Revenants: The 149th Hunger Games

by Reign Falls

Stagnation is the enemy of ambition. When one of the most crucial elements of the Capitol's regime begins to run dry - The Hunger Games - alarm bells begin to ring. To regain growing public disinterest before the ever approaching Quarter Quell, the Capitol opts to wipe the slate clean, employing a brand new Head Gamemaker to impose their most daring Hunger Games yet. SYOT Closed

6. The Underbelly Of Society

Chapter 6 - Night Before The Reapings

The Underbelly Of Society

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Mavis St. Clair

18

~ District 1 Tribute ~

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It's not very often that you think to yourself, that you could be laying your eyes upon something for the very last time. There is no saying when you may never see something again, whether it be because that very thing travels far away to a point of no return, or perhaps because your own life doesn't permit it due to factors outside of your control.

It wasn't the first time that Mavis de la Rune had rested her gaze upon something, only to never see it again. She was certainly used to that kind of loss by the current point. However, if there was a time she prayed that she'd be able to revisit the sight she had before her, it certainly would be this time around.

Mavis smiled softly as she stared down into her lap, whilst she cradled the bundle of joy that she had given life to. She watched intently as she dangled the little rattling toy above the infant snuggled in the crook of her left arm, jingling it and creating a clacking sound as the small, colourful, plastic shapes collided into one another. Mavis couldn't help but chuckle as the small child's sparkling brown eyes shimmered with fascination, her stubby little arms reaching out for the toy as she giggled adorably.

This was a sight that Mavis would cherish, no matter where she would go. It had only been a year since the young woman had become a mother, something she had never thought she'd be suited to, seeing as how her own mother had essentially abandoned her when she was young. Mavis had been certain it would complicate her life, shutting open doors and opportunities that she had always figured would be an option for her in her young life.

It turned out however, that becoming a mother was one of the best things that had ever happened to Mavis. She had been angry, aimless, resentful towards the world; yet she had been given new purpose in life with the arrival of her daughter, Echo. It was a new feeling entirely to Mavis, someone who had been looking out for herself almost all of her life, suddenly given the ultimate responsibility of caring for her own offspring. Despite the reservations she had initially possessed about falling pregnant - she wouldn't change a thing in retrospect.

"What is it?" Mavis cooed softly as she continued to watch Echo reaching out for the toy. "What's this little thing I have here? Would you like to hold it?"

Echo - despite of course not understanding a word of what Mavis said - seemingly giggled in affirmation, eliciting a series of incoherent babbles that only a baby could produce. Mavis couldn't help but feel her chest swell at the sweetness of the moment, her young daughter bringing out emotions she had never thought herself to possess. Once upon a time, she'd have been damned if she had ever allowed someone to see her so vulnerable and attached to something. But in that moment, she couldn't care less as to what other people would think. All she wanted, was to spend these fleeting moments with her daughter. For all she knew… it could be her last.

"Here you go," Mavis whispered affectionately, as she lowered the rattling toy into her daughters tiny hands, hands that immediately brought the toy to Echo's mouth for her to start chewing on. Echo was still in the teething phase, so it was quite often she'd gnaw on whatever her little hands could get ahold of. Whether it be remotes, plates, even a pair of shoes at one point - Echo would give it a chew. At least the toy was designed to be chewed on, Mavis had to learn that the hard way after cleaning the slobber off of her boots.

"It's almost time for you to go to bed now," Mavis sighed, her eyes watching longingly as her infant daughter had the time of her life with a measly toy. Echo lived a simple life; eating, shitting, and sleeping. In many ways, Mavis was envious of her, wishing she could've had a life as simple as that. That was far from reality however, as the past, present, and future were all much too convoluted for Mavis's liking.

It all started with her past of course, a past riddled with complications that made her who she was today. As far as Mavis was aware, her life started very much like Echo's had; two loving parents living their teenage lives. That's about where the similarities ended however, as naturally things began to turn into a downwards spiral.

There was a certain prejudice among the people of District 1, many of which who had views of purity and perfection, ready to shame those that didn't adhere to their ideal perception of customs and class. This was particularly prominent amongst middle to high society, who had developed a crazed expectation of appearance and their own self-image. It was almost a subset of the Capitol's societal hierarchy; the people of District 1 often liked to appease their superiors in the Capitol and mimic their ways. Mavis always suspected that District 1 as a whole suffered from little-brother syndrome in regards to the Capitol, trying their best to replicate and assimilate into their culture.

One of the things that was highly looked down upon within District 1, was teenage mothers - and a step lower than that; bastard children. Mavis had been a victim of both in her youth, born to teenage parents outside of wedlock, meaning they were destined to struggle from the start. Both her father - Jacques de la Rune, and her mother Luxanna de la Rune - at that point being Luxanna Beaumont, were banished from their families when the two conglomerates found out about Luxanna's pregnancy, and were forced out onto the streets to fend for themselves.

Mavis's very conception had taken everything away from her parents. Their wealth, their reputations, even their place at the Career Academy because they simply could no longer afford it. It must've hit them terribly hard, Mavis had no idea how they put up with such a situation.

Well, it might've been a tad generous to say her mother 'put up' with what had happened. To Mavis's knowledge, Luxanna had been excited to be a mother at first, despite being a teenager and having been kicked out of her family. However, Luxanna eventually delivered Mavis, and to her father's dismay, Luxanna ended up developing post-partum depression. Her decisions and actions become progressively erratic and irrational, leaving Jacques to predominantly care for the then infant Mavis. Eventually, Luxanna's situation came to a boiling point, where she left her husband and child, and joined the Peacekeeper regiment in an effort to run away from her life.

It was only the early stages of Mavis's life, but even now, she could remember how trepidatious and turmoiled that period was for both her and her father. They had lost a vital pillar of support in regards to raising her, and as a result; Mavis experienced her first taste of abandonment, and in hindsight - the first time she had ever laid her eyes on someone for the last time.

Mavis knew she'd never see her mother again, it was simply out of the realm of possibility. Luxanna had been dispatched on a twenty-year service to District 8, due to the Peacekeeper Syndicate's desperate attempt to quell the growing rise of gang crime in the district. By the time Luxanna had realised her mistake, it was too late to abort her commitment, and she was forced to tough it out or become an Avox as punishment for abandoning her post.

Over the first several years, Mavis had communicated to her mother through letters, the only way the two could talk due to cross-district telecommunications being extremely restricted. However, she never heard her voice, the motherly tone of Luxanna only a distant memory in the back of Mavis's mind. There came a time when Mavis no longer was able to receive her mothers messages. Mavis was forced to slip into the abyss due to factors outside of her control, and as a result - strip her identity to stave off those that had tried to find her at the time.

The messages her mother sent ended up going to nobody, remaining unclaimed at the postal office Mavis had frequented so thoroughly beforehand. It wasn't until years later, that word of her mothers death had gotten back to her.

The Beaumont Family was a prestigious family within District 1, even claiming the glory of several Victors over the almost century and a half of the duration of the Hunger Games. In recent times, their family had even received another Victor amongst their ranks, that being Lucietta Beaumont, Victor of the 145th Hunger Games, or in other words - Luxanna's younger sister, and Mavis's aunt. Despite Luxanna essentially being disowned by the Beaumont family, word of her death still spread to them, earning the topic quite the spotlight amongst District 1's citizens.

Naturally, this trickled back down to Mavis once the news became widespread, and all she could do was bottle it inside. She honestly didn't know how she felt upon learning about her mothers demise, there was a certain inner conflict when she had first heard about it. She still possessed a love for her mother; Luxanna was flawed, but ultimately she had realised the grave mistake she had made. However, at the end of the day, she had still abandoned Mavis and her father in a time of need, to the point that her mother was practically disassociated from her life. She had no nice memories or fond affection for the woman, therefore in a way; she felt she had nobody to grieve.

Mavis supposed a small part of her hoped to eventually reconcile with her mother once she had fulfilled her Peacekeeper duties, but as fate would have it, that day never eventuated. The best she could do was embrace her present, and especially - her future.

That future was as uncertain as it was inevitable, and most importantly, it was rapidly approaching. In less than twenty-four hours, two major life events would happen to Mavis, that would be sure to shape the rest of her time on this Earth. One was certainly for the better, a day she had greatly anticipated for months prior. The other however… even gave the usually stoic Mavis a gruelling sense of uncertainty.

The more daunting of the events, was the cementing of her becoming District 1's female tribute for the upcoming games. The Reaping was tomorrow, and as luck would have it, Mavis had won the right to volunteer over her adversaries at the Career Academy in a hard fought contest that she ultimately had proven herself in. Such a feat was challenging to achieve in District 1, more so than even Two and Four as far as she was aware. Whilst the latter two districts traditionally focused on raw talent and odds of winning, District 1 had always taken a different approach, with combat ability always placing second when compared to the focus on their volunteers appearance; a trait which was considered fundamental for the consideration of the volunteer candidate.

A flawless image was everything to District 1, and more often than not, their Academy Board would take into account how appealing and generally attractive their volunteers were as well. They always sought to maintain their image of beautiful tributes, which made the pool of eligible volunteers all the more constricted.

However, with the addition of yet another Victor for District 2, following the victory of Delphine Evergaze, it appeared that the Academy Board had decided to try a different approach for this year, focusing more so on their strongest candidates rather than their most aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps it was due to the uncertainty of the upcoming games under the direction of Aegis Harrow, with his general style of arena still a mystery to all. However, the most important reason was obvious to most; they simply couldn't afford to fall behind District 2. In the Academy's eyes, they had taken drastic measures with their selection for the current year, in order to challenge the reigning District.

Now, Mavis was by no means unattractive - at least she didn't think so - but she certainly didn't fall into the traditional standards of District 1 beauty that most had become accustomed to. She lacked the blonde hair, instead possessing a head of long, dark brown hair that she'd often have tied up in a bun. Her tanned skin took on more of a tawny complexion in comparison to the fair, porcelain skin District 1 tributes traditionally exhibited, accompanied by a series of freckles that dotted her upper cheeks and nose. Alongside this, were dark eyes that almost appeared black in most lighting, big lips always held in a resting frown, and dark eyebrows that gave her face a brooding expression that many would describe as 'bored' or 'serious'. She was fairly tall in comparison to other women, around 5'9" which was certainly above average for girls her age, and overall she had a fairly athletic build rather than curvy.

She hadn't inherited many of the Beaumont traits that her mother had possessed - cerulean blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, and a curvy figure that would make the Capitol citizens swoon - but rather took on more of the biracial features of her father; a man who himself was half Asian-American. All in all, Mavis was a pretty girl, who simply didn't adhere to the traditional standards of beauty in District 1. Fortunately for her, this didn't appear to pose as an issue this year - especially if her future District Partner was anything to go by. The selection of Cairo Bronte to be Mavis's fellow volunteer was what truly had some others in uproar; the news of her own selection seeming as unheard as a whisper in the wind.

Of course, Mavis cared very little for who her District Partner would be, nor for the thoughts and opinions of others, especially when both her future volunteering, and that second major life event were so close to occurring; that said event being one she had longed for over the last few years of her life.

The second major turning point that would be unfolding the next day, to put it quite simply, was that Mavis de la Rune, would officially become Mavis St. Clair as of tomorrow morning.

For quite some time, she had already been going by Mavis St. Clair in an effort to conceal her identity. As far as most were aware, Mavis de la Rune was either missing, or dead - she didn't care which one. As long as people had no idea who she was, that's all that mattered to her. Even for the Reapings, she had managed to forge her identity, posing as an orphaned girl when registering who had no knowledge of her family lineage back when she was twelve.

