savage, lightning-quick beasts in the blink of an eye. She bolted down a narrow stairway, only to find the tapestries that lined its walls slowly beginning to stir right as she passed each of them. Behind her, one such tapestry of a sullen lady in a blue nightgown reached out, a mechanical hand ripping through the fabric in a mad swipe at her. Its blue fingers clawed at her hair, but Marisol kept on running, her legs burning with exhaustion.
"Come on Marisol, it's just like extra time in a football game," she tried to convince herself. "Keep running!"
She leapt through the resort's side exit, racing right past a group of hyacinths that were growing rapidly in size, their leaves morphing into fanged tentacles that swung about in the air. As she dodged one particularly malevolent leaf, her shoes began to kick into a soft, sandy surface. With her heart beating at a million miles per hour, she realised that she was now on the resort's private beach, the dark, stormy ocean looming in the distance.
"Argh!"
Marisol gritted her teeth.
Slimy skipjacks, the fun had already begun.
There, not too far away from her, she spotted Cyrus battling Jarvis. There were large gashes in Cyrus's arms and legs and his face bore the scars of a battle he'd only barely managed to survive.
Yet here he was, and he'd gotten the upper hand over Jarvis.
Jarvis wailed and screamed, but it was no use. Cyrus let out a low grunt as he showed his spear into Jarvis's chest, ending Jarvis's run in the Games.
He glanced up.
His face tightened into a grim scowl
Marisol gulped.
Oh, shit.
"Hello there, Mari," Cyrus said, a vicious hint dripping into his cool, nonchalant voice. "Let's skip the pleasantries. We both want this over and done with, right? No brutal stuff, just a battle to the death, and then one of us will be crowned Victor, alright?"
Easier said than done.
Marisol didn't respond. Her eyes scanned the landscape, looking for anything that could give her a little boost in this fight. She was strong, yes, but up against Cyrus, she wasn't sure she was willing to take the risk.
"Swim safely."
Marisol glanced down at her backpack. A plan, however stupid it was, began formulating itself in the back of her mind. Chewing her lip, she gave te choppy seas a nervous look out of the corner of her eye. She was already wearing a thick jacket that would protect her upper body, she could don her inflatables now and make a break for the ocean, but she first had to stall Cyrus.
"It's taboo, isn't it?" she shouted back at him, unzipping her bag to fish out the inflatables as she did so, feeling all the more ridiculous about her plan. "Killing your District partner, it amounts to the worst you could possibly do in the arena, unless that person was an evil psycho to begin with, of course."
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "What are you wearing?" he asked, amused now.
"I mean, if I'm going into a fight, I might as well have some protection on me, right?" Marisol said with a shrug.
Cyrus laughed. "Eh, those little fish sticks are useless as heck, but if it gives you peace, I'll allow it."
And that was all the time Marisol needed.
Without another word, she raced into the ocean and with a deep breath, she plunged into the waves. Behind her, Cyrus howled, dashing in pursuit. She could hear him splashing into the water, making a mad swim towards her. Marisol squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to swim faster than she'd ever swum before.
Come on Gamemakers, don't make me look like an idiot.
At that moment, she felt something clamp down hard on her arm. Letting out an underwater shriek of bubbles, she floundered about, thinking Cyrus must've caught her.
But it wasn't Cyrus.
It was something much worse. A large creature with a greenish, humanoid face and the tail of a seahorse was biting down on her arm, shielded only by her inflatable. The creature shook and swung, but as its teeth sank into the plastic material, a thick black liquid ejected from a tube that Marisol hadn't spotted earlier on tucked into her makeshift armour. The creature blinked, and then, suddenly, it was limp, falling slowly towards the ocean floor. Marisol gaped at it, bewildered, amazed, horrified.
Coral, you are a freaking genius.
A second mutt shot at her, biting on the inflatable attached to her ankles, meeting the same fate as its fallen foe. Marisol let out a squeal of mirth as she surfaced to take a fresh gulp of air.
Blasted barnacles, this thing actually worked!
As rain pelted relentlessly onto the beach resort, Marisol threaded water, glancing around in search of Cyrus.
She wished she hadn't.
There he was, some distance away from her, but she could vividly see him thrashing around in the rocky waves, letting out muffled cries for help as an entire swarm of the half-humanoid half-seahorse hybrids that had tried to attack her pounced on him, sinking their glistening fangs into his flesh.
Marisol's scream of horror was dwarfed by the snarls of the mutts and the peals of thunder as she squirmed, forced to witness as Cyrus fell beneath the waves like a rag doll, his legs limply flailing in the air and then out of sight. Marisol took a gulp of air and dove towards him, the strange poison that exuded from her makeshift armour warding off the remaining mutts. Cyrus's body was sinking further and further into the depths, obscured from her view by a cloud of black ink that had seemed to materialise out of nowhere. Blobs of red floated into her eyes and with a growing dread within her chest, Marisol realised that this must be Cyrus's blood.
Marisol reached out to grab him, to pull him towards her and away from the clutches of the mutts, some of whom were daring enough to venture close and take bites off of his skin.
But she never got the chance.
Something metallic wrapped around her waist. And before she knew it, she felt herself being hoisted into the air, above the vast sea of this accursed beach resort, and into the safety of a hovercraft above. Her vision began to blur, the exhaustion and fatigue finally catching up to her.
The last thing she remembered was a soft voice, close yet a faraway echo at the same time, accompanied by a dishevelled face of concern.
