Chapter 38

I try to ground myself.

I am not drowning in a boiling sea, where the crashing waves sound like Rubis laughing. I am in an auditorium, listening to sad violins and watching the audience's eyes well with tears.

All I have to do is root for the black-and-white-haired blockhead onscreen.

Midnight traipses around and around the arena, searching for the end.

He finds Pinty – the final boss – in a sinister, abandoned playpark.

The two finalists stand face-to-face. The typical action-hero with battle-scars, weighed down by grief and the need to enact justice. And our story-book villain, complete with eyepatch and desire to watch the world burn.

The climax commences.

The park erupts into flames. Hero and villain wrestle on the ground.

Chazzer springs from his seat in excitement. He has forgotten all about the audience, his nose inches away from his own holographic screen.

I grin widely and pump my fist, cheering at the top of my lungs for Midnight.

Our hero pulls out one, last trick – the weapon of his ex-lover – and wins the Games.

I soak in the applause as I pretend I am cosplaying this hero. He is not me. He is as dead as Rubis.

"Piece of cake!" I exclaim through my jaw-aching grin, "You will all remember the name Midnight for as long as you live! Your grandchildren will adore me! Their great grandchildren will adore me! I am your victor!"

Chazzer claps enthusiastically, appearing only a tad jealous of the crowd's reverence towards me.

I reenact the routine that I performed on the chariot-ride into the Capitol – without the naked minor standing beside me, this time. I blow kisses, toss sneaky winks into the audience, turn straight guys gay and gay girls straight.

My sweeping grin says, I am your champion. Praise me. Applaud me. Idolise me.

Love me like my parents never did.

The president strolls onto the stage and places a golden crown on my head. My groom's-outfit now looks like a king's resplendent suit.

Chazzer says, "Everybody, let's give a massive round of applause for your victor… Midnight Abernathy!"

Time slows. The roar of the crowd pounds in my head. Banners and lights blur as they are waved back and forth.

When the frenzy finally… finally… ceases, Chazzer says, "That's all we've got, folks! I'll see you all next year – if I feel like it – with a new Hunger Games and twenty-four new lambs to make you fall in love with, before we ship them off to their-"

"Wait!"

A shrill cry issues from the audience. To my surprise, it comes from the VIP area, where trainers, stylists and mentors sit.

The cry rings out again.

"Wait! Chazzer, don't disappear again!"

Chazzer squints into the crowd.

"I know that whine…" He mumbles.

Extricating herself from the crowd is a very battered, very red-faced Anomaly.

Even more of her is swathed in bandages than before, and she has a wheelchair, which she struggles to manoeuvre down the aisle.

Rubis' and Anita's mentor, Edna Bread, hastens after her.

Edna squeaks, "Anomaly, be careful! You're injured! And I told you this was a bad idea anyway. I won't let you make a fool of yourself."

Anomaly says, "I need to get on stage."

"Okay, fine, I'll help you." Edna says.

She proceeds to push Anomaly's chair towards the stage, where my very broken stylist clambers awkwardly onto the platform at my feet.

She army-crawls towards Chazzer, dragging her plastered legs.

Chazzer looks down his nose at her.

He says in a patronising tone, "Anomaly? Did Connie dump you?"

Anomaly sniffs, "No… I… I broke up with her. She cheated on me!"

Connie's voice calls faintly from the audience, "It was an open relationship!"

Anomaly wails, "Well, yeah… but you still broke my heart!"

"Fuck you, you needy bitch!" Replies Connie.

Anomaly whimpers, "Yes please, mommy."

Chazzer hisses, "Get off my TV show. I need this to go well for Netflix to take me seriously."

I step to the back of the stage to let this clusterfuck of a scene play out.

Is this really the kind of entertainment I'm a part of?

Anomaly takes a deep breath, then wails, "I want you back, Chazzer! I'll help you with your anime, I'll even let you practice brain-surgery on me if you want! Take me back!"

Chazzer contemplates.

He says, "That would help with my dream of being a Netflix-producer and a brain surgeon…"

Anomaly contorts herself onto her knees, with a series of unhealthy-sounding cracks.

She begs, "Please take me back, Chazzie-baby."

Chazzer looks out to the audience.

He prompts, "What do you think? Should I?"

The audience pelts him with enthusiastic shouts, a cacophony of mixed assent and disgust.