However, the following morning, she would legally take on the St. Clair name, when she finally tied the knot with her beloved betrothed; her soul mate - Otherland St. Clair.

Just as the thought of the man grazed her mind, she felt a warm hand grasp her shoulder, the hand squeezing it affectionately as the culprit lowered their face from behind to rest beside hers, matching the height of her sitting position. She picked up the man's scent, the neuron's within her firing off as the aroma of a deep vanilla cologne, accentuated with alluring notes of chestnut, lavender and oud, invaded her nostrils. It was a distinctive smell, a signature quality of Otherland that always made her weak in the knees.

To Mavis, it was sexy, insatiable, but most importantly; comforting. It had a sense of familiarity to it, that always made her feel safe and secure. Just smelling it made he remember that Otherland was around, and that he'd always be there. She was no longer… alone.

"Indeed it is time for bed," Otherland murmured softly, a subtle hint of cheek within his tone. "For both of you. You've got a big day tomorrow."

Mavis turned her gaze to look at him, her eyes narrowed defiantly as she studied the grin plastered on his chiselled face, the early stages of stubble growth beginning to creep up on his fair-skinned chin.

"And I, think it's time for you to shave," she retorted playfully, using her finger to tap his nose. "I'm not kissing you with that scruff on your face."

"Hah! Not if I have anything to say about it," Otherland chuckled, before rapidly darting his face forward to plant a peck on Mavis's lips.

"Agh!" Mavis squealed, rubbing the parts of her face that had been tickled by his scratchy facial hair. "You're lucky I can't defend myself right now! I can't fight you with a baby in my arms."

"Aw come on!" Otherland laughed, clearly amused by his deceptive tactics. "The big, strong Career girl can't handle a little facial hair?"

"It's not that I can't handle it, it's simply a preference," Mavis insisted, turning her nose upwards and closing her eyes righteously. "Why do you allow it to grow anyway? You're only nineteen, not thirty!"

"It makes me look more handsome… charming… mature…" Otherland listed jokingly, trailing off before his final jab. "…And it annoys you to no end."

"That it does," Mavis muttered, the hint of a smile managing to override her resting frown, a smile only Otherland or Echo could force her to produce. "But I'm warning you, if it's still there when we get eloped… no kisses for you."

"That's if you can resist the temptation," Otherland responded, sounding rather doubtful of her threats. He was right of course, there was no way she'd resist the man she loved, the one that had helped her claw out of the dark place she had found herself in.

It had been a few years back at that point, when Mavis and Otherland had first met. It had all started when Mavis had lost her father, another person she had gazed at unknowingly for the final time. Following the years after Luxanna's abandonment, Jacques was the only one left to care for a young Mavis, with virtually nothing to their names as her father struggled to keep them afloat. Luxanna would send back money from District 8 when she could, but it certainly wasn't enough to support the two of them as they were forced deeper and deeper into the underbelly of District 1.

Unable to land a job due to his shoddy reputation following the exile from his family, Jacques was forced to turn to crime in order to keep both Mavis and his own head afloat. It was petty crime to begin with, such as thievery and look-outs for more nefarious criminals. However, as Jacques got more immersed within the criminal world, the more talented he became.

He soon began to become more involved with drug trades, money laundering, and gang dealings, often being used as the front man to infiltrate more corporate settings due to his family's name. Unfortunately, the day came when he was exposed for his connections to the criminal underworld, and before Mavis knew it - the Peacekeepers were busting down their apartment door.

It had been Jacques who had allowed her to escape, her father prioritising Mavis's safety ahead of his own. She had fled down the fire-escape, whilst her father delayed the Peacekeeper's pursuit, only to be presumably whisked away. She had waited for him to return for weeks, hoping he had somehow made it out. However she never heard from or about her father again, his fate still a mystery to her to the current day. He very well could still be incarcerated in prison, or worse yet - executed and six-feet under.

She hadn't had the time to dwell on the loss, she was on her own in an instant, forced to live on the streets and fare for herself as she adjusted to her new reality. That had been the case for months of Mavis's life, all the while trying to evade shady people that would try and lure her off the streets, and Peacekeeper units that only knew of her as a street kid, who'd likely ship her off to an orphanage. Mavis wanted none of that, she wanted to lead her own life, even if it was at the cost of a roof over her head.

It was only when she had been caught pick-pocketing in desperation, that her luck began to change. The man whom she had attempted to pick-pocket, recognised her as the daughter of Jacques de la Rune, the man in question being an old criminal partner of her father, and as luck would have it - a good friend.

Taking pity on Mavis, the man introduced her to one of the few ways her father had managed to scrape money together during the early years of their struggles; that being underground cage fights. Mavis had no idea to the extent of how popular these illegal cage matches were, but soon enough she was introduced to a whole new world of money-making. Many of the fighters in older age-classes were previous students of the Career Academy whom weren't selected to volunteer for the games, left with nowhere else to utilise their skills and resorting to fighting in these rather brutal battles. The gambling culture revolving around these fights brought in hefty profits for the organisers, and allowed ample payments for the fighters and even higher rewards for the winners.

Jacques had been one of those previous Career Academy students, having dropped out due to his inability to finance his way back into enrolment. Unfortunately for Jacques, having dropped out of the Academy fairly early in comparison to most competitors, he was nowhere near as skilled as they were, and often lost which limited the amount he was able to make.

For Mavis however, at the ripe old age of eleven, the competitors she faced were other street girls who had no other options, and usually possessed as limited fighting ability as she had at the time. It was to her fortune, that throwing herself into the world of bare-knuckle boxing, that she was able to teach herself how to fight around the same time that many other people her age would've been training for the first time at the Academy.

Getting the shit kicked out of her every week built up conditioning and resilience in Mavis, she wasn't taught how to fight with a sword, but rather treated to first-hand experience on how to punish another person through sheer brutality. She was unrefined, aggressive… but became extremely effective.

These underground cage matches built up a whole new wall around her, she was as tough as nails, and nothing could penetrate her cold, icy exterior. Showing any kind of vulnerability in the cage was a weakness, and could easily be used against her.

Mavis began to grow proficient, her tough body much more superior in strength to many of the dainty girls her age. She became notorious in the underground fighting scene for her age bracket, developing such an impressive unbeaten run that the organisers started to put her up against boys. In that point in time, she was ruthless, with her brawling skills improving with every match she faced. Whomever she was put up against, she'd have them knocked to the floor within only a few rounds, whether it be unconscious, or tapping out in humiliation, having been beaten by a mere girl.

Despite this however, Mavis couldn't help but feel isolated, and untouchable; as if nobody could compare to her. That was of course, until they finally gave her a challenger that could compare - a boy by the name of Otherland St. Clair.

Mavis had been dismissive of him before they had even entered the ring, she hadn't thought much of anyone she had faced thus far, and didn't have any hopes that things would change that night. Otherland had seemed like a pretty-boy, surrounded by arrogant friends that thought he'd beat the brakes off of a female opponent - despite her resounding record.

To Mavis's surprise though, Otherland hadn't been cocky like the rest of the crowd he brought with him. He had been humble, well-mannered, and was an all-around good sport in relation to the match. Even Mavis was thrown off, she had difficulty being her usual standoffish self to the boy, because in all honesty - she felt like kind of an asshole to do so.

The two eventually fought, and to Mavis's complete and utter shock, the fight ended with a unanimous draw. Her unbeaten streak wasn't necessarily ended, but there was certainly a blot on her record now that bothered her to no end, a blot that in her mind; tarnished the image she had built of herself. Meanwhile, Otherland had gotten made fun of by his friends for not being able to finish the job, but he had seemed to be in good spirits overall.

This somehow infuriated Mavis. How was he so fine with not winning? How did he not feel humiliated like Mavis had? She had to find out for herself, not only did she want to break this boy's spirit, but she wanted to prove to herself that he wasn't anything special, that he had only pulled off some outrageous fluke against her.

Mavis challenged him to a private fight, between only the two of them with no eyes or outside noise to influence either side. She wanted a battle of attrition, a contest in which they could only rely solely on their respective fighting ability.

And Otherland wiped the floor with her.

It was Mavis's first defeat since her early years of admittance to the fighting tournaments. She recalled how helpless she had felt in the moment, trying to truly comprehend how she had regressed from a draw to an indisputable defeat at the hands of this boy. She had been reduced to a crumpled heap on the canvas in the aftermath, sobbing her heart out in pure frustration as she had repetitively slammed her fist against the floor in a rage.

Looking back, she was embarrassed by the outcome - not the defeat itself; but how immaturely she had handled it. To her surprise however, Otherland had consoled her, silently kneeling beside her as she vented her frustration to a boy that had just been her adversary. It was as if Otherland could read her better than herself; an aimless girl who rested too much pride upon her ability to do everything for herself.

Once Mavis had ceased her crying, Otherland had stayed with her as she stared into space, with her taking a few moments to realise the boy had a comforting arm around her shoulders as she had leaned her head into his chest. It was a soothing feeling, a feeling she had lost after losing both her parents. It was companionship, reassurance; the presence of another human being who didn't judge her for her vulnerabilities.

The two would eventually begin to spar more outside of the competition, training with each other and growing a bond that Mavis found simply indescribable. Otherland would give her tips that helped with her mindset, and she would return the favour with tips on technique. Mavis quickly learnt that Otherland hadn't beaten her because he was better, but rather because she was blinded by emotion that day, completely throwing off her ability to think rationally and strategically.

Mavis would beat Otherland in many of their spars from then on, and vice-versa as Otherland himself would also continue to improve. They gradually started to become the one thing that Mavis had never had in life; a partnership. The more they got to know each other, the harder Mavis began to fall for the boy who had taken a chance on the hostile person that she was. It all felt so natural to Mavis by the time the pair started dating, he became her everything; her compass, her confidant, and most importantly her lifeline.

"What are you thinking about?" Otherland teased softly, appearing to notice the look of reflection on her face. Mavis couldn't help but feel her cheeks flush a little with embarrassment, her eyes averting from his and finding those of Echo's once more. She couldn't tell him her real thoughts in that moment, it would only go to his head.

"I'm just thinking about tomorrow's Reaping," Mavis lied, her face taking on a more stoic expression. Her future role of being a tribute was a bitter-sweet situation for her really. She had always wanted to become a tribute and of course a Victor as a result. Mavis knew her father had always wanted to enrol her in the Career Academy, however he never could quite afford it. She used to think she had wanted it for the glory that came with winning a Hunger Games back before Otherland entered the picture, but since then, she had come to realise exactly what she wanted from victory.

Stability.

The fame, the dominance, the fighting; it was all such a trivial prospect to her nowadays. What she really wanted, was the ability to live life in comfort with her soon-to-be husband and her daughter. They'd be given a brand new place in the Victor's Village, endless riches that would ensure a future for Echo where they never had to worry about money, or underground fighting competitions ever again. Many would think of her as materialistic for that ambition. Money isn't everything they'd argue, and to that, Mavis would vehemently disagree. Everything was fuelled by money at the end of the day, it's what people opted to do with that money that differentiated the worth of that prize.

The very fact that this future was now a viable option to Mavis was miraculous in itself. It was only ever an opportunity to those that had access to the Career Academy, the odds of a regular kid from District 1 entering the games were next to none. A volunteer was always produced, and they had to have been chosen from the Academy itself.