"Are you alright, Marisol?" Coral whispered.
Then, the world became a sea of darkness, as Marisol was swept by a gentle current into the world of her nightmares.
THREE MONTHS LATER
Marisol sat on the edge of the pier, dangling her legs aimlessly over the glistening blue waters of District Four. The sun was shining, the kids were laughing in the football field only a stone's throw away, the breeze was perfect. All in all, the ideal conditions for a fun day out.
Something that had eluded Marisol ever since her Victory.
In the horizon, she could faintly see the faded silhouette of a ship, hoisting a jagged, triangular flag. A smile tugged at the edge of her lips, a rare sight these days. That was none other than Kiera's ship, Marisol's gift for her partner-in-crime after she'd been showered with all the riches she could ever dream of in the aftermath of her winning the Games. Kiera had been away on a fishing trip for the past couple of weeks, although Marisol knew it'd doubled as a scouting mission to find secluded islands to explore and potentially use as bases of operation for Marisol to stow away her increasingly rebellious plans.
Right, her plans.
Now in a position of power within her District, Marisol had taken it upon herself to disrupt the Capitol loyalists at their every move, ensuring they wouldn't invade any more innocent hamlets and minor fishing communities anymore and that the local wildlife was kept safe from their greedy clutches. Sure, Coral had warned her the President wouldn't be too pleased with her activism, but hey, he already wanted to make her life miserable anyway, so what did it really matter?
As she lounged on the pier, she unwillingly began to imagine Cyrus flailing around in the crystal clear ocean, trying desperately and in vain to shrug off the mutts that had devoured him. Grimacing, Marisol tried to look away, only to see Gellert, shrouded in flames, howling in rage as he grasped for her.
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-
But she had meant to kill Gellert. And she had wanted Cyrus dead. Their blood was literally on her hands. As the hallucinations began to draw nearer, she smacked herself hard in the face, hoping to somehow snap herself back to reality. Blinking rapidly, she glanced around and saw that they were gone. Marisol sighed, slouching into herself. Her thoughts had been a mess since she'd emerged from that arena. The poison, while mostly harmless to humans, had still left her bedridden for a full week due to its sheer dosage. She'd recovered from that, only to find herself unable to recover from the mental trauma that had ensued. Now, not even her own family dared to look at her, fearing an attack if she ever went truly berserk.
"She's gone crazy," her own mother had said. "What if she-"
"She won't, she's our daughter," her father had tried to reassure her, but even he seemed unsure.
"Marisol!"
Marisol jerked backwards, taken aback by the sudden interruption to her thoughts.
A cloaked woman stood before her, her face hidden behind a veil of thick hair. Marisol stared at her, taking in her appearance. "Who the heck are you supposed to be?" she hissed, raising an eyebrow.
"If you must call me by a name, it's Dawn," the woman replied. She stretched out a hand, holding up a letter to Marisol's face. "This is for you. But I must warn you, you are never to speak of this to anyone who is unauthorised, you hear me?"
Marisol nodded vaguely, wondering if this was some sort of elaborate prank. She took the letter and read it.
Dear Marisol Soto,
We are District Fourteen, leaders of an ongoing rebellion against the Capitol. We know that you wish for an end to their reign, and if you join our cause, you can help us achieve just that. Your friend Kiera is already in, as are all of District Four's past Victors. District Four, as it stands, remains our primary objective to seize as a base of rebellion within Panem, operating as our satellite state as we slowly break down the power structure of this nation piece by piece, District by District. This District once had an old name, California, and if you help us, we can help you take back control of your land and your seas, establishing a republic of your own with Marina as its leader.
So, will you join us or will you be against us?
Oakette Mason
The letter slipped from Marisol's hands, floating gently onto the wooden boards of the pier. Behind Dawn, Coral and Jolien approached her, firm looks upon their faces. "Well, Marisol?" Jolien asked.
A steady smirk crept across Marisol's face. She stood up, holding out a hand for Dawn to shake. A strand of hair fluttered away from Dawn's face, revealing a mischievous green eye.
At long last, she had the opportunity to make a change. At long last, she could finally take action and bring down the powers that had controlled her and her District for so long. At long last, she could have a chance at freedom.
Kiera's ship drew closer to the shoreline, giving Marisol a glimpse of a few new faces onboard. A young woman with dirty blonde hair cradling a tiny puppy, a bespectacled man holding a pile of books and none other than the Victor of the 53rd Hunger Games themselves.
She could feel it in her bones, the tides of revolution starting to churn, ready to explode onto the coastlines of Four in a thunderous hurricane of rebellion.
"It's time to take back our seas."
A/N: Hey guys, I know I haven't written much in a while, but managed to crank this one out for Victor Exchange 2023! Here's 17-year-old Marisol Soto of District Four, who, per the Degenerates timeline, would be replacing her fellow District Four Victor Poseidon as the Victor of the 58th Hunger Games! Thank you to Abby (Antiq2 on AO3) for the submission, I loved writing her and it fits perfectly into the timeline that Dusk Till Dawn follows! And the last bit gives the imminent Victor of Dusk Till Dawn a small little cameo as well, though obviously their identity is gonna be kept hidden until that story finishes up. With the rebellion chugging along nicely, District Four's rebellion is steaming up, and I hope I get to include her in future stories where she, along with DTD's Victor and the rest of the Victor and D14 ensemble will feature prominently as a revolution unfolds- albeit differently from what D13 would desire.