Bazooka Wildbrand, 17, District 3
Bazooka jumps up when the intercom calls her name back for her session. She's been itching to get in there all day. If she were allowed, she would have brought her earlier creation in there with her. Yet when she tried to walk away with it, a trainer yelled at her to leave it.
She doesn't see what the big deal is. It's not like it's in danger of exploding or anything. Not without gunpowder– which the trainer never provided her.
Regardless, her plan of deconstructing it for the Gamemakers is thrown out the window, and now, she has to start from scratch.
She enters the room and starts to gather the supplies she knows she'll need, the same parts that were available in training. There are some new ones here, she ignores them for the ones she's familiar with. She succeeds until she notices some of the parts she used previously are missing.
"Where's the initiator?" Bazooka asks a nearby trainer. They don't respond, and the Gamemakers give her no guidance either.
What's this stuff? Bazooka turns her attention to the pile of new materials she doesn't recognize. It's not from home, that's for sure. Bazooka decides it must be Capitol-designed tech, making it much more advanced than the stuff she had been using.
Making all this more complicated, too. She isn't sure how much time is left, but it's certainly not enough. Using her knowledge and experience, she starts piecemealing the device together. A wire here, a connection here, shift the location of the power source because of the new thickness of the wire, no big deal…
She finds an initiator, a small black rectangle with pre-installed wires and an unlit button. Most of the ones she finds whole, or builds herself, the light would be flashing. She assumes it's for safety reasons, or whatever. Like how they didn't provide her gunpowder in training. Safer, sure, but less fun.
Her device comes together. Slowly, but she believes she'll finish within time. As she works, she has to wonder why the materials are different. Is it a hint as to what might be available in the arena? A test, to see what she's made of?
She wonders if Becca would know. Becca, the girl who could have helped but chose not to. Bazooka doesn't blame her, she had no intention of working with others either. It's probably better this way, anyway.
How much time is left when Bazooka steps back from her creation? She doesn't know, she doesn't care. It's good, better than anything she built in the district yet the components are all so new to her she doesn't know how they'll react together. It could react exactly how she thinks it will, or it could react completely differently.
"Will these components be in the arena?" she asks the Gamemakers directly. Some of them jump at her voice as if speaking alone will trigger the bomb. The thought gives her a new idea- she wonders if there's anything to trigger voice activation-
"We cannot disclose what will or won't be in the arena, Miss Wildbrand," one of them responds after some time. She shrugs.
"Well, I can't set this off now. Maybe someone can test it for me? I'd love to know how it worked." Her eyes linger on her creation, the possibilities, the opportunities she could have if she just had a little more time.
She hopes they can see her potential as she sees it. She hopes the Gamemakers are smart enough to give her the tools she needs to see it through.
"Thank you Miss Wildbrand, you may exit to your left," the same Gamemaker says.
Whatever. Bazooka exits as they ask, and unlike others, she doesn't contemplate what she showed or wonder if it is enough to give her a good score. She doesn't care about the scores, she cares about the results.
Her results were…meager, she thinks. Without knowing the capabilities of the device she creates she's not making progress. She's just putting things together.
The arena will be different. She's been exposed to so many new parts, that she's guaranteed some of them to be in the cornucopia.
Bazooka Wildbrand intends to leave her mark on the Games and knows it will be a bloodbath to remember.
Eleanora Darzky, 17, District 5
I'm ready.
The words circulate in Eleanora's mind as the Careers finish their private sessions. She's never been more confident of her plan.
I'm ready to show what I'm good at. Eleanora came into training with a certain skillset she built upon over her time here, including sickles and, to a lesser extent, katanas. That's what she plans to show the Gamemakers, and there's nothing that could stop her.
They have to pay attention to me. They have to watch.
"Eleanora Darzky, District 5." The robotic intercom brings a much-needed smile to her face. Every day's been a battle since she set her sights on this goal.
The irritations, inconveniences, and even the scars will all be worth it when she finds herself Victor. Not that the battle for it won't be easy, but she'll prevail.
(She can't fail now.)