I am clearly not needed anymore; the spotlight has swivelled away from me. I can hibernate until they drag me out again, this time next year, to fulfil my duty as a mentor.

I walk through the curtains and let the howls of the audience sift from my mind.

As I make for the lift, I see Chazzer's response on a backstage screen.

Chazzer crumbles, with a guilty smile.

He says, "Who can resist a desperate offer from a crippled, emotionally-vulnerable specimen? Okay, Anzi, but I'm not paying for your therapy."

"What a joke." I mutter.

I hope they turned off my microphone when I left.

Back in my room, I sit stiffly on the edge of my bed and stare at the blank space on the wall, where my PS6 used to be.

After a while, Haymitch enters.

I don't look up at him.

"Why'd you leave?" He asks.

"I wasn't getting the glory I deserve." I drone.

"There's no cameras here, Midnight."

Haymitch sits next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

For possibly the first time ever, I look him in the eye.

I open my mouth to answer.

Why did I leave?

Why stay? I've played my part.

Instead of answering, I just look at him, expressionless.

Haymitch asks, "Do you feel triumphant?"

I feel a lot of things. Mostly, rage towards Rubis.

And hurt.

And exhaustion.

Haymitch sees all this without me saying anything.

"You've changed." He says, "More than I thought you could, since you molested me in chapter one."

My eyes well with tears.

I collapse into Haymitch's arms, sobbing.

He pats me on the back, awkwardly.

Haymitch says, "I know, I know. This sucks. Maybe it would have been kinder to let you die…"

"What?" I mumble.

"Never mind. Let's get you a coping mechanism so you don't break down on me like this every day for the rest of our lives. Fancy a drink?"

I straighten up and wipe my nose on the corner of my duvet.

"Will I end up a snarky git like you?" I ask.

"You might." Replies Haymitch, curtly, "But you might prefer being a snarky git to a heartbroken wreck."

"Yeah…" I sniffle, "We can be snarky gits together… Right… Dad?"

Haymitch looks a little taken-aback, then flattered.

"I'll grab us a bottle each." He says.

The atmosphere is heavy.

Haymitch heads for the doorway, then he turns and says, quietly, "It will be nice… not to have to drink alone, anymore."

Before he can turn back to enter the kitchen, Minnesota Don'tCash manifests beside him.

"Holy shit, Don'tCash!" Haymitch exclaims, "Isn't your job over already?"

"Not quite." The Head-Gamemaker replies with pursed lips. They add, "The drinking will have to wait, I'm afraid."

"Screw that." Says Haymitch, "You can't confiscate my booze; you don't have enough staff to find all my secret stashes."

"You can drown your sorrows in a gallon of paint-thinner, for all I care." Says Minnesota, "But Midnight's journey isn't over yet."

"Can't I at least take a pitstop?" I groan.

"No."

"Ugh. What do you want?" I grumble, "We were about to have some overdue father-son bonding time."

Minnesota raises an eyebrow.

"Perhaps bonding with your real parents might take priority?" They say.

"My real parents?!" I exclaim, "They're here?"

Minnesota nods.

I didn't expect this so fast. In fact, I had begun to half-suspect that Minnesota was lying, to persuade me to cooperate.

What will they be like? Will they be better or worse than Haymitch?

Haymitch says, "Midnight, do you really want to gratify the privileged dolts who gave you to me and led you to enter the Hunger Games, by running back to them?"

I rush past him to stand by Minnesota.

"Lead the way." I order.

Minnesota leads me down the corridor, past twelve storeys in the lift, to the ground floor.

As we descend, I think over and over that this makes it all worth it. It has to, or I'll be broken forever.

Finally, I will be part of a loving family, appreciated for my worth, allowed to process my trauma in peace and put this carnage behind me. My life can go back to relaxed gaming, with stable electricity, in a real house, living like a real person. Not some fake son of a traumatised alcoholic, in a District where the air is fifty-percent coaldust and sixty-percent desperation.

This is my new start.

We reach a dead end in a maze of corridors, where Minnesota gestures to a door.

"Aren't you coming in to introduce us?" I ask.

"Yes, but I am not holding a door open for someone from District Twelve."

"I'm a Capitol citizen now." I protest.

"Not until you go through that door."

I inhale, exhale, and open the door.

Inside, sitting together on a couch, are my parents.

My father is larger than the couch – and it's not muscle like Tardi or Greg. He has a drowsy expression, a bulbous beer-belly and upper-arms the size of watermelons. In one hand, he has a half-eaten Cornish pasty.

