Trigger warnings in Ozias pov: Murder and mentions of cannibalism.
Trigger warning in Aida's pov: Arson.
Please dm me if you need a summary.
February 2nd, 2427
Four months prior to the games
District Six
Cineredge City
Jokull Askeli, 18
As the evening sun vanishes beneath the smog and silhouettes of the dark cityscape, a relentless, freezing torrent of rain drenches every hole, corner, and narrow alleyway of Cineredge City.
For a brief moment before the various multi-coloured lights switch on, the city is a dark forest of shadow.
Jokull is kneeling down on the cold, hard pavement with his gaunt face fixed forwards. Rain drips off of his messy brown hair and soaks his clothes against his skin, highlighting his small scrawny build. But he pays it no attention. He's alone just as he has been since that fateful night. The only people left in his life are trying to manipulate him at this very moment. He's a tool to them, that's all he'll ever be to them. So that's all they'll ever be to him. His blood begins to boil ever so slightly at the thought, and instantly his fingers curl tightly into a fist until they quickly relax. No. Emotion is a weakness.
In front of him lies an old brick house containing multiple stories. His orphanage. Well, it was. Now, it's abandoned, and only charred, black bricks remain. The screams of the ghosts echo out into Jokull's ears, yet nobody else is able to hear them. A single thought bounces throughout his mind. My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault. It was my fault.
If only it had been raining like this on that night. The fire would never have spread so fast. He lost control, his emotions spilled out and he allowed his wild side to get the better of him. He's never been happy since. His emotions caused all of this, so that has to be the source of all his misery, right? What if his emotions are the cure, not the disease? Maybe he'll never know. However right now, this mask of a person is all he is.
"Jokull?" A sharp voice from behind snaps him out of his dangerous spiralling thoughts.
His eyes on his narrow face shift over his shoulder to another young man his age. "What are you doing here, Xun?" He mutters, dispassionately.
Xun steps forward, placing his hand on Jokull's shoulder. "Looking for you," he answers. "Those races aren't gonna rig themselves. We gave our assurances to the gamblers above."
Then Xun kneels down to Jokull's level, studying his eyes rigorously. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Jokull doesn't acknowledge him, and his gaze remains forward.
"Do you ever think there's more to life? More than snatching the fun off of others? Maybe it's time we started livin' a little? Maybe those racers do have it right?"
"Our job is to survive, in whatever way we can and by whatever method. Always has been. Always will be," Xun answers with fierce conviction.
Jokull finally breaks his trance and eyes Xun up and down lustfully but only fleetingly… No, lust is a feeling. Feelings are myths.
Jokull shakes his head. "Yeah you're right, forget I said anything," he remarks coldly, before pushing himself back up and placing an old, dusty, stolen mechanics hat over his wet mop of hair.
"Let's go ruin those cocky racers' night," he smirks.
Xun's dark eyes follow him the entire way and Jokull's grin infects him. "Time to go to work," they both say in unison.
Jokull and Xun leave the vast slums that they grew up in behind, and begin traversing the downtown area of Cineredge City through the ever-darkening, rainy streets. Multicoloured lights begin reflecting off the rain and puddles. It dazzles Jokull's eyes to the point that he almost has to cover them.
Peacekeepers are rigorously patrolling the streets, shoving people left to right. Their white uniforms stand out like sore thumbs. Ever since those rebels escaped through District Six a few weeks ago, Peacekeepers have been stopping anyone they can on the streets. Yet they never seem to notice little old Jokull, the empty shell that he's become is just a shadow on the wall.
Those rebels' faces are still plastered on the city walls, including the one they call the "Guardian Angel". The one that was from here. Maybe Jokull will become famous one day, just like them. And his face will be on the high-rises.
The pair of troublemakers take a left, disappearing underground into the metro station. They slip their way almost unnoticed between the crowds of clueless people.
The train screeches to a halt against the underground tracks, stinging Jokull's ears and then the two boys dart out, back onto the rainy streets. Their feet move lightly, almost silently like snakes in the grass towards their target - the motorcycle garage.
You see, ever since the 95th Games, junker racing was fiercely punished and seen as a sign of rebellion, due to its association with a certain rebel. So what did the street racers do? They started racing on motorcycles. Far less conspicuous and easier to escape. Deep down in the depths of Jokull's mind, he wishes he could be one of them. The carefree racers who let their emotions run wild. Yet it's his emotions that get him into trouble, is it not? It's his emotions that killed his brother.