Mavis and Otherland had both been fortunate enough to be able to use their winnings from their numerous fights to be able to pay themselves through to the Career Academy, where Mavis was able to refine her otherwise undisciplined street-style of fighting. It was the ticket she had needed, and within a rapid period of time, she had excelled to the top of her age bracket through her ability to adapt and learn in combat. She became more proficient with smaller weapons, such as blades or sais, however she always felt more at home with her own two fists.

Of course, her future became much more uncertain around the time she was seventeen, when she had fallen pregnant with Otherland's child. For around eight months, Mavis could do nothing about her training as she masked her pregnancy with a faux illness that tricked both the Academy officials and those that ran the underground fights.

Otherland himself pulled out of the Academy, knowing he wouldn't pursue the path of a Career Tribute after becoming destined to become a father. Now that the boy was nineteen, his opportunity had came and went without a second thought. Mavis however, refused to let that pathway be shut off from her life completely, and went back to the Academy following the birth of Echo. A year later, she had been designated as the official volunteer for the 149th Hunger Games, with the Reaping set to take place a mere day before she turned nineteen herself, a technicality that saw her remain eligible for just enough time to volunteer.

However, there was after all, a reason for the 'bitter' being in her bitter-sweet situation. She saw Otherland's eyes sadden slightly, his previously smiling face forcing a half-hearted grin as Mavis mentioned the Reaping.

"Oh, that? What's there to think about?" Otherland inquired, his voice failing to conceal the underlying displeasure in his tone. Mavis gave him a knowing look, not being able to suppress the sigh that accompanied it.

"Come on Otherland, I know you're not happy about it. You don't need to hide your real feelings on the subject," Mavis insisted understandingly, as Otherland begrudgingly placed himself in the armchair opposite her. "And I get it, what I'm doing is selfish."

"Look, I don't want to get into this right now," Otherland admitted, appearing rather dejected by the topic. "What's done is done Mavis, you can't take back the designation of your volunteering."

"I know," Mavis breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to stifle any regret that may appear. "But I just want us to communicate, to be on the same page."

"We've never been on the same page about this," Otherland sighed, leaning forward as he brought his hands together. "But I still support you no matter your decisions. We're getting eloped tomorrow, and despite what may happen in the arena - I want us to be happy in these final moments."

"They're not final moments," Mavis protested, certain of the words she spoke. "I will win this thing, and I'll make a better life for us… for Echo…"

Her voice trailed off, as she gazed once more at the baby in her arms, who continued to chew on her toy, blissfully unaware of the tense moment happening between her parents. The two of them both watched Echo for a few moments, before Otherland spoke once more.

"I get what you're wanting to do, and your intentions are valiant. It's just… the means that you're going to reach them, I don't think it's in Echo's best interests."

Mavis felt a slight twinge of anger develop within her chest, as she eyed Otherland in annoyance, letting him know he had struck a nerve.

"Do you have no faith in me? I have fought all my life to preserve my future, and I will kill each and every person I come across if that ensures Echo's 'best interests'," Mavis fired back, causing Otherland to bite his lip. "You know what I'm capable of, I can overcome anyone they throw at me, just as I have done all my life."

"It's not that I don't believe in you," Otherland responded quietly, his words coming a little apprehensively as he contemplated how to voice his thoughts. "But these are the Hunger Games, Mavis. It's not just other tributes, it can be mutts, poison, landslides, earthquakes - fucking tsunami's even. You never know what the Gamemakers will throw at you."

Mavis remained silent, the words beginning to process in her mind. Those factors were always something she tended to forget whenever she envisioned herself entering the games, she always dismissed the idea of external threats as manageable and avoidable, ways to cull the weaker tributes and get to the core of the best competitors in the arena. Of course, there were scenarios in which Careers didn't make it far into the games, due to dying to much more horrific cataclysms that they simply couldn't overcome with a human body. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that Mavis would come up against something she simply had no viable way of beating the shit out of. In that sense, her fate rested entirely within the Gamemakers hands.

"I'll deal with it, I'll find a way," Mavis muttered, despite sounding somewhat unsure of her own words. "But I was hoping you would be more supportive, like you supposedly say you are."

"I support you, Mavis, and I swear on my own life that is the case," Otherland said with insistence, his eyes seeming truthful as he gazed back into hers. "But I don't necessarily support your actions. It may not be intended the same way, but this whole situation seems awfully similar to what happened to your mother."

It hit her like a gut punch, one that was far more emotionally damaging than any punch she had ever received in the ring. He was right. It was almost exactly like what her mother had done to her; running off on her own path, only to die and never return again. Mavis didn't intend on abandoning either Echo or Otherland, but if she were to somehow not make it back alive, it would essentially be the very essence of abandoning all that she had there in District 1 - regardless of if it was intentional or not.

But even if it were the case, there was nothing she could do about it at that point. She was locked into her fate, she couldn't go back on her word, otherwise she'd reap the punishments of not fulfilling her obligation to volunteer.

I just need to make it so that outcome doesn't become a reality, Mavis reasoned to herself, refusing to believe that she'd meet the same fate as her mother. Mavis stood up, clutching Echo to her chest as she slowly made her way over to Otherland, before placing Echo in one of his arms whilst she continued to cradle her with one of her own. With her other free hand, she carefully raised it to Otherland's worried face, caressing his cheek reassuringly as the two stared deeply into each others eyes.

"I promise you, from the bottom of my heart… I'll never end up like her. I will make it back to you, no matter the cost."

Otherland continued to look into her eyes for a few moments, before his own eyes softened, bringing his hand up to her own and pressing her fingers against his cheek. He appeared to relent, as he slowly nodded his head, accepting Mavis's promise as the two finally embraced.

"Okay, he whispered, clutching Mavis tightly, as Echo produced a hum of happiness at the sight of her parents loving gesture. In that moment alone, Mavis couldn't help but feel a faint sense of contentment, as she appreciated the warmth of the two people that meant the world to her.

Yet, the contentment was only fleeting, as a sense of worry began to engulf her chest once more. As much as she claimed to oppose the idea, there simply was no denying it at the bottom of her heart.

Her future wasn't preserved, but rather entirely unclear.

---

Peter Kissinger

17

~ District 3 Tribute ~

---

Atrocity.

It's a word that sends shivers down your spine, inherently linked with a catastrophic, reprehensible act that has been dealt to either a single person, or a whole group of people. If a supposed 'atrocity' has taken place, it's easy to condemn such a thing, and grieve for the people that had become the victims to whatever said atrocity may have been. Most normal people could recognise whenever an atrocity has occurred, they usually consisted of the most callous acts that humanity can produce, and thus were quite easily identifiable.

However, what if an act of atrocity that had occurred, that most would be quick to vehemently oppose - was an act of vengeance or liberation to others? Some people may be so intrinsically in favour of an opposing stance to an issue, that when something tragic is set to occur to the other side, they not only embrace, but fully support the despicable resolution. Perhaps they're so incessantly blinded by their own emotions and viewpoints, that they can't set aside their bias to lift the veil on how truly cruel what they're committing or supporting is.

It's all so easy for Peter Kissinger to see now, when reflecting on the past acts he had been involved with that had put him in the position he was in during the current day. However, Peter had not always been like this of course. He had been brash, irrational, and entirely fuelled by rage only a year or so ago. His outlook had been so influenced by his spiralling thought-process, that he had not cared for consequences nor the moral dilemma's of what he had been getting involved with.

If he could travel back in time, Peter would have slapped his past self. He had no idea what he was doing to his own future, and ultimately that had led him to where he was today. Peter sat huddled by a fire, alone, in an empty, abandoned warehouse unused by District 3 for decades. The warehouse itself had used to be apart of an old manufacturing factory, where electronic goods were developed, packed and exported to be dispersed liberally to the rest of the nation, but predominantly to the Capitol.

Now, it was the place that Peter called home. It was a good place to hide out and live his days in solitude; perhaps not the most safe considering the reason it had been abandoned to begin with, but certainly secure enough from being searched or ransacked by unwanted guests. The factory had been discovered to have a fairly heavy exposure to asbestos, and was subsequently shut down due to the hazard it caused the workers. The whole factory plant had been sectioned off, but fortunately for Peter he was pretty good at getting into places he wasn't necessarily permitted to be.

After a thorough inspection of the property and the records he could find of it, he had uncovered that the warehouse building that he was currently occupying was relatively safe from the threat of asbestos, and was an unfortunate victim of the rest of the factory being shut down as a whole. It served him quite well however, he rarely had to worry about anything threatening his shabby abode, other than any potential demolition of the place if the District 3 government opted to do so.

He didn't have a particularly high concern of that happening however, the place had been vacant for decades now; if they were going to do something about it, they would have done it by that point. He imagined they didn't want a cloud of asbestos contaminating the air from the demolition work.

Peter had been living in the decrepit old warehouse for several months now, and despite becoming quite accustomed to it, he still wasn't particularly pleased about having to take refuge in there in the first place. For the first few months, it had been during the cold seasons, with very little heating, insulation, or comfort available for him to live adequately. Most of the time he had to keep a fire going for warmth, as well as to cook any meat he was able to scavenge from nearby marketplaces or whatever little wildlife there was within District 3. Sometimes, he even had to resort to cooking rats, a meat he took absolutely no pleasure in consuming.

Desperate times called for desperate measures however, and if Peter was being honest with himself - it was what he deserved. In a way, this was some sort of penance for what he had done, and ultimately, he was accepting of the fact.

Fortunately for his sake, it was currently the summer months as the Hunger Games were beginning to roll around once more. Freezing temperatures were no issue for him at the moment, and although District 3 wasn't the hottest of places within Panem, at least he wasn't chilled to the bone constantly.

He still had the fire going not too far in front of him nevertheless, as he sat there staring into the glowing embers within the lower half of the metal barrel he called a fire pit. Not only was it a source of cooking his food, but it was also a sense of comfort, and quite literally the only source of light he had within the building during the night time.

Comfort was not something Peter had in droves; in fact he didn't believe he was deserving of it in any capacity. He'd take the little things if they didn't impact others in any way, but he wasn't one to seek out sources of enjoyment or convenience if it meant he had to be selfish in the process. A simple fire impacted nobody, nor did he steal resources to make it, so it was one of the few things he allowed himself to indulge in as he lived his hermit life.

Not to mention, it was a special occasion of course - the night before the Reaping. He had only been to one Reaping since the incident that had altered his trajectory in life had occurred, as only one Reaping had passed since that occasion. Fortunately for him, he was still not on any sort of wanted list from the Peacekeeper brigade, as his name and registry hadn't flagged anything when he signed his attendance that day. Peter supposed they still hadn't figured out the culprit of the tragedy that had unfolded that night… the atrocity that he had committed.

He had covered his tracks well, Peter had ensured that, although at this point he often wondered whether or not he should have done so at all. He hadn't been caught of course, but this wasn't much better of a life he had been living since then; he may as well have been executed, incarcerated, or even Avoxed if that's what was deemed a suitable punishment.

A small part of Peter wondered why he still didn't turn himself in. Why did he continue to go on like this? What was the point in living after what he had done?

In all honesty, he didn't really know. The best reasoning he could come up with, was that all he had done would be for naught if he was to turn himself in now. As abhorrent as what he had done was, it would all have been meaningless if he backed down from it at this point. He was in too deep, he couldn't take back what he had done.

The other half of him liked to think it was for a different reason entirely, that perhaps he could repent for what he had done by making something of his life instead. He hadn't figured out what that may look like yet, as there hadn't really been an opportunity to enact such a redemption, however if some good could come from his continued existence in this world - it wouldn't ever get the chance to occur if he was locked up or dead.