His wife is squashed between his sizable buttock and the arm of the couch, forcing her to bend sideways like a beanstalk in the wind. She has a tight bun on top of her head and features pulled taught over sharp cheekbones. Her blouse and skirt are perfectly ironed, lending no softness to her knobbly knees and elbows.

Minnesota follows me in, saying, "Midnight, meet your parents: Bill and Jane."

Jane – my mother – says, "Nice to meet you, Midnight. Would you like a cup of tea?"

She speaks in a clipped tone, through thin lips, but there is nothing hostile about the question.

Completely overwhelmed, I nod, mutely.

Jane reaches for the teapot on a coffee-table in front of her and pours a mug for me.

I take it with a small, "Thanks."

My father says, "I'll have one too, love."

Jane ignores him.

"Please." Adds Bill.

Jane pours him a cup too and Bill sips from it happily.

The three of us sit in silence, taking in the surreal situation. Minnesota snacks on apple-seeds indiscreetly by the door.

I'm awestruck by my parents.

My real parents.

They're perfect. Stereotypes, like you would find in a foundation-level language book.

Boring, predictable… just what the old Midnight would have despised, and exactly what I need.

Jane purses her lips and Bill smiles awkwardly, neither sure where to start.

I take a large gulp of tea, to avoid starting the conversation.

The drink burns my tongue.

Expert as I am at masking emotional pain by now, physical pain continues to get the better of me. I jerk in surprise, spilling scolding tea all over my lap.

I leap out of my seat, panting hard with tears in my eyes.

Bill gives me a sympathetic grimace.

He says, "Don't worry, son. You'll get used to that feeling if you're not polite to your mother."

Jane looks at him sternly and Bill instinctively covers his own crotch.

Banter… nice. A traditional husband-wife relationship, where they tease each other but are a family at the end of the day.

They're so… normal.

I can hardly believe it. This is what I have wanted my entire life. To be part of a real family.

Bill says merrily, "You must be looking forward to coming home, after all these years, eh?"

I sigh, "Yes; I can't wait to finally settle down as a family."

Jane says, "You'll be home with me most of the time, I imagine. Since Bill works most days."

"I'll be home in the evenings." Bill reassures me.

"If you finally figure out the bus schedule." Jane gripes.

"Hey!" Says Bill, "I only get the wrong bus around twice a week."

"Oh? And what are you doing until nine pm on the other days?"

Bill looks bewildered.

He says, "I go to see Jim… You know that, love."

"Oh, I know alright, as you're never in."

She jabs him with her pointy elbow.

"Well, surprisingly enough," Says Bill, "Jim doesn't want to visit us anymore, since you chucked tea and banoffee pie over us both."

So that wasn't a joke?

I suddenly reconsider whether I want to spend days on end at home with Jane.

Maybe my parents will let me go drinking with Haymitch on the weekends?

I say timidly, "Um, do you two have any hobbies?"

"Your father likes to eat." Says Jane, sharply.

"And your mother likes dancing." Says Bill, oblivious to Jane's insulting tone.

"Not that you ever come to my recitals." Jane grumbles.

"I'm busy!" Bill protests.

"Busy sleeping until noon?" Jane prods.

"Well… yes… But I'm sure I can take Midnight to your next performance. If he teaches me how to use that bus app you downloaded for me."

Jane gives a cold laugh.

"Fat chance." She says, "You'll be right back to Jim's as soon as Midnight has unpacked his things."

In an attempt to salvage the relaxed atmosphere from before, I say, "I don't have a lot to unpack, since I couldn't bring much from Twelve."

Jane says, "Good. That's less work for me, since I know your father will be too lazy to help."

"That's not true!" Says Bill, "But how many boxes do you think there are, son? Because my doctor says I'm not supposed to stand up for more than-"

Jane interrupts him, "Oh, that's right; any excuse to hide away from your family."

I interject, "Speaking of family, it might be nice if we all did something relaxing together."

My parents quiet down.

"Yes. Good idea." Says Jane, abruptly, "A family day out to bring us all together."

Silence ensues.

Then Bill mumbles hastily, "I'm not the one who had an affair with the postman."

"You're never around!" Jane shrieks.

"Because my wife is a strict, funless hag!"

Jane jumps to her feet.