She moves straight to her weapon of choice, finding one of the few undamaged ones.
Odd, how many handles were broken. How many have bent metal. She assumes the damage is from the Careers, all their sessions having already concluded.
The one she picks should suffice, and she prepares to spar with a trainer.
I've got this. One strike in and, she jolts. The metal-on-metal contact ends with an unexpected clatter on the ground. The handle in her grasp feels lighter, and it takes Eleanora a few seconds too many to determine what happened.
Precious seconds are ticking by, yet confusion grabs ahold of Eleanora. She must've picked up a damaged blade without realizing it. No matter. A minor inconvenience.
She grabs another one, ignoring the split at the base of the handle due to the stability of the rest of it.
Or so she thought.
Another attempt to spar with the trainer, another failed blade, except this time it's the handle that completely splits in half. She pulls out the splinter that stuck itself in her callouses and drops it all to the ground in frustration. Is this what she'll be known as? The girl with the broken weapons? That won't score well, and there's no way in hell she'll convince anyone she's worth their time or attention without a good score.
If she can't convince the damn Capitol, she can't convince Five. She can't convince her parents.
Screw the sickles. Eleanora moves on to fight with a katana, and none of them appear broken. She doesn't know how much time has passed since she entered this room. A minute? Two? Five?
She has to impress with this fight.
Although she's well-versed in many weapons, a katana's weight distribution is so different from the sickles she planned to use that it messes up her balance. One swing leaves her more vulnerable than it should and the trainer takes advantage of that.
How the hell is this happening? Underneath the mask, Eleanora is seething and all she can see is red.
The Careers. Someone is responsible for the broken weaponry and someone doesn't want her in-
Dahlia. It makes sense. Too much sense. The girl whom Amatus pinned against Eleanora. The girl whom Eleanora has been so actively avoiding, assuming the best thing would be to stay out of each other's way.
She plays dirty, and I just got destroyed.
"You're dismissed," the robotic tone returns, and Eleanora still cannot believe this is how things are transpiring.
"T-the weapons were broken, I-" Eleanora hopes that a simple explanation can fix this.
Her father would be cackling if he could see this. She imagines what he would say.
"You failed, Eleanora," his voice holds all the anger that he's had over the years.
"Please exit to your left."
The katana ends up on the ground and Eleanora's foot ends up straight through the wood. She leaves it as she barges out of the room. She's unsure where her feet are taking her, all she can see is red.
He's wrong he's wrong they're wrong they're all wrong I deserve to be here I deserve to win-
Her hands find themselves wrapped around a flower pot and without any time to process, the flower pot ends in pieces. Another one meets the same fate, then another one. An Avox, Eleanora assumes, rushes over to clean up the mess. Eleanora leaves her to it.
Someone sabotaged her. And Eleanora might know the only person stupid enough to do so.
Tamin Sirket, 18, District 5
Tamin's anxieties are at an all-time high.
He doesn't understand why. The private sessions, and the scores associated with them, don't make or break a tribute. He's seen plenty of tributes earn mediocre scores make it far, and even win the Games. With the right set of circumstances, the right allies, and the right story, there's no reason Tamin should be this worked up.
Right?
(It doesn't change the fact he is.)
When anxieties like these bogged him down at home, he would more often than not take off into the District. He'd find new places to walk through and explore until it got too dark.
He doesn't have that luxury here. Everywhere he goes, eyes fall on him. Whether they are his allies, his mentor, or the Gamemakers. Everyone has a hand in Tamin Sirket's actions.
When his dad died, a part of him died too. The part of him that could push away these fears with logic. He's never been able to bring that back.
He would give anything to bring it back.
"Tamin?" Roman says, bringing the boy back to the present. With a glance around the room they're crowded into, Tamin can see that the boy from Four is currently in session. Next will be his district partner.
Then Tamin.
"Are you thinking about your session?" Roman asks. Tamin shakes his head.
"I don't know what I was thinking about, I guess," he says, a halfhearted truth.
"Yeah. I get that. I can't stop thinking about home. What's up with that?" he asks with a half-hearted attempt at a laugh.