Under cover of darkness, Jokull and Xun tip-toe right up to the garage door, and after a brief glance between each other, they manage to prise it open with a wrench. It's extremely dark inside but with the help of flashlights, they begin tampering with various breaks, lights, and steering of the motorcycles.
Just when their schemes seem to be going perfectly to plan, music begins blasting in from outside, followed by excited, rowdy chatter! The racers!
"Shit! Must be a late-night race!" Xun gasps.
As the garage door rolls up, revealing the gang of boisterous racers, Jokull feels glad that at least Xun has his back…
His eyes travel frantically around the garage for his associate, only to find that he's vanished… bailed on him.
The room is suddenly bright! One of the racers switched the lights on, leaving Jokull in the open. He hastily wipes the oil from his hands.
The lead racer is a huge thug with a beard and tattoo on his bicep, towering over Jokull's 5'6 frame. He's known locally as Royce but his brother, Rick "Buster" Myers, is the real deal, and the one who paid Jokull to sabotage Royce's motorcycle. Buster seems to have had enough of his brother's recklessness.
However, Jokull doesn't care for either of them, as long as one of them gives him money.
"Look what the cat dragged in," Royce bellows, striding over to Jokull with his chest puffed out. The other racers snicker at this comment, as they begin hopping on their bikes and revving up the engines.
Royce is now inches from little Jokull's face and Jokull can feel his fists clenching. However, with a deep breath, he manages to keep his fury in check and he simply stares back at Royce blankly.
"Who the hell are you? And give me one reason why I shouldn't knock your lights out," Royce sneers, eyeing Jokull up and down.
They all know who he is, even if they don't know it. He's the saboteur. The killjoy. The one that is with the shadows.
Jokull stands up straight and maintains his blank expression. "I'm…." He adjusts his mechanic's cap to make it more visible. "I'm your mechanic. I-I couldn't find your lights. Buster sent me to look at your vehicles…" he answers, trying to stutter to sound as innocent as he can.
"Did he now?" Royce scoffs and his breathing appears to return back to normal. "Well tell him, he can keep his little rat of a mechanic."
"Now, fuck off," he growls, shoving Jokull's face away with his hand and returning to his motorcycle.
Jokull knew Royce was stupid but he didn't know he was that stupid. The sneaky saboteur begins scurrying his way out of the garage until… Why are his fists still clenched? He turns back. Whilst Royce and the others have taken their bikes outside to prepare for the race, one straggler is still fiddling with his bike.
He knows he shouldn't. He knows his wild side has always gotten him in trouble. He despises it, but you know what? He also despises this cold, detached person that he's become.
So, with a slight smirk and a glint in his eyes, Jokull strolls over to the remaining straggler and collects a wrench into his hand.
"Excuse me," he smiles amiably. "Let me help you with that."
"Ah geez… thanks," the racer smiles back, releasing his bike. In the split second that the racer turns his head away, Jokull swings the wrench with all his might against the young man's temple, and he drops down to the concrete floor - knocked out cold.
"Anytime," Jokull smirks, and then he spits on him before eyeing up the racer's motorcycle and caressing it with his hand. "Time to live a little," he smiles to himself.
Under the pouring rain, the racers take their positions on the start line just under a stolen, bent traffic light.
Jokull, (now clad in the racer's black-leather racing gear), hops onto his stolen motorcycle, and flips the visor over on his helmet to cover his face. He turns the key to ignite the engine before pulling the clutch towards the handlebar to inch forward. His black bike rolls up next to Royce's. Royce's bike is shiny red with flames painted on it for decoration, and Jokull subtly turns his head and eyes up the dazzling bike under his visor.
Bright yellow numbers suddenly appear on the traffic light. A countdown…
5… 4…. 3… 2…1
BEEP
Jokull immediately revs his engine to the max and his wheels screech forward across the street! Chaos unfolds all around him with some racers crashing into each other and others crashing due to Jokull's sabotages. A few of the bikes even fail to start completely because Jokull emptied all of the fuel.
They turn the first corner at a block of flats, and Jokull can't help but cackle as he watches a happy-go-lucky racer turn his handlebars, only to go the opposite way due to Jokull's meddling. The racer smashes straight into the building, leaving him in a pile of his broken vehicle parts and probably his bones.
Jokull's cackle grows so intense that he almost loses control - with the limited races that he's had. Yet, he just manages to hang on.