What good am I capable of though? Wherever I go I can only bring torment and tragedy, Peter reminded himself, criticising his false virtues. The rational part of Peter recognised it was only a coping-mechanism, there was no possible way he could ever serve a benign purpose to anyone on this earth… especially when he had already let down those that meant the most to him.

The case in point, refers mostly to his father - Joseth Kissinger. He was all that Peter had left on this big, blue globe of pain, yet his father had been the first to abandon him following what Peter had done. Peter understood why, it was completely warranted that Joseth had essentially kicked him to the curb, and if anything - Peter was lucky his father hadn't opted to turn him in.

The man had watched Peter spiral for months before D-Day, and had done all he could to try and haul Peter out of the destructive rabbit-hole he had found himself falling into. He was supportive, attentive, yet Peter had still let him down by following through on the plans he had spent months working on. Of course, Joseth knew Peter was troubled, but he had no idea as to the extent that Peter had fallen, and to what measures he had planned to take to enact what he saw as his own form of justified retribution. Joseth never would have accepted it, but when Peter's guilty conscience couldn't take anymore, he couldn't help but spill his secrets to his father.

A 'monster' is what his father had called him, and to that Peter couldn't agree more. Perhaps in that moment of time, he had hoped his father could provide some sort of justification for his actions, to validate that what he had done was somehow okay. However, as time passed, with Peter only being able to spend said time on thinking and reflecting, he ultimately came to the same conclusion as his father.

He was a monster, a heartless animal who only had their best interests in mind. Perhaps that was all he would ever be, because at the current point in time, Peter felt as if he was at rock bottom.

"Where would I be if you were still here, Talia?" Peter mumbled to himself, knowing the words would never reach the girl that he spoke of. Talia had been Peter's best friend since childhood, the one person he could confide in with anything that may have been on his mind. Of course, back then, he hadn't been so consumed by vengeance and reckoning, meaning there wasn't a whole lot he harboured within himself that he felt he had to get off his chest… other than one thing of course.

His love for Talia.

He had fallen head over heels for Talia over the years, the sweet girl always managing to bring a smile to his face and light up the room whenever she was in it. He owed his happiness to Talia, and as a result the feelings he conjured couldn't help but flare up in the back of his mind. The two had been friends, but he had never overstepped that boundary while she was around. Part of him had been afraid that he'd push her away if she didn't reciprocate, and the other part simply felt unworthy of earning the affections of the bubbly girl he had fallen for.

Nonetheless, he often debated whether he should confess his true feelings to her. Perhaps by some miracle she felt the same way? That the two were soul mates that could finally be honest with each other and find happiness in one another? Looking back, perhaps it was only a far-fetched dream, a delusion that he used to cope with his lack of confidence in finding out how she felt.

Ultimately, Peter would never get the chance to find out if Talia returned the same feelings for him, as a couple of years ago… Talia had passed away.

It had been a dreary day, filled with fog and rain that had enveloped District 3 to the point that one could barely see several feet in front of them. Peter had been with her at that time, the two walking down a street as they headed for the local market near the districts centre. The poor visibility had made it hard to distinguish shadows from real people from a distance, and as a result, obstructions had a habit of creeping up out of nowhere.

In that case, both himself and Talia were the obstructions. Unseen and unrecognised until it was too late, Talia was struck by a Peacekeeper patrol car who had turned a sudden corner, propelling her several yards ahead as she was tossed like a rag doll in the face of the metal vehicle. Peter had been horror-struck, the accident having not fully processed in his mind during the first few moments, as the tyres of the car had come to a screeching halt.

It wasn't until a few panicked curses and expletives were cried out by the Peacekeepers that emerged from the vehicle, that Peter was snapped out of his dumbstruck trance at what had just happened. He had tried to run to Talia's side, seeing that the girl had not died on impact and was feebly trying to get up despite the evident broken bones in her limbs, however a couple of the accompanying Peacekeepers saw Peter running towards her, and managed to restrain Peter as he desperately tried to reach her side.

He recalled having screamed for her, trying to push past his restrainers as they insistently prevented him from breaching the circle of troops that examined her. However, the calls all fell on deaf ears, as Talia's eyes were in such a state of shock that she appeared unreachable.

"Stay back kid, we'll get her to a hospital!" One of the Peacekeeper's restraining him had insisted, as Peter continued to fight his way around them.

"No! Let me through! I don't trust them!" Peter had responded desperately, the idea of Talia being treated without him there absolutely mortifying to him. Peter hadn't ever trusted health professionals, not one bit; it had been them that refused to treat his mother when she had fallen ill, turning her away and allowing her to succumb to her sickness. How was he supposed to entrust them with Talia? What if she could be saved but they refused her treatment as well? He needed to be there to make sure that didn't happen, to force them to try and save her even if she was on deaths door.

But it was ultimately no use. The Peacekeepers were too strong for the then fifteen year-old Peter, and before he knew it, they had loaded Talia into the back of their vehicle, before screeching off without a second thought. It had been the last time that Peter had seen Talia alive, because after that… she supposedly succumbed to her injuries.

Peter was told that the Peacekeeper's had made it to the hospital, and that the medics and surgeons had done everything they could to save Talia - but he believed none of it. He knew better than to assume they had actually cared enough to save a lowly girl from District 3. To them, it was just another statistic, a lost cause that was worth too many resources in order to save. He was convinced the hospital had euthanised her instead, killing her quickly rather than drawing out the process and even attempting to salvage her life.

It was that very event, that put Peter on the war-path that he had pursued.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the memory began to emerge, wanting to force it from his mind as the guilt began to eat away at him once more. He had already suffered his fair share of hauntings from his past, both from reflecting on what he did, to the events seeping into his nightmares as well. At this point in time, he felt as if he just wanted to forget everything, start anew, and pretend nothing had ever happened.

Unfortunately, it simply wasn't possible. Nobody could wash away the scale of sins he harboured; they would forever be apart of the deepest crevices of his mind.

To Peter's surprise however, he didn't need to linger on his memories for all that much longer, as his head perked up to the distant sounds of shouting. He felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion, having not heard the sound of human voices within this domain for the entirety of his residency in the building.

He listened carefully to the series of shouts, his body tense as he came to the realisation that the voices were not only belonging to a range of different people, but were also growing closer by the second.

What on earth? He thought to himself in bewilderment, before covering up the fire pit with the top half of the barrel he had cut it from in an effort to mask the lighting. Have they caught on to me? Do they know I'm here?

Peter made sure not to make a sound as the loud calls from whoever these people were drew all the more closer, so close in fact that he could hear the stampeding of footsteps outside the proximity of the factory grounds. It was only then that he could begin to make out words from the desperate sounding men.

"Keep going! We're still on her tail!"

"I had eyes on her! Why is she so damn evasive!?"

"She has to be around here somewhere! She couldn't have gotten far!"

Peter didn't have much time to register the words, as before he could even remotely begin to connect the dots, he felt a hand reach out from behind him, clamping down on his mouth as if to prevent him from speaking.

Peter's eyes widened, taken completely by surprise that someone had managed to sneak up behind him. Stealth and and stalking was his speciality, so to have it done to him was not only shocking, but… kind of embarrassing.

Instead of panicking, Peter slowly began to turn to the culprit who had silenced him, their hand still over his mouth as he finally locked eyes with the perpetrator. It was a girl, one whom he had never seen before although she appeared to be roughly around the same age as him.

His eyes scanned over her, absorbing every detail he could about the mystery girl who had appeared before him. She didn't appear to be too large in stature, seeming around an average height as she sat crouched beside him, hunched forward as her hand continued to cover his mouth. She had dark obsidian eyes, which were heavily accentuated by the black mascara that caked her long eyelashes. A small beauty spot, was visible near her left eye, almost on the corner of her particularly pale cheek. Her hair was straight and jet black in colour, chopped to around the length of her shoulders so that the ends were just grazing them, similarly to how the dark bangs that covered her forehead almost tickled the bottom of her eyebrows.

However, one of the most striking features about her was her bright, ruby red lips, which Peter guessed would certainly have to be lipstick. Those very lips had a single finger held to them, as the girl signalled Peter to remain quiet whilst the group of men outside passed by the building.

Peter didn't react at all as the two listened to the outside noise, all he did was stare back into her eyes as he made sense of the sudden and strange situation. Where had this girl come from? Why were these guys chasing after her? Fortunately for him, the girl did no more than continue to hold her hand to his face. His eyes followed her other hand, which he then realised was gripped onto a sheathed weapon that hung by her hip, whilst her eyes raised up to the ceiling in anticipation for the men to move on.

Is that a fucking katana? Peter questioned internally, his eyes trained on the slightly curved blade as he found himself utterly perplexed by the absurdity of the situation. Why would someone have a weapon of such calibre in District 3?

It was uncanny to see such a fine blade find its way into District 3, especially one from a lost culture that dated centuries back. Peter himself had to hand make every weapon he had ever owned, yet this girl wielded such a formidable blade despite it's scarcity? Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't someone to be fucked with; he was better off abiding by her request of absolute silence. It's not like he had much of a choice either way - what else could he do in such a situation?

After around two minutes of bated breaths and tense silence between the two of them, the sounds of what Peter had managed to gather was a squadron of Peacekeepers, finally began to subside, apparently not concluding that the girl had found her way onto the heavily fortified grounds of the factory. With that point crossing Peter's mind, he wondered how she had even found her way in there. He was the only one that had figured out a way into the property where the warehouse stood, she must have scoped it out previously in case she needed a quick escape from the law enforcement she was fleeing.

With the final voices drifting away to a point that they were no longer audible, the girl finally took her heavily ringed hand away from Peter's mouth, allowing him to rub it uncomfortably from the sweat that had accumulated around his lower face. The girl decided to stand up, before slowly sauntering around to the other side of the still concealed fire.

"You complied nicely, I appreciate that," the girl finally uttered, her voice sounding rather husky and light despite her hardcore appearance. Peter's eyes washed over her ripped clothes and leather jacket, the kind that looked more like a fashion statement rather than from wear and tear. He couldn't help but glance at the katana once more, rather fascinated by the elegant weaponry of a refined era, and how contrastive it looked with the grungy appearance of the rest of her outfit.

"It's not like I wanted to attract Peacekeeper's here either," Peter shrugged, as he nonchalantly removed the top half of the metal barrel to expose the fire once more. "Now that you've intruded here, welcome to my home I guess."

"Mmm, that's nice," the girl breathed, ignoring his words as she held her hands above the fire, appearing to take in the warmth of the flames. Peter couldn't help but find it a little strange how she was acting so casually following what had just happened, but he supposed that was just the way she was. Some people had no trouble with acclimating to new situations, and didn't really spare a thought about who their company was.

"Wow, you look like shit," the girl spoke up bluntly, drawing Peter's attention back to her, as he responded with a look of indifference.

"Quite the flatterer, aren't you? You're not wrong though," he agreed, not being able to deny the truth to her words. The girls eyes scanned him up and down for a few moments, before they settled on his head.

"Blue hair, huh?" She snorted, appearing rather amused by Peter's colour choice. He couldn't blame her for finding his hair quite odd, not many people in the districts had their hair dyed a different colour; let alone dyed blue. Truthfully, Peter had done so a while back as a way of shedding the person he used to be, trying to change up his appearance to abandon his image as the harbinger of devastation that he had become. It was certainly more attention grabbing than his real hair colour, so he usually covered it with a hood whenever he did decide to venture beyond the confines of his warehouse home. He had felt like a fish out of water when he had initially made the drastic change in colour, but over time he had become quite fond of how it looked.

It was Talia's favourite colour after all, he reminded himself, the memory of Talia's affinity for the same shade of blue crossing his mind.