"Your siblings?" Tamin asks. Roman nods.
"Yeah. I miss them. I've never…felt like this. I've never been away from them long enough, I guess," Roman explains. His eyes fall to Davidson, who sits beside him.
"I…I've been pulled away from them for too long," Tamin says. "I regret not being there more. I'd say you're lucky, but, I don't think any of us are." Roman gives a slight nod in agreement.
"Are you handling all this okay?" Roman asks the quiet boy beside him. He doesn't respond for a few seconds, and Tamin can't tell if it's because he didn't hear Roman or he doesn't know what to say.
Could be both.
"I don't know. I…I'm not sure what's worse. How I feel now, or how I felt when…my sister was here," Davidson says softly. Tamin and Roman's eyes meet, and an unspoken agreement falls over them.
"She probably felt the same as we do now. I think it's probably universal," Tamin says. Davidson's eyes rise, yet Tamin can't read how the boy is feeling.
"I wish I could just talk to her one last time. I feel like I…I left too much in the air," his voice quivers ever so slightly.
"I…I never met her, but I remember last year's Games. I know she would disagree. Every moment she fought, she fought for you," Roman says.
"You didn't know her," Davidson says solemnly.
"No, but I know what it's like to be an older sibling. The things we do for our siblings, well, it's not easy." Roman says.
"We're twins. Neither one of us is the 'older' sibling," Davidson explains.
"My point still stands," Roman gives Davidson a friendly nudge and silence fills the air until Eleanora is called for her session.
Roman's words circle Tamin's brain, and he gets so caught in them he doesn't hear the voice announce his name. It takes a friendly nudge from his ally to jolt back into consciousness.
"Good luck," Davidson says.
"Thanks. I'll…see you both later," Tamin says softly.
He doesn't have to see Roman's reaction to know he's okay with the offer, despite his anxieties telling him otherwise.
A friendship that could have taken years to form at home, Tamin's formed in the Capitol in a matter of days. He's not sure if that makes him impulsive or strategical.
Now, he has fifteen minutes to prove to the Gamemakers that he's worth more than fifteen minutes and that his skills will take him far in the arena.
Fifteen minutes isn't enough.
Three days isn't enough.
Shit, eighteen years isn't enough for Tamin to feel any sort of comfort in what's coming.
(Maybe that's the secret to the Games. No matter who it is, they won't ever be prepared for the worst.)
(They just have to outlive the rest.)
Amatus Zanetti, 18, District 2
Amatus is living.
He sits with his legs across the couch, only inches away from being able to kick Klara in the side if he wants. Two extra chairs are pulled up to his right, where Choux and Vitali sit without engagement. On the other side, Ronan and Caliadne. Everyone's eyes loosely lock onto the television that plays various news and predictions regarding the Games. As it drones on in the background, Amatus knows no one is listening.
They're all waiting for the score reveal. That's why they all gathered here, to see what each other scored and to discuss strategy going into the interviews, and most importantly the arena.
Along with their two prospective candidates, of course.
Most of those gathered won't talk about how they think they did. Whether it's humility, shame, or fear keeping them quiet, Amatus can't tell. He knows none of those emotions threaten him.
No, Amatus knows he was spectacular in his session.
He briefly wonders how Renatus would have done. Once he decides "poorly", he quickly moves on.
(A dead man deserves none of Amatus' energy.)
"Don't start without me, now," a familiar voice echoes through Two's floor, and Amatus doesn't need to turn to see Dahlia Akhem walk in.
"Ah! I was wondering when you would appear," Amatus says, no effort put into standing.
"And miss claiming my spot? No chance," Dahlia grabs a dining room chair and places herself between Amatus and Vitali, one of whom is incredibly uncomfortable with the new arrival.
Yet, just when the screen transitions to the start of the score reveal, the elevator doors open again.
"She sabotaged me!" Eleanora's voice does the job of getting half of the Careers to jump up in defense. Vitali, Klara, and Ronan all stand facing the newcomer, a combination of confusion and annoyance on their faces.