He turns back to face forward and spots Royce right at the front, who's focused on the other racers. So, Jokull swiftly twists his hands over the handlebars and speeds forward and together they turn another corner onto a much larger road. This one is illuminated by neon lights, to direct the racers on where to go.
Jokull zooms forward, ungracefully smashing his way to the front until he's side by side with Royce. Royce fleetingly glimpses at him and slams his bike into Jokull's, so Jokull returns the favour.
The racers continue a couple of miles down the straight road, losing a few due to Jokull's antics and each other. It's then that a few new uninvited guests enter the party. Peacekeepers burst onto the scene in their hummer trucks! They begin chasing down the racers individually, however Jokull manages to slip and swerve out of the way - just like he's always done in life. He's a survivor.
Jokull twists into another narrower alleyway with a Peacekeeper's hummer truck fast on his tail. However, a smile appears on Jokull's face because earlier today he placed a spike strip down this alleyway! Jokull swerves around it, however the hummer truck is caught at high speed and flipped onto its roof!
Jokull takes another left and scrapes his tires against the slippery, hard road surface. Royce is now the only other racer still next to him. The older, more experienced racer keeps his attention on this new, unknown menace and continues to bash his bike into Jokull's.
Together, they chaotically crash their way into a tunnel like a couple of bulls on a stampede. The tunnel is luminous with orange lights shining through Jokull's visor.
The finish line becomes visible at the very end of the tunnel, and Royce slips ahead with his superior engine. But Jokull doesn't care. He can only grin in satisfaction, watching Royce propel over the finishing line, be flung off of his bike, and tumble to the hard concrete. The thug screams in shock and rolls over several times, losing some of his skin against the hard surface in the process.
All the way back when Royce had been attempting to humiliate Jokull in his garage, Jokull had just finished tampering with his brakes, causing him to lose control at the last minute.
Jokull pulls up next to where Royce is groaning in agony on the floor. The small boy then smugly hops off his bike, skipping towards the downed Royce, who is clutching his ribs in pain.
When Royce's eyes flutter open, Jokull removes his helmet and smirks down at his adversary. "Look what the cat dragged in, indeed," Jokull smiles. Then he plants two kicks into Royce's ribs and the man growls in agony.
Next, Jokull heads calmly to Royce's flame motorcycle. He yanks the keys out of the ignition and flips them cockily in his hands. "Ah! You even left me your bike. How kind of you!" he taunts.
Then he races off in his new stolen flame bike, raising his hands in the air as the rain crashes against his face. It happened. His wild side took over and people got hurt again. But maybe that's who he truly is? He may despise it but he despises this mask of a person he has become as well. So he might as well embrace it.
The burnt orphanage flashes before his eyes in between the thundering rain.
He left a trail of destruction with those cocky racers littering the roads. Stronger people have always manipulated him, so it's about time the tables turned. Maybe destruction follows him for a reason. Maybe it is his purpose.
But deep down, he knows his cold detached mask will return tomorrow.
February 4th 2427
Four months prior to the games
District Fourteen
Northern Prison
Ozias Califera, 18
Several guards gather around the dingiest corner of Cell Block-E, of the northern prison in District Fourteen, with batons and tasers gripped firmly in their hands.
After the breakout last month, they aren't taking any chances.
"Now releasing inmate 7418," a voice calls from a speaker above.
Bolts click and the thick, metal door slides open, revealing the prisoner. It's a young man in a grey-prison jumpsuit with the numbers 7418 on his back. He's otherwise known as Ozias Califera.
He is tall, a lanky 6'2 frame towering over most of the guards. Dark, shaggy, unkempt hair hangs over his face - making it hard to read. His skin is pale from being locked in his cell for months and his eyes are icy-cold.
Ozias doesn't pay the guards the slightest bit of attention. He strides forward with his head held high in a cold, aloof manner. A demeanour that sends shivers down the guards' spines.
Ozias's fortitude hasn't broken, even in this harsh environment of District Fourteen's northern wing, full of the worst Panem has to offer. Not once. He has kept this calm, cold, pompous attitude since the moment he walked through the prison gates. This prison won't break him. Nothing ever has. He's already seen the horrific side of the world, long before he entered District Fourteen. In fact, he was moulded by it. He is a product of it. Every guard and other inmate knows it the moment they see him.
"Move it!" A brave guard nudges Ozias with his baton. So, the mysterious prisoner strolls calmly over the metal prison gratings and down the stairs, facing forward the entire time.