"Got a problem with blue hair?" Peter retorted monotonously, earning a sharp laugh from the girl.

"Not at all. It gives you character I suppose… as does the rest of you. With a state like that, you've got a story to tell," the girl quipped, her eyes lacking compassion, but instead possessing a rather twisted sense of curiosity. She didn't strike him as the type that gave a damn about other people, Peter was often pretty good at picking up on the nature behind peoples interactions. The girl had a confident aura to her, filled with sarcasm and blatant honesty that saw to it that her filter was barely existent. That was somehow okay with Peter, he didn't need to be coddled for the sorry state he was in. Sometimes raw honesty was a lot more refreshing.

However, her honesty was certainly basked in truth. His appearance had undeniably taken a toll over the year or two he had been exiling himself from society, the conditions he lived in not doing him any favours with appearing his best. Peter had always been very tall, and despite being quite nimble, he had certainly lost a fair bit of weight from his restricted diet. His shoulders were broad, and his skin was pasty and dirty, accompanied by his unkempt and borderline ratty, blue hair that hadn't been cut for months. The blue colour was enough to physically mask the oily consistency of it, but did very little to assist the ungroomed appearance of dark brown scruff that he had grown on his face.

Pairing all that with his slightly crooked nose - a feature he had earned from breaking it a while back - as well as his sullen hazel eyes contained in sunken sockets of fatigue and sleep deprivation; it was no wonder the girl considered him as looking worse for wear.

"There may or may not be a story, not that you'll ever find out," he answered calmly, before reaching for the bottle next to him to take a swig. Peter felt the liquor burn his throat as it flowed down his oesophagus, the poorly distilled booze possessing a rather revolting taste that he simply had to put up with. He didn't have a lot of money to buy better alcohol with, but it at least did the trick.

"Oh don't be like that," the girl rolled her eyes, as she folded her arms and sat down on an overturned bucket. "It can't be that bad. At least you don't have a Reaping to worry about tomorrow."

"Who says I don't?" Peter replied, earning an eyebrow raise from the girl.

"You're saying you do?" She questioned flatly, to which Peter nodded in response.

"Of course, I'm only seventeen," he informed her, causing the girls eyes to widen in surprise.

"Dude, I thought you were like… twenty!" She cackled, leaning back in amusement.

"I get that a lot," he shrugged, watching as the girl snickered at him. "So… not to be rude or anything, but - who are you?"

"Who am I?" The girl echoed his inquiry, as she tilted her head at him. "I'm Asa."

"Asa, huh? Nice name," Peter complimented, as he placed the bottle back on the ground. "Name's Peter."

"Pleasure," Asa responded, as she eyed the bottle by his feet. "Mind if I…?"

"By all means," he offered, as he passed her the warm glass bottle. "Not like I can refuse a girl with a katana."

"Oh, you noticed that?" Asa teased, as she reached for the bottle and took it from his grasp.

"It's hard not to notice," Peter informed her, as he watched her delicately run her finger along the length of the katanas sheath. "I'm assuming that's part of the reason why those Peacekeepers were pursuing you? I can't imagine walking through Downtown Three with a katana by your waist would go unnoticed."

"That's not exactly the reason," Asa explained, before taking a brief swig from the bottle, her face turning up in disgust from the harsh flavour of the alcohol. "Damn, this is the best you've got? It tastes like gasoline."

"I'm living in an abandoned fucking warehouse, take a wild guess," Peter responded bluntly, causing a puff of air to be emitted from Asa's nostrils.

"Touché," she shrugged, before wiping her lips and handing back the bottle to Peter. Asa threw one leg over the other, before fixating her eyes on Peter, her chin resting against her palm as she tapped her cheek periodically as if it was some sort of restless tick. "I suppose I owe it to you to explain why I'm here, and why they were after me… you don't seem all that bad."

Oh you sweet summer child, Peter scoffed internally, refraining from correcting her.

"I'm all ears," he grunted, as he adjusted himself to a more comfortable sitting position. Asa paused for a moment, perhaps trying to work out how to put her story into words, or maybe because she was struck with a sense of apprehension due to not having shared this with anyone before. Regardless of the reason, she finally began to speak.

"To put it simply, I'm on the run," Asa started off, her tone rather casual when describing the predicament. "Mostly from my former employers, but also from the Peacekeepers. They don't know who I am, they only go off of a physical record based on other stuff I've done"

"Your former employers?" Peter questioned, a strange sense of concern igniting within him at the sound of her description. He could only imagine what kind of former employers Asa previously had if they were sending people after her. Was it gang related? Or perhaps some sort of top secret government work? The latter he highly doubted, unless she was some Capitol plant that they had installed in District 3, but even that seemed a bit far-fetched.

"Her name is Eden Lorenda, as well as her affiliates that I haven't personally met," Asa explained, a hint of bitterness in her voice at the mention of this woman. "I was essentially her lap-dog, her debt collector… her fear monger."

"I see," Peter responded, scratching his chin as the information sunk in. He had previously had his fair share of contacts within the criminal underworld located in District 3, sources he had used when resourcing materials for the intricacies of his plans a couple of years back. Eden Lorenda wasn't someone he had heard of however - he wondered why that was the case?

Fortunately for Peter, Asa didn't take too long to elaborate.

"Ms. Loren- uh… I mean Eden, works very high up for Sentinel Enterprises, although she's more of a shadow figure within the company," Asa revealed, allowing Peter to connect the dots. Sentinel Enterprises, they were arguably one of the biggest corporations within District 3. They specialised in advantaged technology exclusive for Capitol use, predominantly militaristic and from what Peter had heard - experimental. He was also aware that they were often outsourced by the Capitol for technological developments for the Hunger Games, meaning they played a very crucial role in the Capitol's foothold over Panem. With connections of that magnitude, it was no wonder why Asa being on their shit-list had her fleeing all over the place.

"That's some elite tier personnel to be involved with," Peter commented, causing Asa to chuckle.

"You don't say," she responded sarcastically, as she lazily swayed the one leg that was resting over her other.

"Well if you don't mind me asking, what did you do to piss them off so substantially?" Peter questioned, daring to prod further into the open book that Asa appeared to be.

"Hmm… well the Peacekeepers are a given; I only know how to get by through stealing and taking advantage of others, so I've been on their radar for quite some time," Asa confessed, as she folded her arms in recollection. "As for Eden and her Sentinel underlings… well let's just say I jumped ship, and they don't like loose ends."

"Makes sense," Peter admitted, unable to find a fault in her explanation. She didn't really have a reason to lie about this, so Peter could certainly see it being the case. With that being said however… how bad was the shit she was involved with if this Eden woman was so committed to silencing her?

"Just how bad were these business dealings you got involved with?" Peter wondered out loud, not expecting Asa to elaborate all that much as she had already revealed plenty. Asa studied him for a moment, before smiling at him.

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," she responded nonchalantly, causing Peter to shrug his shoulders.

"You're already talking to a dead man, I have nothing to lose," he challenged her, causing her to laugh in a surprisingly pleasant tone.

"I was only joking, but wow… do you have some kind of death wish?"

"Something like that," Peter muttered, as he leaned his chin into his palm.

"What?" Asa piped up, appearing to not have heard him.

"Nothing, carry on," he answered, waving her words off dismissively.

"Well anyway, she had me doing the usual stuff really; extortion… embezzlement… beating around a few heads when they didn't pay up," Asa listed off, as if she was ticking off a shopping list. "You'd be surprised how much money that company leeches off of wealthy families through shady practices."

"Shady is an understatement," Peter corrected her, before briefly averting his gaze.

Like I'm one to talk.

He earned a distinct "pfft" from Asa's lips, as she leaned back in disagreement.

"To each their own I guess," she muttered, brushing off Peter's opinion.

"And the katana?" Peter inquired, harnessing a genuine sense of curiosity in regards to the brilliant blade.

"Oh yeah - I stole this from my parents. I needed some sort of weapon when I ran away from Sentinel, and this was just collecting dust on the wall," Asa revealed, fondly running her hand along the hilt of the blade. "It deserves more than that."

"Right," Peter replied, having collected all the information he cared to know about the girl. "Your parents must be pretty rich having a weapon like that."

"They are certainly rich," Asa responded, her voice sounding rather subdued now that they had touched the topic of her family. "But they're anything but parents."

Ah, yeah that's not a conversation I'm particularly interested in unpacking, Peter thought to himself, sensing the sensitivity of the topic. The two sat in silence for a few moments, before Asa looked back up at Peter inquisitively.

"So, still not going to tell me what your deal is?" She questioned, looking at Peter almost expectantly. Although Asa was pretty forthcoming with her history, Peter still held no desire to share with her the true extent of his own. He had only ever revealed to his father what he had done, and it had resulted in him getting kicked from his family home and shunned from the life he once had. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

"I'm just a runaway, similar to yourself," he lied, earning a tilt of the head from Asa.

"Hmm, yeah I don't buy it, but you're clearly not comfortable with sharing what resides in that mind of yours," Asa sighed, as she shrugged her shoulders dismissively. "Suit yourself."

With those words, Asa stood up, as she turned in the direction of the entrance to the building.

"Where are you going?" Peter asked curiously, as Asa reached for one last chug of the bottle.

"I can't stay put for long, it won't take long for them to lose their scent trail and retrace their steps," she explained, before taking a quick sip of the foul booze and churning her face in faint disgust. "You should get out of here too for the time being, try to clean up a bit so it doesn't look like someone has been living here."

"Great," Peter muttered bitterly, as he glanced at his makeshift bed at the far corner of the room. "Thanks for the advice."

"Consider it expertise… from previous fuck-ups," she smirked, before giving Peter a quick wave. "Ciao!"

Peter watched as Asa gracefully waltzed out of the building, before suddenly feeling the isolation of the empty room. That was the first human-being he had interacted with in months, and just like that he was alone once more. Normally, it was certainly what he preferred, but in this instance, he couldn't help but think it was nice to have someone to communicate with - even if he wasn't entirely honest with her.

Asa had seemed pretty open, perhaps she wouldn't have judged him as much as others would if he were to have confided in her his deepest regret. Someone like her, who so casually spoke of crimes she committed, and people she hurt in the process; dare he say, acts of atrocity.

No, Peter reminded himself, refusing to waver from his resolve. What I have done is incomparable, it was far more heinous.

Despite his interaction with Asa, Peter was still convinced that he'd harbour his atrocities until the day that he died.

---

Nimue Soares

16

~ District 10 Tribute ~

---

There are some people in life, who go throughout their entire existence being simply invisible to others. They can blend into a crowd, walk by strangers and acquaintances alike, and not even be acknowledged for their presence in that moment. Some might even consider these people to be ghosts, wandering about their day absolutely undisturbed by what is going on around them.

Nimue Soares wished that was the case for her. She was certainly a ghost of some sort, that was without question. However, it was not the kind that she aspired to be, the type where she could just disappear; forgotten and overlooked by all those around her.

No, Nimue's situation was special, unique, and rather absurd the more that she thought about it. She was indeed a ghost, in just about every conceivable form other than literally. Of course, she was still held to this material plane known as the Earth, her body consisting of the run-of-the-mill flesh, blood, and bone, just like every other human on this planet.

There was nothing remotely special about her appearance, as striking as it may have been - that being her raven black hair consisting of long, lustrous waves, her olive skin paired with soft coffee-coloured eyes, and her heart shaped face set with peach coloured lips that had never seen the break of a smile in Nimue's memory. She had an ethereal beauty to her that had drawn the eye of many from a distance, but at the end of the day, she didn't consider herself special. She was a regular person, as everyone else was.