"Uhh…guys?" Vitali falls into the category of confusion as Eleanora stands facing Dahlia.
"Rule 1: don't fight other tributes in the Capitol." Amatus doesn't need to remind anyone of this rule, but he does anyway as he stands to face her, "What do you want Five?"
"She sabotaged my private session. Unless having a rack of broken sickles is considered normal?" Eleanora's face is red and anger fuels every word.
"These are bold accusations, lady. Maybe some evidence would help your case," Dahlia spits back without care.
"The evidence was in the damn room. I cannot be the only one who noticed everything was split and broken apart." Eleanora's eyes float around the room, to the ones brave enough to meet them.
Amatus did notice…some broken pieces. He didn't register at the time. How didn't he notice?
Suddenly it's not the private session that he's seeing but it's his own Academy back in Two. It's the list of rankings posted to the wall.
And it's the name of Renatus Zanetti-Carvus that sits on top.
"The scores are starting," Ronan says, starting the fight before the fun begins. Everyone returns to their seat except Eleanora, who stands over them all behind the couch.
"And now, I am honored to bring you the scores for the tributes of the 110th Hunger Games.
First, we have Choux Macbeth, with a six.
Next, Vitali Ignatia, with an eight.
Klara Esosa, with a nine.
Amatus Zanetti, with a ten!"
"Amazing, amazing," Amatus says to everyone. His eyes fall to Choux. "The hell happened in yours? A six isn't good, girl." Choux just shrugs him off and directs him back to the television, where the pair from Four are on deck.
"Caliadne Karpathos, with an eleven! And Ronan Nieimi, with a ten. Great performance from these Careers as always."
An eleven? An eleven? It's shameful enough to share a score with the boy, but to be one-upped? Who the hell is she, even?
Applause and praise go to the Fours, and Ronan in particular finds himself complimenting Cali a little too excessively for Amatus' taste.
"Eleanora Darzsky, with a seven! And Tamin Sirket, also with a seven." Her scoff behind Amatus tells him how she feels about it.
"I was set up," she mutters. No one responds as the scores continue playing. District Six and Seven pass and the Careers are listening carefully as Dahlia's headshot fades onto the screen.
"Dahlia Akhem, with a nine!" Any calm that might've fallen over the room dissipates as soon as the score is revealed. Eleanora is yelling, Dahlia is celebrating, and the rest of the Careers are placing themselves between the two to stop a bloodbath.
"She cheated!" Eleanora's voice is full of anger, full of hatred.
(Amatus is familiar with that tone. He had it too, when Renatus took his spot.)
"What proof do you have, then?" Amatus asks, standing up and facing the angry girl. Ronan blocks her way to Dahlia, and Cali is just beside him. Choux and Klara stand on the other side of Dahlia, with Vitali right behind them.
"All of my sickles were broken. Those were my weapons and she knew that and she broke them all." Eleanora spits out.
(Were they broken? Amatus went straight to using a war hammer. Any attention to the sickles lasted mere seconds.)
"Her session was after yours," Klara says. Then, she tilts her head. "They did look…unsteady when I glanced at them." Her eyes fall on Vitali.
"I didn't notice anything…" Vitali says softly.
Amatus remembers destroying the training dummies with his weapon. He remembers each strike, each move of his muscles. It is so easy to block out the trainer parsing through the sickles, shaking his head, and leaving.
"Maybe they were tampered with." Amatus' eyes fall on each of the tributes around him. Someone knows more than they're letting on.
Treachery is the most dishonorable thing a Career could do, especially this close to the Games. And if the Capitol finds out a Careers let a liar into their ranks, how long until they look into the history of them all?
"The Careers do not house snakes. If you are one, as she claims, we cannot trust you," as Amatus' words flow out, the shift on Dahlia's face is apparent.
"The bloodbath is in two days. You would rather fight alongside me than her," her voice is low, but she raises her head higher. "Yes. I think the bloodbath will be where I prevail. And then I'll accept your answer."
With one last glare at Eleanora, Dahlia leaves the Two floor for her own. The remaining Careers idle awkwardly, some conversations shared amongst themselves, but not for long. Amatus isn't sure what the rest of them do. No, he remains in his head.