The only time he breaks his zombie-like trance, is when another inmate is dragged up the stairs next to him, bruised and bleeding by the beatings from the guards.
Ozias stairs at the guards, shaking his head subtly. "They will never learn," he mutters to himself.
At the bottom of the stairs, a large, bland, expansive cafeteria stretches out around him. Prisoners of all shapes and sizes dart between the long metal tables, carrying plates of food in their hands.
Ozias makes sure to sit at the far corner of the bottom table, away from any of the other inmates.
A slight smile forms on his lips as he steady chews his first spoonful of mush. He can see it now in front of his eyes… revenge. Revenge on the Capitol for neglecting him and his family. He lost count of the amount of times his father warned them about the heat wave, the amount of times they begged for help but it all fell on deaf ears. On the morning of the fire, he never even got the chance to say goodbye to his family.
His need for revenge on the Capitol only just sits above his revenge on Emery. Emery. The boy that put him here. The boy that betrayed him. The name alone almost ruins his appetite.
Suddenly, two other prisoners plonk down opposite him. Their eyes are fixed on him as they mutter to themselves.
"What's he in for again?" one of the prisoners whispers to the other.
"Word is, he was a barber… murdered his boss," the other replies.
But the first simply shakes his head. "Nah. There's more to him than that."
Ozias peers up at them from his plate of food. A sly grin lines his face.
Six months ago
December 18th, 2426
District Ten
Tulrango
Ozias's alarm blares into his ears, nudging him awake. With a groan, he rolls over under his sheets, his hand reaching around the bedside table, fumbling around for the off button.
Once his eyes have crinkled open, he makes out the time to be 7:00 am.
7:00 am, December 18th! This is his day! Immediately, he is wide awake!
It's the day where he finally puts a stop to this grotesque operation that he's found himself in. He's been planning this through for some time, to every meticulous detail. He won't leave anything to chance.
However, to get to his boss, he has one client to take care of first. It will be easy. Just another day on the job.
Ozias finally tumbles out of bed and fixes on a smart, white, collared shirt and pants with his black barbers apron over them, tied neatly around his waist.
Before he leaves his room, he picks up a scorched dog-tag in his palm and briefly stares at it. The only physical reminder of his family… the only reminder of another life. A better life, when everything made sense.
He stuffs the dog-tag in his pocket and holds his head up high, as he prances out of his room and into his work station. He has to fight back the sickly feeling nagging at his stomach like a plague. His life with Em and Mr. Gallus Adhock was all he needed to get by. He didn't mind what he did, as long as it meant he could live on with Em. When they were together, they were smiling… smiling for the first time in many years, and they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. They would be cold-hearted cutthroats but at least they'd be doing it together...
That is, until Ozias discovered what Emery Vandermast and Gallus Adhock had truly been putting in those pies, downstairs in the pie shop…
Ozias begins scooting around his barber's, intricately scanning various blades and placing them in draws around the room.
He takes a brief glimpse at his reflection staring back at him in one of the large, ornate mirrors. The young man hastily fixes his long, messy black hair with a comb and some gel.
DING
The bell rings by the door, signalling a new customer. A young man in his late twenties, dressed in a smart business suit with a briefcase. One of Gallus's usual targets… and Ozias's final target.
Ozias plasters on the brightest, beaming smile he can muster. "Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?"
"Just a trim, please," The customer answers, gesturing to his dark brown fringe hanging over his forehead.
"Certainly sir," Ozias answers, still with the same pleasant smile. "Let me take that from you," he says, retrieving the customer's suitcase and placing it behind his till.
Ozias then calmly sits the man down on one of the chairs, and wraps him in chair cloth to protect his clothes from his falling hair.
They stare into each other's eyes in the mirror momentarily, before Ozias retrieves his scissors from the drawer and starts slicing away at the top of the customer's hair.
Ozias descends into his usual chattering Smalltalk, something he's extremely good at. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" He says, in an upbeat, bubbly tone.
The man nods. His hair continues to flutter down onto the cloth.
"You got any plans for the rest of the weekend?"
"I'm here on a business trip," the customer answers plainly.
Of course, of course - Ozias thinks to himself.
Ozias takes a portion of his client's hair in his fingers and continues staring into his eyes through the mirror. "How's this length for the fringe?" he chirps.
The man nods.
After he's finished cutting the top, he gestures to the sides. "And how about the sides?"