However, it wasn't the way she looked that caught people's attention, and Nimue was certain of that. Nobody had even seen her up close for years at that point, they'd have no way of knowing just how she looked up close. The real aspect about her that caught people's attention… was even catching a glimpse of her in the first place.

Nimue rested under the glow of the moonlit sky, positioned calmly on a rock as she held her knees to her chest, her eyes raised up to the starry expanse of night. Around her, the sounds of chirping crickets, and the subtle movement of water from the nearby lake could be heard, the vision of said lake heavily concealed by the plumes of mist that floated mere inches above the water. The atmosphere as a whole was incredibly serene and comforting to Nimue, the area very familiar to her at this point in time. After all, this was where she had spent the majority of her life; living by this lake and immersed within the Wildlands of the outskirts of District 10.

One of Nimue's favourite things to do was watch the night sky, it was one of the most calming, therapeutic things she could think of. Additionally, she felt much safer being exposed to the outside world during the darkness of night. Not only was it much harder for people to spot her, but there was also very little chance of people being outside to begin with.

She imagined that most people would be gathered in their homes by now, spending what could be their final moments with their young family members that may be chosen for the Hunger Games the following day. Unfortunately, Nimue didn't have that option, as much as she would've liked it - she had no family left to her name.

Nimue had spent the the latter half of her life parentless, siblingless, and generally alone in every facet of the word. She had grown used to being isolated from everyone, in fact; she had dedicated her life to being so. The truth was, there was nobody that she could trust after what she had been through, to the point that she'd rather be a recluse rather than risk placing her trust in somebody.

It had started back when she was a child, once belonging to a close-knit family that looked after one another and existed in harmony and happiness. Nimue had always been an only child, however that had never troubled her too much, as she was always given plenty of attention from her loving parents - Rhys and Efa Soares.

The two had been very popular within the lower-class of District 10, often travelling from town to town to perform as entertainers at local taverns for the customers that passed through the bars. Nimue remembered being brought along for almost every one of their journeys, and watching her two parents perform, completely mesmerised by the joyful displays they'd showcase. Her father Rhys was the most talented man she had ever seen play an acoustic guitar, his fingers knowing no bounds with the intricate tunes he could play. Her mother Efa on the other hand, had the voice of an angel, a truly melodic prodigy that brought grown men to tears at how beautiful she sounded.

Every time she could hear her mother sing like that, she felt as if she was wrapped in a blanket of comfort, protected from everyone and everything that was out to get her in this world. She recalled being awestruck every time she had heard her mothers harmonious notes pierce the air, with Nimue wishing she could do the same.

But alas, the very notion was impossible for Nimue, no matter how hard she'd desired to be able to sing like her mother. No manner of training, or practice, could even remotely put her in the same realm as Efa's talented voice.

Nimue had been born a mute girl, a cruel sort of irony when she was the daughter of such skilled and beloved musicians. It had been her greatest dream to be like her mother, but as fate would have it, she was missing the absolute fundamentals from the very beginning.

Nimue didn't let it get her too down however, because as luck would have it, you didn't need a voice to be able to play an instrument. From a young age, Nimue began to learn how to play several instruments curtesy of her father. The man favoured an acoustic guitar, but he was a natural with many forms of instruments if the occasion called for it.

The acoustic guitar was the first instrument Nimue learnt how to play, and her fathers was one of the few possessions she still held of his to the current day. She rarely took it out however, playing it felt too painful as it would bring back memories of the times she used to spend with her parents.

Instead, Nimue was drawn to a different instrument that she had learnt, the very same she took an affinity to even back then. The violin. The sound it produced was one of the most expressive she could fathom, with it being able to cover a range of different tunes that matched her feelings in the moment. For someone that couldn't vocalise her thoughts and emotions, instruments meant everything to Nimue, which was why the violin was so meaningful to her. The hauntingly beautiful notes it could play was unparalleled, and she considered it the ultimate instrument; the one that she specialised with.

But of course, nobody would run away from that life willingly, there was a reason she was all on her own now. She had only been nine years-old when it had happened, but she remembered it as if it were yesterday. It was a day that her parents had invited various friends over, including Nimue's aunt and her newly born cousin. The day had been going well, with laughs and chatter in the cozy cottage they called home.

It was very quickly disrupted however, when a group of Peacekeeper's stormed the property, busting down the door and taking shots on the first people they saw. The gathering broke into a full blown panic, as people started scrambling for their lives, protesting against the raging Peacekeepers as they indiscriminately fired at anyone they laid eyes on.

It was a full scale swatting, as friends and guests were struck down one by one, with nowhere to escape from the small confines of the cottage building. Nimue recalled watching from underneath the couch, as bodies crumpled to the floor around her, her small, shaking frame the only one tiny enough to hide under the furniture.

Nimue had watched in horror as her aunt was shot at point-blank range, shielding her baby cousin who was subsequently crushed under her aunt's limp form colliding with the ground. She watched her father being struck down with a series of bullets to the back, as he tried to protect Efa with every fibre of his being. She watched as his lifeless body was kicked off of her mother, before she too was put down with a single bullet through the eyes.

Nimue had been traumatised, and all she could do was watch as everyone she knew was massacred around her, for reasons unbeknownst to her. She didn't even need to worry about crying out in despair, her body was physically incapable of it.

As she hid, and the final bullets rang out, she learnt by listening to the Peacekeepers that their hit had been carried out due to accusations of rebellion from a rivalling entertainer group. Nimue couldn't believe what she had heard, the fact that the whole thing had been orchestrated by fellow entertainers out of sheer envy for what her parents were achieving, pushing them to go so far as to falsely accuse them as rebels so that they were wiped off of the map.

Nimue had silently sobbed as she had waited for the Peacekeeper's to leave, however it wasn't too long before they doused the place in gasoline, setting the whole structure alight as they aimed to scrub the records of what had happened that day. What had happened that day, was to put it simply; a massacre. No questioning, no taking into custody - just pure, unadulterated murder.

As the building began to burn, Nimue was forced to sneak out from underneath her refuge, scrambling past the burning bodies of her family-friends and own blood alike. She couldn't even look at her parents lifeless bodies, she was afraid that she'd lose the tiny bit of sanity that was still keeping her together. Instead, she had made a beeline for her parents bedroom, taking with her her fathers guitar, and her own violin, before fleeing out of the small window which was out of sight from the Peacekeepers out the front.

Ever since then, Nimue had never returned to the ashen remains of her home. She had lived a life of solitude, not being able to trust anyone that might betray her as those rival entertainers had unfairly done to her parents before. She feared being captured by Peacekeepers, and having them somehow find a connection between her and her supposedly 'rebel' parents, before killing her on the spot without her having a voice to even protest.

She was better off alone, in a place where nobody could ever hurt her.

Of course, nowhere was particularly safe in Panem, not even in her isolated reach of District 10. Although her family's memory had died since the incident, all of those within the cottage having been believed to have been killed justly by those that knew them, another problem had come to develop due to Nimue's situation.

She would spend her days by the misty lake that she now called home, sometimes just watching in some sullen trance as she became lost in her thoughts, and other times playing her violin, the one thing she found comfort in from her old life. Occasionally she'd be spotted by people, none of them recognising her and always trying to communicate with her from afar, before approaching her position.

Now if Nimue was good at anything other than playing her instruments, it would most certainly be her ability to disappear. Nimue was an expert at using her surroundings to vanish, and was particularly skilled with remaining quiet and unheard. Anytime people would spot her, she'd be gone in an instant, as if she had just been wiped off the face of the Earth.

Word of her began to spread; a mysterious "Lady of the Lake" who occasionally played hauntingly sorrowful songs with her violin, before disappearing without a trace the closer you got to her. These words began to evolve into rumours, before shifting into urban legends to the people of the nearby towns.

Many people would scour the area, looking for this supposed apparition that Nimue had become known as, without so much as a speck of luck as she remained evasive. She became a legend, with many people swearing they had seen this ghostly apparition, and others in complete denial of her existence all together. To all those that caught a glimpse of her, they had made their judgements of her. She was a cryptid, a phantom… a spectre of anguish.

Her very existence was only a speculation to most, yet Nimue was more than happy to keep it that way. If anything, she'd prefer nobody knew of her presence in the area to begin with, so that she could just be left alone to live in peace. Avoiding the obnoxious people that would come looking for her was always insufferable, and the further her story spread, the harder it was to hide away and drift into memory.

However, the concern with people coming to search for her wasn't at the forefront of Nimue's mind in that current moment. In actuality, it was the rapidly approaching event that she hated most; the Reaping.

Nimue couldn't stand the Reaping, but not for the typical reasons one might expect. The threat of being chosen to participate in a game of death was secondary to Nimue, in fact - it was so far out of the realm of likelihood that it never truly stood a true concern for her. What she hated, was having to go into District 10's capital, and have to be surrounded by thousands of people. She hated having to interact with Peacekeepers, many of whom always grew impatient with her inability to speak, and could've been involved with her parents demise.

That was the true horror of the Reaping in Nimue's eyes, and she dreaded facing it every single year. Fortunately for her, her name never triggered any flags when signing in for her attendance, meaning either they never had records of her when wiping out her whole family, or the case had simply been buried for so long that they didn't deem it necessary to kill a girl that was only nine at the time. Granted they had killed her innocent baby cousin, however the manner that had been done in was collateral damage.

Additionally, the citizens who knew of the rumours of the Lady of the Lake, were fortunately never able to recognise her. She was always decked out in a grey cloak that went a down to her ankles, with a large hood that concealed most of her upper face. Not to mention people had only ever seen her from far away, so to have an accurate physical depiction of her was unlikely. Hell, they probably had no idea of her age either; for all they know she could be in her twenties.

Nimue sighed as thoughts about the Reaping swirled throughout her mind, as she unfurled a slip of paper that she had written her future communication on, for when she would mark her attendance.

Hello.

My name is Nimue Soares.

I am mute and cannot speak. Please be patient with me.

Thank you.

Hopefully this will suffice, Nimue thought to herself, having learnt from the mistakes of her early Reapings, when she had realised that most people didn't understand Panemian Sign Language. It had been a common form of communication back when she still had her parents around, as both had made an effort to learn it when they found out that Nimue was mute. However, ever since they had passed on, she had never found anyone else that was able to speak it throughout the very few occasions she had been among civilisation.

It was only a couple of Reapings ago that she had thought to pre-plan her method of communication, rather than go there and hope the Peacekeepers were in a good mood. Her first couple, she was forced to show her tongue to prove that she wasn't a runaway Avox, which had been fairly humiliating in itself. With that being said, she always brought a spare note-pad and pen with her in case she needed to elaborate further.

As she put the paper back into the pocket of her cloak, her eyes grazed over the violin case sitting motionless on the rock beside her. She usually brought it along with her everywhere, she'd never leave it out of her sight in case she somehow got separated from her little hidden paradise in the semi-wilderness. She hadn't planned on playing it initially, however, the mood she was in really called for her to take it out. Perhaps it was to calm her nerves, or maybe just to pass the time. Regardless of what it may have been, Nimue reached for the violin case, unbuckling it's worn, golden hinges and taking out the brilliant musical mechanism.

As her fingers ran over the sleek, polished wood, she gripped onto the bow with her free hand, immediately feeling at home as she brought the bow to the strings of the instrument. Closing her eyes, she played a few test strokes, hearing the wonderful notes that the violin produced, having already been tuned to perfection.