With a tone as sharp as an icicle, she seethes, "I dare you to repeat that, you overgrown slug."

Bill gulps.

He stammers, "I-I take it back. I'm sorry, honey; you're right. I need to be more dedicated."

Jane breathes heavily.

She snatches Bill's mug of tea from him.

"Darling…" Bill quakes, "No, please not again- YOWWW!!!"

Jane tips the tea into his lap and storms out of the room.

Bill hurries through another door in search of help.

My mother is a sociopath and my father is a spineless oaf.

I turn to Minnesota, who crunches another apple-seed like a piece of popcorn.

"I think I'll go back to living with Haymitch." I say.

"Oh, no you won't." Says Minnesota, "The people want to see you happily reconciled with your parents. So, you will move in with your parents. And you will be happy."

"I… I don't want to. They're crazy. They can't support me or give me what I need to recover from the last few weeks."

"Good. You aren't supposed to recover. You're a martyr. That means you're dead." Minnesota takes a step towards me, "I know you were thinking it. The old Midnight is dead. You are a posterchild for Capitol power, now. A warning to the Districts. You don't get the luxury of being an autonomous human being, anymore."

I pause, realisation dawning.

"You knew." I say, my voice low and measured.

"To what are you referring?" Asks Minnesota, "Not that it matters. It is my job to know everything."

I say, "You knew my parents are trash. You needed to get my hopes up so I'd perform for you, then crush me again to send a message to the Districts. Nobody from a district is allowed a happy ending."

"That is correct." Minnesota confirms.

I glare at the head gamemaker; this omniscient, malicious god.

I say, "I will have my happy ending. And if the rules say I have to live in the Capitol to get it, then I will. A dysfunctional, middle-aged couple isn't going to be the thing that breaks me."

Minnesota smirks.

They say, "My dear… You were broken the moment you came into this dystopian world."

Crap; they're right.

I bluster, "Well, I'm going to fix myself. Like that Chinese pottery thing they do with gold – Jumanji, right? – I'm gonna live happily with my new family, and when I'm healed-"

The door bursts open with a wumph of ginger hair.

Elspeth stands in the doorway, breathing hard.

On top of her head, Bickett squeaks, "Urgent message! The arena was radioactive!"

Minnesota and I are stunned.

We both say in unison, "What?"

Bickett shakes Elspeth by the hair to calm himself and starts over.

"The staff at the morgue have discovered that the bodies of the fallen tributes all have radiation poisoning. Upon further research, the arena this year was in such ruins because it was the sight of a nuclear explosion in the Third World War."

I gape.

The strange things that were happening to us all, they weren't Blue's fault, or malnutrition, stress or exhaustion. It was because of nuclear fallout?

That explains why Izzie and Corvid became so unnaturally pale, why Salto looked so sick, why Elsie turned orange and Rubis was able to live so long without arms.

Was that why Pinty could control rats, too?

Probably not – she was weird from the start.

Is it why I've changed?

No… I don't feel sick, and I haven't grown any extra limbs. I must have escaped the radiation.

Elspeth holds up a Geiger Counter to me.

It clicks rapidly.

"You are radioactive." Asserts Bickett.

I think back.

I can't be.

But, my hair was falling out, the same as Rubis'… and I am self-aware – something I definitely had no capacity for, until now…

Bickett continues, "Anybody who has been in contact with you since your return must be relocated to a District, where they can do no harm to anybody important."

That includes Anomaly, Chazzer, Effie, Haymitch, Elspeth…

God, I hope Elspeth doesn't get sent to my District.

I catch Minnesota's eye.

I chuckle, "Looks like you're in for a life of misery, along with the rest of us underlings."

Minnesota says, "You really think I, the all-powerful head gamemaker, wouldn't have a backup plan for this situation?"

"It's a pretty unpredictable situation, so… yeah?"

Minnesota replies, "Wrong."

Minnesota begins to whir. Their skin detaches in panels, revealing motors and blades.

Their now-robotic jaw moves up and down as they say, "To have my level of apathy, you would have to be a robot, or clinically psychotic. And I defeated all the psychos."

With that, Minnesota's arms spin like helicopter blades, their legs transform into jetpacks and they blast upwards through the ceiling.

Twelve crashes later and I am left alone with Elspeth and Bickett, in a cloud of plaster.

After a pause, I say, "That wasn't much of a plot twist."

"Neither is this –" Says Bickett, "You're going back to Twelve."