The customer points to which parts he wants shaved. Once Ozias has finished, he gingerly places his scissors back in the compartment draw. Next, his hand moves up to the draw just above and slips a serrated knife into it. The shining blade gleams white light into his eyes from the glaring sun, outside the window.
Suddenly, just as the sunlight vanishes briefly under a layer of clouds, Ozias's eyes narrow like a hungry wolf and he glares at the customer through the mirror. His chery smile drops, fading into intensity. "And how would you like to die?" He asks, his voice now deeper and coarse… almost demonic.
"Excuse me?"
Ozias wastes no further time on conversation. He clasps one hand on the hilt of the knife firmly and the other over the man's mouth. As the client's eyes widen in shock, Ozias stabs down into this neck before slicing it across. A river of blood gushes down onto the chair cloth and stains the entire workstation a deep red. Ozias casually removes the knife from the man's neck, allowing his victim to flop still.
The murderous barber wipes the blade clean with a damp cloth, his eyes observe it diligently while he does it.
Taking a life has become like second nature to Ozias by now. He didn't have to fulfil that last order by Gallus however… this has become embarrassingly fun for him. Nothing will ever replace the rush of power he feels from ending another life.
The cutthroat coiffeur rapidly works to wrap the body in cellophane, and begins dragging him downstairs through the kitchen towards Gallus's office, at the back. He hopes to God that Gallus isn't out or anything stupid like that, otherwise his whole plan will fail miserably. But Gallus is rarely out, he likes to control everything that goes on like a puppeteer with strings attached to all of his employees.
Ozias has partook in this whole killing operation for months now. However, for the first time his heart is racing with uncertainty. Killing his boss and his Em will throw his life into chaos once more. But he'll find a way. He always has. Ever since he lost his family in that blaze of fire, he has been bouncing from one messed up situation to another. He'll just have to get by until next summer… when he will volunteer for the Hunger Games.
He can't let Gallus's barbaric operation continue. It wasn't the killing that was the problem. No, no, no. In fact, Ozias and Emery had been killing for their own satisfaction long before they met Gallus. No, in fact, one day, Ozias and Emery had become suspicious about how exactly the barbers and the pie shop, which Emery had been assigned to, were linked. They didn't want it to be true but there was no denying it. The people that Ozias had been killing in the barber shop were then being used as the ingredients for Emery's pies. The two boys felt sick to the core, but there was nothing they could do. If they reported Gallus, they would have to admit their part in it all. Ozias tried to convince Emery to run away with him once more, it would be easy right? It was nearly impossible to say no to Ozias. However, Ozias had seen something change in Emery. He didn't get it… even after knowing what a grotesque man Gallus was, Emery was still happy to buddy up with him and be pals. Was it the constant praise Emery received from their boss (none of which Ozias got). Emery had even grown proud of how famous his pies had become in Tulrango.
How could he? Knowing what ingredients were in them? Don't get Ozias wrong, he's the type of monster that would appear in one of those old fables that frighten children. But what Emery was happily partaking in, was disgusting to him.
No. Ozias would be doing him a favour, if anything. He'd be stopping him from becoming the very thing the two of them worked to destroy. So, why can he feel a lump forming in his throat at the thought of pulling the trigger on his lover? The one person who's been an anchor in his life since the loss of his family. Can he really do it?
(Yes, because his need for revenge on the Capitol for neglecting his family, outweighs anything else. Gallus and not even Em will get in his way.)
Yesterday, while out on his lunch break, Ozias bought a gun from a local arms dealer and stashed it in one of the unused cupboards in the kitchen.
His eyes dart around the kitchen, then he fetches the gun from the cupboard and tucks it under his barber apron, before pushing his way into Gallus's office.
The short, sleazy, middle-aged man swivels around on his chair with a cigar between his fingers and a glass of brandy on his desk. "Oh, it's you," he sighs.
"Sorry to disappoint… as always," Ozias responds.
Gallus pulls his cigar away from his mouth and breaths out a puff of smoke. "Is the deed done?" He questions.
Ozias nods, coldly.
"Good, run along then," Gallus says, gesturing for him to shoo with his hands.
But Ozias remains in place, staring emotionlessly at his boss. A single drop of sweat drips from the young barber's forehead.
"What are you waiting for? A raise?" Gallus snickers.
Ozias removes the gun from under his apron and points it directly at the businessman's chest. "I'm done playin' second fiddle here to your disgusting little operation."