With that, Nimue began to play. The notes came along fluently, as Nimue slowly strummed the bow across the strings of the violin, eliciting a beautiful symphony that projected across the lake, which brought the atmosphere down to a somber haze. The song of choice was one that she had played upon numerous occasions like this; Canzonetta-Andante by Tchaikovsky, a classic from long before the inception of Panem.

It was wondrous to Nimue that such pieces were able to survive the fall of humanity, and could still be performed in the current day and age despite belonging to such a lost time. She often pondered what other beautifully composed pieces of music had been lost to time, always feeling a sense of sadness at all of the music she'd never be able to discover.

However, she didn't let that get her too down, as what she was privy to already was certainly some of the best of human history. She spent some time playing the piece, adding her own personal touches here and there to truly immerse herself within the music. She had become lost in her own little world, an escape from reality that only she could provide for herself.

In fact, she had become so intrinsically acclimated to the moment, that she almost didn't notice that she had a visitor. When Nimue opened her eyes, she couldn't help but abruptly stop playing the instrument, gasping as her eyes locked on to the surprise guest who stood across the lake from her. The shadow within the mist was huge, albeit she couldn't directly distinguish what it was, other than the fact that it was moving.

She found herself cautiously putting the violin and bow back into it's case, unsure of if she was just seeing things, but readying herself nonetheless as her eyes remained trained on the ever approaching shadow. She felt herself holding her breath, as it began to emerge from a distance, before finally settling eyes on what it was.

It was a horse; a grand white steed that seemingly hobbled into view, paying her no attention as it lowered it's head towards the lake to drink. Nimue allowed herself to breathe, a sense of relief washing over her as she watched the glowing stallion, it's coat reflecting the white light of the moon, appearing an almost shimmering silver under the night sky.

It's only a horse, she reassured herself, her heart still beating rapidly within her chest for just a brief moment after the scare. Although, that's a little strange. I've never seen horses this far out. Has one escaped from it's ranch?

The area Nimue called home was normally rather secluded, so she didn't run into a lot of wildlife or people alike. Sure, she came across the odd game that people would usually hunt, such as deer and rabbits, sometimes even coyotes as they were usually considered pests. However, for a farm animal to be out here - a beautiful adult horse like this no less - it was certainly a strange phenomenon to see.

As the horse wandered more into view, it became more apparent to Nimue that the horse wasn't just hobbling, but rather actually limping. She could see it's front right leg had been recently bandaged, with a little vermillion blood managed to soak through it becoming visible at the front. She couldn't help but feel a little concern for the horse, the poor creature must've been in a fair amount of pain. However, the fact that it was bandaged instantly rang alarm bells in her head.

It likely hadn't escaped in such a condition, as whomever owned the horse was tending enough to wrap it's leg in a bandage to recover. To Nimue, that meant the person that the horse belonged to, mustn't be too far behind it.

Sure enough, within a matter of seconds, a second shadow became visible through the fog, a much smaller shadow that only could've belonged to another human. Nimue sat frozen on the rock, feeling like a deer-in-headlights as the sudden presence of a person this late at night came unexpected to her. All she could do was sit and listen, as the voice of a boy suddenly cut through the night air.

"Come on Brave, let's get you to my ranch. I know you're thirsty but… I swear I heard a violin playing just before, this area is creeping me out," the boy could be heard speaking up, as he arrived by the horse who must've been named Brave. Nimue watched as the boy paid attention to the horse, affectionately stroking its mane as he waited for it to have it's fill of water from the lake. She couldn't make out the features of the boy through the poor visibility and distance, but from what she could tell, he was rather short; certainly shorter than her at her height of 5'11". If she had to guess, he was around 5'7" in stature, despite being around her age based on the deepness of his voice. That was all she could make out in the current moment, as she remained frozen and motionless, quietly hoping the boy wouldn't notice her through the mist.

Supposedly, he had heard her violin playing, which she couldn't help but curse herself for causing. Perhaps the noise had drawn the horse towards her as well, and the boy had simply followed despite being throughly spooked by the music. She couldn't blame him she supposed; hearing a sad violin being played in the late evening wilderness was certainly not a common occurrence.

"I'm glad someone reported you to us before another coyote got to you first, although I don't know how you ended up out here. Your owner must be worried sick… whoever they are," the boy continued, a sigh audible at the end of his sentence.

So he doesn't own the horse? Nimue questioned, trying to figure out the meaning behind his words. Is he an animal rescuer of sorts?

"But you're pretty brave to have put up a fight with it and only sustain the one injury, Brave is a fitting name for you," the boy smiled, his words followed by a chuckle at his cheesy name choice. "We'll have you patched up in no time, then we can find your owner!"

The horse continued to drink, apparently very thirsty from it's ordeal in the wilderness, and not particularly responsive to the words the boy voiced. If anything, Nimue felt she was more responsive to the words of the boy, the fear in her chest easing with every second that passed.

He seems… gentle… kind, Nimue admired, as she tilted her head in observation. He didn't seem much like the other people that she had almost run into out in these parts of District 10. Most would spot her and immediately chase after her, shouting out about how they were going to be the ones to wrangle the Lady of the Lake and prove her existence. They always made a spectacle of her presence, their voices filled with aggression and scorn as she'd disappear into the tree line or the mist.

This boy however, he seemed… genuine.

As Nimue was going over this in her head however, she found herself in a vulnerable position, slightly distracted by her thoughts to the point that she carelessly forgot to pay attention to the boy. It was only a brief lapse in attention, however, as soon as she remembered to pay close observation to the boy, she found his eyes already trained on her from afar, eyes that were the size of dinner plates as the two looked at each other in shock.

It was a tense moment of silence as the two participated in a staring match, the boy appearing to be in disbelief at what he was seeing as Nimue felt completely exposed. There was a sense of familiarity in the way the boy gazed at her, although she was certain he had never seen her before. Perhaps he too knew of the stories of people that had witnessed her?

Oh no, Nimue thought to herself, panicked and alarmed. Run.

Before the boy could even process who he had seen, Nimue was gone like the wind, fading backwards deeper into the mist as she made a run for the nearby tree line. She could hear the surprised cry from the boy, as she elusively vanished as she had done so many times before.

"Hey! Hello!? Are you okay!?" The boy called from far behind her, his voice fading further into the distance the more ground she covered. Nimue ducked and weaved through the foliage, knowing the area better than the back of her hand. Her expertise with manoeuvring the wild expanse was so refined, that pursuing her was impossible to most.

She could hear the boy trying to chase after her, perhaps pursuing her out of curiosity, but in more likelihood if she were to judge by his tone of voice - out of concern. However, he certainly wasn't quick enough to keep up with her, and before too long, Nimue had disappeared deep into the shrubbery, out of sight and untraceable, as she watched the clearing where the boy should emerge into.

It took a few moments, before the boy finally stumbled out into the open grassy patch in the middle of the woods, completely encircled by trees and bushes that masked any view of where Nimue could've been. He stood on the spot for a few seconds, huffing and puffing as he leaned down and rested his hands on his knees. Nimue watched as his eyes dart around, trying to locate her with a look of sadness plastered on his face.

With a few energy-replenishing breaths, he stood up straight, slowly turning on the spot as he circled the middle of the clearing cautiously.

"I-I'm sorry if I spooked you, I didn't mean to scare you off. You took me by surprise is all," the boy called out, hoping to be heard by Nimue, who listened closely from within the confines of a bush. "That violin playing was you, wasn't it? It sounded beautiful, although it did give me a fright admittedly."

Nimue felt herself squeeze the violin case with her arms, as she clutched it tightly to her chest, guarding it with her life. She had barely managed to grab ahold of it before fleeing from the lake, she'd have never forgiven herself if she managed to leave it behind for the boy to take. To be fair however, he didn't seem like the type to thoughtlessly steal from someone.

"Um… I don't mean to impose on you or anything, but… are you the girl that they talk about? The Lady of the Lake?" The boy questioned, facing away from Nimue due to not knowing her exact location.

So he has heard of that, Nimue concluded, the boy having answered her previous question. Evidently, she was not about to answer him; she was physically incapable of doing so. However, she also had no intentions of unveiling herself, meaning the boy would unfortunately not get the answer he desired.

"I understand if you don't want to answer, you could just listen if you'd like," the boy spoke up after a period of time without a response from Nimue. "I never believed those foolish stories anyway, I know you're just a normal person. You probably get a lot of people bothering you out here."

He was spot on. A week didn't pass by without annoying kids venturing out looking for the urban legend of the ghost by the lake. It certainly made her leisure time quite disrupted, but it's not as if she could do anything about it. She didn't own the land, she simply lived on it. This boy at least, didn't seem to harbour any ill-intentions, albeit she'd still rather if he simply moved on and left her alone.

"I guess I'm one of those bothers, huh?" The boy laughed out loud, scratching his head as he sheepishly realised what he was doing. "Sorry about that, I guess I got carried away. I just wanted to see if you were okay, it doesn't seem like you have any place to go being all the way out here."

Nimue couldn't deny he was pretty accurate, there was no place for Nimue to go. She had nothing to her name, and to re-acclimate to society now seemed like both a tedious, and undesirable process. She was happy with the position she was in now, she'd be perfectly okay with spending the rest of her days living off of the land, stowing away in the hidden cave the called home.

"Well sorry to bother you, I don't want to intrude any further so I'll get going now. I've got to get that horse back so we can treat it," the boy finished up, beginning to head back in the direction he came from, still looking around for any sign of Nimue. "You know, we treat sick and injured animals at our family ranch, and take in those that have been abandoned with nowhere else to go. If you ever feel open to it, you're always welcome to visit. We have lots of space for the needy, even for other people!"

Nimue's eyes couldn't help but widen upon hearing the boys words, the offer seeming almost ludicrous. Was he really suggesting that she was welcome to go to his ranch for assistance? With nothing expected in return? The mere idea of it seemed absurd, nobody was that hospitable or generous, there was no way he was simply doing it out of the kindness of his heart… right?

"It's just an hours walk north-east from here, with a great silver silo out the front. You can't miss it!" He informed her, smiling at every direction in the hopes that Nimue would receive it. "Don't feel any pressure to do that though, just know that help is always nearby."

He really is serious, Nimue thought to herself, almost snickering at the idea of it. The boy may be kind-hearted, but he was also incredibly naïve. He had no idea who she was, or what threat she could pose. For all he knew, he could've just marked his ranch as the next place for Nimue to ransack, not that she'd ever do so.

Despite all this however, she couldn't help but feel elated that an understanding person such as this boy existed. Just knowing it gave her a little more faith in humanity.

"I'm off now! My name's Pip by the way, so if you ever feel like talking to me, you know who to seek out," he grinned, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the shrubbery leading back towards the lake. The odds of Nimue ever seeking the boy out were severely unlikely, she really had no need nor desire to. However, it certainly was one of the nicer interactions she had partaken in over the years - if you could even call that an interaction. Regardless, the boy certainly intrigued her, there was something about him that was so warm, and comforting.

Pip huh… Nimue thought to herself, deep in thought as she reflected on his words. I'll remember that.

---

Jacquard Rousseau

18

~ District 8 Tribute ~

---

"Ahhh, what a beautifully smog-filled night for retribution," the voice of Jacquard Rousseau breathed out, his head turned up and gazing upon the black night sky, with not a single star visible thanks to the classically smoggy air of District 8. During the day, District 8 was always a grey, hazy place, the air never clear and the blue sky practically non-existent. With a city filled with industrial factories constantly spouting smoke into the atmosphere, it was no surprise the sky was as dreary as the concrete jungle below.