He hopes he's right about Dahlia, and he hopes his actions will be praised in the Capitol. An honorable boy from Two, willing to make the hard choices to dispel liars to protect his own, who stands by his morals no matter what.
(Because a boy like that would never sabotage his cousin for a spot in the Hunger Games.)
Choux Macbeth, 18, District 1
The Careers are confused.
Chatter happens around Choux yet she carefully avoids being pulled into it. She doesn't move from her spot, rather finds herself in a rather perfect spot to hear portions of everyone's conversation. The Fours discuss the argument, continuing to hold Eleanora back from striking, while Amatus continues to ramble about his morals and the importance of being honest to Dahlia who takes it in but hardly focuses on him. Klara and Vitali stand near the latter two but do not participate.
Eventually, Vitali starts to move step by step away from the conversation. He doesn't excuse himself like a normal person would, he just leaves. No one stops him, Choux even joins him, even though she can tell that is the last thing he wants.
She can at least do him the favor of not trying to start a conversation.
The two board the elevator together to return to the floor just below them. She watches him carefully, as carefully as his movements are. No one else noticed him and Klara disappear from training the previous night, and ever since then, the boy has been on edge. Well, more on edge than usual.
There are a lot of pieces Choux still has to put in place, but the bigger picture is starting to form. It excites her.
The elevator doors open and he exits without a word. Choux hangs back and waits until he turns the corner. After a few seconds, the doors close in her face, and bring her up to Two's floor.
Eleanora is seething still she doesn't notice a passenger until the doors shut again and begin their ascent to Five's floor.
"What do you want?" she asks.
"I want to know what happened. What really happened," Choux speaks softly, curiously. She does want to know what happened.
She wants to know what the girl thinks happened.
Choux knows the truth, of course. She and Dahlia destroyed the sickles in the training room, and Choux finished the job with the stash in the private sessions. Just as she planned, Eleanora's session was disrupted.
"All my weapons were damaged. The Gamemakers didn't care!" Eleanora explains. Her tone shifts, "I tried to regain my bearing, to show them other skills, but I wasted too much time at the start. I would have easily scored higher if that weren't the case." The elevator doors open, bringing the pair to Eleanora's floor. She steps between the threshold, stopping the doors from closing.
"Amatus made his point. He does not trust a liar. And I do not think you are one," Choux says, watching Eleanora's eyes squint.
"So, he's inviting me in by exclusion?" she asks.
"He's asking for a show at the bloodbath, I believe."
Eleanora's quiet for some time.
"This whole week, he's been playing games with us. And now, someone's playing games on top of those games. I will see where the bloodbath takes me. But I cannot be selected because of Dahlia's faults. No, it must be because he sees me for what I'm worth. Is that so hard to ask for?"
In a game of life and death, yes, is what Choux would say. Instead, she strikes.
"Don't fret. I'll support you when others don't," the words slip off of Choux's tongue like butter. She's uttered those same words so many times now that it's natural to her. First to Astel. Then to Dahlia.
When the bloodbath begins, she will assess who the true competitors are. And only then, will she decide who she told the truth to.
Moriko "Mori" Ostrya, 12, District 12
Mori, Aizen, and Grey sit in the living room together in silence after the recap of the scores. Aizen and Mori share the couch, with Grey in the single chair beside Aizen. The television begins playing various Games-based programs, small moments from the Chariots, the score reveals, talk show hosts with their predictions; whatever it takes to keep people watching.
The Twelves aren't watching though. They haven't even started talking about their scores. Not that there's much to talk about, Mori assumes.
"I think we can work with those scores," Grey says, closed notebook resting on his lap. Aizen stares at his hands, too afraid to look at his mentor. Mori knows Aizen well enough to know he thinks Grey is disappointed in his four.
Not like Mori's six is anything to carry them. Not that Mori has intentions of playing for sponsors. She guarantees the story that haunted her in Twelve followed her to the Capitol.
As long as it doesn't fall to Aizen, too. That's all she can hope for.