Gallus eyes the gun in a kind of amused shock. "Come now. Don't be stupid," he replies calmly, extending his hand out. "Come on. Give me the gun and we can pretend I didn't see this."
This only causes Ozias to glare more intensely. He cocks the gun and places his finger firmly over the trigger.
When Gallus sees that his employee is more serious than he initially thought, he leans back on his chair and chuckles nervously. "After everything I've done for you? I gave you shelter, a job and satisfied your sick little bloodlust. Admit it, you need me," Gallus laughs condescendingly.
Ozias shakes his head. "You really thought I was just some average cutthroat mercenary? You thought I needed you? You thought you were the one using me?" Suddenly Ozias is the one laughing. "You disgusting old clown. I was using you this entire time. You were just a stepping stone to reach my true goal."
Ozias stops there. He's not about to waste any more breath telling this soon-to-be-dead man about his plan to volunteer next summer for the Hunger Games.
All of a sudden, Gallus's smile drops completely, seeing the serious intensity in his barber's eyes. His shaking hand secretly travels down to the drawer under his desk for his own gun. He breathes in to speak again, however, Ozias blasts three shots into his chest before he can even get the first word out.
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
Gallus falls still on his chair. His bright, blue expensive suit now drenched in his blood.
Ozias fires one final shot into his former boss, just for the pure satisfaction of it.
Smirking, he cockily twirls the gun around in his hand and blows into the barrel, as if it was an old-fashioned revolver that a cowboy might have.
(And Ozias finds his heart is no longer racing)
(He's free.)
The door swings open from behind him. He spins around to find Emery standing there, with his usual worn chef's apron on. He's frozen still and wide eyed at the sight in front of him, panting heavily.
Emery's sad eyes infect Ozias as much as when they first fell in love back in Rustvale.
"What have you done?" Emery exclaims, running his hands through his short, curly, bleached hair.
Ozias nonchalantly turns the gun towards Emery, and he takes a step forward to his lover. "What we should have done a long time ago," he answers, now inches from Emery.
The young baker's eyes turn from confusion to fury, zoning in on the gun.
"I'm sorry babe, but I'm doing this for your own good…" Ozias says.
But for some reason, his hand is shaking. His throat feels tight. Can he really do it? Em has supported him through thick and thin. Before they met Gallus, they were all each other had, ever since the day they robbed that saloon together. Then, he became best pal's with that dead, greedy man behind them, even after they discovered what he was truly making them do.
Still, what would his siblings think if they saw him now? His sibling that he used to goof around on the farmhouse with? They are why he's doing this. He's… he's going to avenge them. He loved Em but unfortunately, he loves his family more. Nothing will stand in his way of getting the last laugh on the people that made him the terrible monster that he is.
His hand stops shaking, and his finger begins inching the trigger down. Emery's eyes narrow in on the gun…
But somehow, by the time the shot has gone off, there is a hole in the wall and not in Emery and Emery has pinned him down on the floor…
June 20th, 2427
Morning of the Reapings
Justice Building
District Four
Aida Canterra, 18
Aida is perched in the corner of the justice building, as still as a rock. Her dark eyes are fixated on the floor while her fingers are interlaced together, fidgeting ever so slightly. Why is she fidgeting? Why is her stomach turning? She did it. She finally volunteered. She'll finally be able to prove that she's worthy to inherit her family's business. What other way could she prove she's worthy?
But deep down a question continues to infect her mind - Does she really deserve to be here?
All of a sudden, the door swings open. Aida's eyes shoot up to find her parents striding toward her. So, she pushes herself up off her chair to greet them.
"There she is! There's my wonderful daughter! You did it!" her father exclaims with only a hint of concern in his voice.
He approaches Aida, his arms are stretched out wide - ready to welcome her into a hug.
As her proud father embraces her, Aida dispassionately returns the hug but doesn't let it last more than a couple of seconds. Meanwhile, her mother stays behind her father in silence, rubbing the back of her neck and staring downwards.
Her father places his hands on Aida's shoulders and stares dead into her eyes with a bright smile. Aida remains stone-faced. Maybe she wants to smile back but she's never really sure if she knows what that word means.
"We're so proud of you. Nobody deserves this more than you but remember the pharmacy was always yours… victor or not," her father continues.
Aida's father started his own medical practice after retiring from fishing due to an injury.
Her mother, (the spitting image of Aida), started working for her father as a receptionist. Five years passed before they got married and another five before they had Aida.
Her mother doesn't take her eyes off of her. She was never as supportive of Aida's plan to volunteer. She never said it, but she never had to.
Why? Aida doesn't make mistakes. She can't. It's not possible for her. This was the right thing to do. So how can her mum still doubt her?
Her dad swallows and takes a deep breath. "If Sadie were here… she'd be proud too," he mutters.
Sadie? Sadie Lowlett. Why would he say her name?
Aida's vision becomes blurry. The entire room is suddenly quiet, and her father's voice is nothing but a faint muffle in the background. Aida had forgotten all about Sadie Lowlett. She'd pushed that girl into the back of the darkest depths of her mind, to pretend she never existed.
It's her. She's the reason her stomach is turning, why she's fidgeting, and why her mother still doubts her. Did she ever deserve this? Or was it always Sadie?
Aida clenches her jaw firmly and furrows her eyebrows.
Sadie Lowlett. She thought she'd never have to hear that name again…
Two years ago
May 5th, 2425
Training Academy
District Four
"Again!" The head trainer calls, just after Aida is once again slammed by Sadie Lowlett on the training mat with a hip throw.
Sadie chuckles playfully and offers out her hand. "Better luck next time."
Sadie has been consistently outperforming Aida in almost every way over the last few months and has edged her way to being the chosen volunteer. Aida has tried everything to outmatch her over the last few months but to no avail.
Aida growls in anger and bats away her friend's hand, pushing herself up to her feet. She immediately travels over to where her dummy sword is laying on the mat and prepares for another bout.
Sadie rolls her eyes with a sigh and glances at the trainer in the corner. "Please… can we give it a rest? We've only got ten minutes till end of class," she pleads, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
But the trainer simply shakes his head.
"You heard him. We go again," Aida insists, holding out her dummy sword in both hands and narrowing her eyes.
Sadie throws her arms out, sighing again. "And what makes you think this time will be any different from the last fifty times I've thrown you on your ass?"
"We go again," Aida repeats sternly.
This will be the time. The time she finally beats Sadie and wipes that smile from her face.
Everything was fine and dandy before Sadie came along. Aida was the best trainee at the academy. She was on track to one day wear that victor's crown and prove that she's worthy of her parent's fortune. But then, four years ago, Sadie turned up. They were close friends at first, until they turned rivals and Sadie showed her up to be a failure.
Sadie's face turns red again and she grits her teeth, charging at Aida with a two-handed slash! Aida drops her head down to duck under the first swing, but Sadie keeps her attacks coming, slashing violently until Aida is on the backpedal. She continues parrying but feels the exhaustion creeping up on her, along with the frustration!
Aida clenches her jaw and thrusts viciously at Sadie's gut; however, the other girl is lightning fast! She strikes down hard on the base of Aida's training sword, it dislodges from her hand and clatters to the floor, once again.
Aida groans in fury but Sadie kicks her sword away and holds her own at Aida's throat.
"Enough!" The blond girl begs. Then she lowers her sword from her friend. "Look… there's more to life than being champion of the Hunger Games. You'll find your way. Me and the girls are havin' a party at mine tomorrow… why don't ya come along?" She asks, smiling meekly to offer some peace between them.
Aida simply pushes her out of the way, slings her bag over her back and storms out of the training academy. Sadie just doesn't get it. Aida needs this! She needs this to prove herself to be worthy… and Sadie took that from her.
It's raining heavily outside, a storm that's blown in from the bay. Aida's hair and clothes are soaked, and her shoes begin to slip in the sludge. She doesn't care. She doesn't even know where she's going. Anywhere away from that pretentious girl!
Eventually, she finds herself on the beach, battling against the wind to reach the shore.
There is a large, glowing shell sticking out of the sand. She hobbles over to it, yanks it out of the sand and hurls it out into the waves!
BOOM
A crack of thunder blasts from above over the battering wind.
She has to do something. She has to act now! She has to be District Four's champion! She tried injuring Sadie during training but with no success. She could tamper with her gear? No. She needs a more long-term solution. She's not Bloodtide, the famous phantom killer-career of District Four.
(There's an urban legend within her academy that his victims still haunt it. Something the trainers have tried to suppress.)
No, she's above that but maybe he was on the right track…
What if she did something? Something to distract Sadie from her training, give her something to worry about in her home life. What could she do?
What about Sadie's family home? She could do some damage to it. How?