Everything she's done to this point has been in an attempt to protect Aizen, to draw negative attention away from them. She's placed herself between him and judging eyes in training. She's accepted Exa into their alliance, as her reputation amongst the rest of the tributes is most neutral. Mori also notices a genuineness to her. She wants to help.
As long as she doesn't hurt him.
(Mori's guilt doesn't need any more fuel.)
"How?" Mori asks once she realizes Aizen isn't speaking up.
"Well, a six for a young tribute is certainly a standout. We can prepare an answer for the interviews tomorrow, in case they ask how you got it. Although a four is more expected, it's certainly not something to be ashamed of, Aizen," Grey says softly to try to engage the young boy. It sort of works, Aizen is now actively making eye contact with their mentor.
"How are we going to survive the bloodbath? There's so many kids…they're all so big…" Mori can't see his face, but she can hear the crying begin.
(Every time he cries, it breaks her heart. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't-)
"Hey. Look at me. All those kids you're scared of, they're not going to go after you. You two, and Exa, you guys will get out of there as soon as the timer hits zero. By the time the scary kids get ahold of the weapons and start fighting each other, you three will be gone. You'll run, and you'll keep going until you find a safe space for shelter. I…I wish I had insight into the arena, but anywhere kept out of normal sight will be good. Up high, or in a building or a cave. Those are always good spots to look. And as soon as I can, I'll send you a sponsor package." Grey speaks so calmly that Mori wonders how many years into mentoring he learned how to stay calm for his tributes. He only won four years ago, and District Twelve hasn't been close to bringing home a Victor since.
She's fighting for that to change this year, but how successful will she be if Aizen's fighting against her?
Of course, he would want her to go home. Throughout her life, Aizen Miura has been the only one to ever see her for…who she is, not who the stories make her out to be.
(She can't lose him. She can't lose the only person who has ever looked at Mori with awe in place of disgust. Becoming Victor, for her, would only amplify it all. Her parents' death, the fire, would never be forgotten, not as long as she lives.)
She may only be twelve, but she knows that sometimes the voices of the dead are more powerful than the living. She knows what Grey is doing, she overheard Aizen the other night.
(Hearing her story told last night made her chest tighten up at first, but as she listened to the words he said, the anxieties released and in their place was…something she couldn't quite place.)
"What if we get separated? What if I can't see you over the Cornucopia? What if…" Aizen starts muttering to himself.
"Wherever your plate ends up being, I will come to you. And then we will run into the arena. I promise. We'll be okay," she takes his hands and the tears continue to fall but they're joined by a weak smile.
(She holds a brave face for him, but deep down, she's scared too. She's scared of the inevitable unknown going into the arena. She's terrified of losing him, but she's also terrified of leaving him alone. Could she bring them both to the final three? Sacrifice herself in the fight against their last opponent to ensure his hands remain clean?
In every Games she's seen before, albeit not many, she's never seen a plan like that work.)
The two of them have already uprooted expectations of tributes from Twelve. Grey is helping them with their potential as best he can, but there is only so much the three of them can prepare for. The Gamemakers love to uproot plans, push tributes into danger, see them under high-stress situations, and watch them make decisions they might otherwise not make.
Here and now is where Mori has the most control over her actions. She needs to take advantage of that.
"Let's get some sleep, okay?" she says to Aizen, whose face is still stained with tears. She wipes them away with her sleeve. It only makes him cry harder.
She walks with him to their rooms and waits until she hears him crawl into bed before returning to their mentor.
"I thought you were going to sle-"
"I want to give you Aizen's story," she interrupts him. Grey's taken off guard by this request, she can tell by how long it takes him to respond. When he does, he gives her a simple gesture to sit next to him.
(He starts with simple questions. It takes Mori a while to answer. She can't remember the last time she spoke with someone alone for more than a minute. Most, if not all of her interactions with Grey have been alongside Aizen.
She's not doing this for herself, though. She pushes through her reservations, and she answers Grey's questions as accurately as she can.)
She hopes when Aizen returns Victor, he can fill in the gaps.
Aleida Edevane, Victor of the 88th Hunger Games
I have to be careful, Aleida reminds himself as he pours another drink. His shaky hands bring the glass to his mouth, but he's unable to drink it.
Pull yourself together. Aleida wonders how often he's told himself a variation of those same words. He'd think, at some point, they'd start to resonate with him.
All because he nearly got caught.
Technically, he only stumbled upon the two boys in an unrestricted area. He could argue he followed them down there, or they triggered a sensor or anything. No one would have to know who was downstairs first.
(Except, the Capitol always knows.)
He didn't report the boys to any authority. Reckless is a word many would use to describe Aleida, but he's a fighter. He's been fighting since he volunteered.
Since he intended to die, in that fight after all. He's still awaiting his turn.
He found Blythe relatively quickly, in a separate mentor's lounge a block away from the training grounds. Every year, mentors find comfort in sticking with each other rather than spending time with their tributes. Aleida can't blame any of them. Year after year, bonding with two kids who are most likely both going to end up dead, wondering if anything could have been done to change that. It doesn't matter that the answer is always no, it hurts all the same.
So many would rather spend time with those who live rather than those whom they expect to die.
"Hey," he interrupts Blythe's conversation with a mentor Aleida can't place right away. They excuse themselves, and they let Aleida guide them to the corner of the room.
"I…ran into your tribute on the elevator. The boy," Aleida starts. Blythe's expression doesn't shift. They simply stir their straw in their drink like this is the fifth time someone has presented them with this same information.
"What did he want, then?" Blythe asks.
"Are you familiar with the program he was in? Is, in?" Aleida asks. Blythe nods.
"A prestigious one, at that. What about it?" Blythe takes a sip of their drink and Aleida longs for his own.
Later.
Although technology has never once been up Aleida's alley, he's able to spitball the main points Mishra covered. The tech they were designing, the files he found. And worst of all, the implications of what their inventions were being used for.
Killing innocent district civilians.
"Ah. I can see why an idea like that would freak him out. I wish he had come to me with this matter, of course. I'd be happy to tell him what I know," Blythe says so matter-of-fact Aleida cannot decipher the meaning behind his words.
"Well, I'm sure he'll appreciate that. Thank you," Aleida says.
"Of course. He'll be pleased to hear the truth. That the tech is improving the lives of everyone, District and Capitol. Do not worry, I will talk to him. Enjoy your evening," Blythe pats the back of Aleida's arm.
"Hey-have you seen Nausicaa? I haven't seen her in two days," Aleida asks. Blythe shakes their head and takes their leave.
One problem solved, another still as open as a bad sore.
Making good on his promise to Mishra, Aleida grabs a drink from the lounge and begins his return to his room.
(He doesn't notice the Peacekeeper following him.)
The ice melts on the walk back, yet Aleida still doesn't find a moment to take a sip. He sets the glass down on his nightstand, picking up the phone to call his house back in Victor's Village.
(He doesn't know the phone line has been tapped for a week.)
The phone rings once. Twice. On the third ring, Aleida starts to panic. After a few more rings, he hangs up and tries again.
(He doesn't know that the home has been unwillingly vacated, and the Peacekeeper who followed him has been waiting for this moment since he received his orders.)
(Aleida may never know. While waiting for no one to answer on the other line, the butt of the Peacekeepers gun comes in contact with his skull and all he sees is black.)
yippee private sessions!
i hope you enjoyed this fun chapter :3 if you didn't I'm sorry it may not get better from here ehehehe
scores below!
see you in two weeks for words from hem, val, ozzy, davidson, ronan, and mishra!
Scores:
Choux – 6
Val – 8
Klara – 9
Amatus – 10
Bazooka – 5
Mishra – 6
Cali – 11
Ronan – 10
Eleanora – 7
Tamin – 7
Exa – 5
Davidson – 6
Astel – 8
Owain – 7
Dahlia – 9
Ozzy – 6
Hem – 3
Roman – 8
Becca – 5
Vetiver – 8
Reagan – 5
Chaffinch – 4
Mori – 6
Aizen – 4