Fire? Fire could do the trick. It could do enough damage to put her out of training for some time.
But she'd have to wait for this storm to pass…
The gale shakes her hair violently against her face.
She has the right to do this, no one deserves it more than her.
Aida spent the next few days painstakingly planning every detail of her scheme. She mapped out Sadie's family home, where she would drop the cigarette and where she would run after, so that she was 100% sure she wouldn't be caught.
So then, why is her stomach still churning with nerves like a thousand butterflies have decided to nest there? This couldn't go wrong. She doesn't make mistakes. She can't.
That Friday, her eyes snap open at the crack of dawn and as soon as the radiant, orange light is creeping over the emerald, morning ocean.
Friday. The day her plan is to be executed, without a hitch.
The chilly air of the dusk clings to her arms and makes the hairs stand up on her skin, so she pulls on a sweater. It appears to have no effect. An anxious shudder runs through her spine. This can't go wrong. She never makes mistakes. Sadie won't be home, that girl ceremoniously trains at 6am every Friday and her parents go to work around the same time. She won't be home when Aida lights her house on fire, but the damage will be enough to distract her long-time rival from training.
Aida fits a black balaclava over her face and then slips out of her front door. She creeps across the main road, under the dim shadows and silence of the early morning. The only sound that can be heard in the distance are cicadas humming.
Keeping a steady pace on her tiptoes, she splits off from the main road and heads down a smaller path through a wooded area, where the masked career is hidden by the shade of the trees.
The gravel path travels all the way to Sadie's large, brick house on the cliff.
Aida pauses at the tree line and ducks down to conceal herself under the long grass, as a big cat stalking its prey would.
Her heart is now thumping against her chest, drowning out the sounds of the crashing waves over the cliff. She can do this. She must. It's the only way.
A deep breath. She's ready. She scurries as fast as she can to the house, using the grass to cover her. The cigarette is already on the ground before she has even thought about it and already, she is turning back to scurry for the treeline.
Orange light reflects against her peripheral vision! The crackling of flames can be heard behind her. Smoke passes overhead.
She turns back one last time to see her work and immediately gasps with her hands over her mouth! The house is consumed in flames and has been transformed into an inferno of glowing destructive fire! It… it was just brick… it was never meant to do that much damage… there will be nothing left.
She turns hastily and disappears into the woods.
Sadie will be homeless now and out of action for a long while. This is how it was meant to be, Aida can make no mistakes, after all.
Aida decided to spend the rest of her morning as she normally would, as if nothing happened, preparing to go to training like she'd only just woken up and chatting to her parents about trivial things.
It's only after heading outside into the late mind-morning sun, that she hears some commotion, chatter amongst citizens of the district.
Peacekeepers are hoarding people together and questioning them by the side of the road.
Aida lowers her heart rate down with a deep breath and straightens her face.
A Peacekeeper stops Aida with his hand. "Excuse me, we need to ask you a few questions about the fire that took place at Cliffedge earlier today."
"Sorry… I'm not from around there," Aida replies blankly.
"But you are a student at the academy, right? Like the victim…"
The world around Aida freezes, the noises of the bustling town all fade into silence. Her head becomes dizzy and numb, like it's being weighed down by a ton of bricks.
"V-victim?" She stutters.
"Yes. Sadie Lowlett. We're treating it as a homicide, at the moment."
Aida can't breathe! Her gut is crushed from all sides. Is she going to be sick?
No! She needs to stay calm. Otherwise, they'll become suspicious. Breathe!
"I-I I'm sorry. I was asleep," she stutters.
The peacekeeper nods. "We understand this is shocking news to hear. One of my colleagues will be at the academy later to ask a few more questions."
Aida pushes past the peacekeeper and keeps her head down. Everything is still silent around her. Her head is spinning in a hurricane of confusion. This can't have been possible. She always trained at 6:00 am. Every Friday. This isn't possible! Aida never makes mistakes. She can't!
No! It wasn't a mistake. It was meant to be. Sadie was never meant to be a victor. Her name will be lost to history and to the depths of Aida's mind, never to return. A dark hole where no thought can escape. Her smile, her laugh, her larger-than-life spirit. Sadie Lowlett never existed to Aida….
Hope you enjoyed our first angsty trio. Thank you to TheWatcherOfTheVoid for Jokull, Ladyqueerfoot for Ozias and Teamshadow for Aida! Our next set of intros will be Reese, Lilac and Auren. See you then!