Jacquard took a deep inhale of air through his nostrils, the smell of factory smoke and dumpsters drifting deeply within his nose. It wasn't a particularly nice smell, more like that of a dirty, crime-riddled city. With that being said, it was his dirty crime-riddled city, and nobody would ever take that away from him.

These were his streets, whether the Capitol and Peacekeepers liked it or not. Sure, they were the overruling dictators that abused their power and treated their citizens like shit - but they were not the ones controlling things at ground-level, the things that never saw the light of day, and remained beneath the underbelly of society.

It had been that way for years now, and the Peacekeepers knew it. District 8 was a hellhole, completely overrun by gang activity and dominated from the shadows. It was a melting pot of crime, and a cess pool of filth. Those that wanted to become anything in District 8, had to turn to the streets to do so, and that was what Jacquard had been brought into this world to do.

His whole life had been surrounded by crime, in fact; it was the only thing he really knew. Never had he dreamt of a life where he could escape the underground of Eight. He had been bred for it, shaped by it, and now alongside his family - he ran it.

"It would've been better if we didn't need 'retribution' at all Jax, you just like to punish people," a voice spoke up, instantly irritating Jacquard. He turned towards the source of the voice, that being his younger brother - Mel Rousseau, who sat nearby on a stack of crates, clearly not feeling the situation they were about to handle.

"Shut the fuck up Mel," Jacquard sneered, his face curling in disgust at his fourteen year-old brother. Mel had always been the weak one within their family, never wanting to take drastic measures despite there often being a need to do so. He wasn't violent by nature, unlike Jacquard himself, and would often begrudgingly take part in their joint endeavours. If Jacquard had it his own way, Mel wouldn't even be there tonight, however as it so happened to be - they needed all hands on deck.

"I'm just saying it as it is," Mel defended himself, holding his hands up defensively as Jacquard eyed him down angrily. "This isn't something you should be so pleased about having to do. For it to not be required at all would be preferable."

"Are you disrespecting me, Mel?" Jacquard asked quietly, causing Mel's face to fall, his eyes averting from Jacquards instantly.

"N-no Jax, I'm not," he protested softly, with a nervous gulp following shortly after.

"Good. Because they disrespected us, and that's why tonight is happening," Jacquard explained in a condescending voice, as if he had to spell it out for Mel. The "they" in this current circumstance, was a rival gang of their family, who if Jacquard had to say it nicely, had "overstepped their boundaries".

Jacquard belonged to a gang that had been founded by both his father - Lonny Rousseau - as well as his father's close friend Will Martins. It had started off as a small time gang a fair few decades back, but since Jacquard's birth, as well as the birth of Will's own children, the gang had increased heavily in size. They were now one of the most notorious gangs within District 8, holding valuable inner-city territory that made them an impenetrable force within the underground of District 8.

Having been a son of one of the founding members, Jacquard always held high prestige within the gang, and was considered one of the leading contenders for inheriting leadership whenever Lonny and Will's reigns came to an end. As a result, Jacquard had become one of the most ruthless members of the gang, willing to do anything and everything for the sake of his fellow members. He took measures that very few would be willing to do, and was arguably one of the most dangerous teenagers in all of District 8. Very few were willing to cross him, even his own flesh and blood in the form of Mel. His other brother - Henry Rousseau, who was Mel's identical twin - was fortunately a little more cut from the same cloth as Jacquard was. It was quite often that Jacquard would allow Henry to be the one to pull his brothers head into line, finding it a waste of his own time to do anything himself to Mel.

"Damn right they disrespected us!" Henry spoke up infuriated, gnashing his teeth together as he scowled at the concrete floor. "Those fuckers stole my winnings from last years Hunger Games pot, I was saving that!"

"Exactly!" Jacquard spat as he feigned outrage, refraining from mentioning the fact that he was the one that had actually spent Henry's money.

What does a fourteen year-old need with it anyway? He reasoned with himself, evading any guilt that he should have felt for taking the money for himself. It was money well-spent as far as Jacquard was concerned, was Henry going to be the one to spend it on hookers and blow? He didn't think so.

Aside from Henry's winnings, the rival gang in question had certainly stolen from them nevertheless. They were known as the Grover Gang, a band of thieves who was ran by a man named Garrick Grover, and were also considered to be the rivals of Jacquard's group. As both groups had grown in power of the years, their feuds had become more recurring and brutal, as they both tussled over territory within District 8's main city.

This time however, the Grover Gang had gone too far. They had ransacked one of the Rousseau safe houses, a particularly important one where a lot of their priceless property was stored, including sentimental items that were now lost to the black market. They had also hit one of Will Martins largest warehouses for distributing morphling, which had set them back financially to a particularly unflattering degree.

To top it all off, the Grover Gang had killed everyone at both locations, most of which were guards or workers that weren't particularly involved with the intimate dealings of either Will Martins or Jacquard's father.

Jacquard felt his fists tighten at the thought of it, with veins appearing on his head so prominently that he wouldn't be surprised if he burst a blood vessel. He harboured a truly indescribable rage for what had been done, and tonight was the night that it would all come back to bite Garrick Grover. Jacquard would be merciless, ruthless… he would wipe them off the face of the earth.

"Hey, hey… relax," a voice cooed in Jacquard's ear, immediately soothing his previously aggravated state. He flashed a side-eyed glance at the person leaning into his ear, as they intertwined their fingers with his previously clenched fists, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as they stared intently at his face.

Jacquard turned his head, his expression immediately softening up upon seeing Janet Martins, the daughter of Will, and more importantly - Jacquard's girlfriend. She fluttered her eyelashes at him knowingly, her braided hair swaying with every movement of her caramel coloured face. Janet had been a long time childhood friend of Jacquard, he having known the girl since he was an infant, considering they had been born around the same age. Himself and Janet had been raised together, brought up through thick and thin, and quite possibly knew each other better than anyone else did either of them.

It wasn't until the ninth-grade, when the two started taking each other more seriously as romantic partners, but of course both of their fathers were more than happy with how the situation had turned out. They were the ultimate power couple within the gang, the two that would likely inherit it and take it to new heights never before even fathomed. She was just about the only one who could calm Jacquard down, the only one he had ever developed feelings for - if you could call them that.

Of course, Jacquard was still unashamedly a piece of shit, having never remained loyal to her throughout the entirety of their relationship. He was a prolific cheater, insatiable in his desires and impossible to hold down, unbeknownst to Janet. But as Jacquard had told himself many times - what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Who was he to not allow himself to be shared by many girls? They all wanted a piece of him, and he was more than happy to oblige.

"I'm calm," he grunted, brushing off Janet, who couldn't help but allow a greasy expression to plaster her face.

"Hey! No need to be so dismissive," she pouted, causing Jacquard to roll his eyes.

"Janet, please. This is serious, we're about to take those sons-of-bitches out - I don't need you coddling me," he snapped back at her, a flash of hurt appearing on her face as her full lips lowered into a frown.

"You really think that's a way to treat your girlfriend?" She huffed, prompting Jacquard to spout an annoyed tsk.

"You're too damn emotional, you know I don't mean it like that," he sighed, sparing very little sympathy for her dramas.

"Oh fuck you Jax," she hissed, eyeing him coldly as her face contorted into one of anger. "Sorry for just trying to be supportive."

Their dynamic had always been like this, as far back as Jacquard could remember. As close as they had always been, the two would bicker non-stop as they were both too damn stubborn to apologise. Not that Jacquard believed he had any reason to apologise, it wasn't his fault she couldn't handle his bluntness.

However, at the end of the day, the two always went along as if nothing had happened. It was why they worked so well together, they were both just as volatile as the other. It gave their relationship vibrancy, and kept that spark ignited that neither could draw away from, like moths to a flame.

"Hey son, are you done being disrespectful to my daughter?"

The voice was enough to instantly make Jacquard pause in his tracks, his body tensing up as his head perked at the stern tone of the older man behind him. Slowly turning his head, he was met with the unimpressed face of Will Martins, a big burly man with his arms folded and his demeanour casual, his eyes staring daggers at Jacquard as he begrudgingly lowered his own to the ground.

"Sorry sir, it was just a misunderstanding," Jacquard muttered, only half the man he was a moment prior, when faced with the ominous pressure of his girlfriends tough father. The man watched him for a few moments, clearly not believing his words, however appearing to hold his tongue as he ultimately relented.

"Good. This is no time for stupid games. Ain't that right Lonny?" Will called out, as another figure not too far behind him steadily approached the growing group of people.

"That's damn right!" Jacquard's father cackled, his aged voice a gruff, throaty bellow. Lonny finally reached the group, two rucksacks held in his grasp with one in each hand, which he steadily placed on the ground.

Jacquard couldn't help but examine his father, a man that looked a lot like himself if he had aged a few extra decades. Lonny was tall and skinny, with dark, ashen skin and a bald head full of wrinkles and crows feet. When taking Jacquard's own physical appearance into consideration - the same dark, chocolately skin tone, lanky figure, tall height, and ebony black eyes - he really was a snapshot of his fathers younger self.

The only real difference was the accumulation of burn scars on his arms that Jacquard had developed from his more belligerent and callous acts, his still-present hair held in a buzz-cut style, and of course his circle-framed glasses, rimmed with real gold stolen from an export sent in from District 1.

"I guess it's time to get down to business, huh?" Jacquard smirked, as he approached Janet's back, reaching around her waist and embracing her in a hug from behind. He could see Janet trying to mask her delight with a roll of her eyes, unable to completely suppress her smile as she turned her head to face away from him.

"That it is," Will confirmed, as he unzipped one of the rucksacks, before taking out an M4 rifle. Henry's eyes lit up with glee, as he jumped forward with immediate interest, like the little lunatic he was.

"Oh shit! How did you get your hands on these dad!?" He exclaimed excitedly, reaching for the gun from Will's hands, before the older man pulled it out of Henry's reach.

"Nuh uh, you ain't using this thing. Are you outta your damn mind!?" Will snapped at him, causing his face to fall in disappointment. "This ain't a toy for a little man like you."

"My dad brought these here, I should be allowed!" He retorted, causing Lonny to laugh at his stubborn kid.

"Shut your ass up boy, you ain't ready to use a goddamn assault rifle," Lonny scolded the boy, before passing him a Glock pistol with the safety on. "You start off where everyone does - a pistol."

"That's no fair," Henry mumbled, as he eyed Jacquard jealously. "Jax was able to use one at my age."

"And look how that turned out," Mel snickered, causing Jacquard to grit his teeth.

"Hey Henry," Jacquard growled, causing the boy's head to spin towards him. "Slap Mel, teach him a lesson."

"What?" Mel questioned, his face suddenly looking panicked as Henry made a beeline for him. Mel suddenly started running, as Henry chased him around with his arm raised. Jacquard took great pleasure in watching the whole fiasco, grinning wildly as Mel desperately begged for Henry to leave him alone.

Following my every command, Jacquard thought to himself in amusement. Like the dog he is.

"Stop fucking around you two, it's time to get this show on the road," Lonny insisted, shaking his head at his two idiot sons. Following the instruction, the large group started converting into mission mode, with most people silencing as the weapons were passed around. There were a group of about twenty of them, most of them being supporting members that Will had gathered there to help inflict the carnage. The men that were chosen were both some of the best, and some of the most trusted members of Lonny and Will's group, with the youngest members being the two Rousseau twins, and Jacquard himself.

Despite his younger age, Jacquard was just as dangerous as the rest of them; if not more. He had carried out countless acts of violence across his lifetime, and usually was pretty indiscriminate when it came to who fell victim to his hand. If people got in his way, or were caught in the crossfire as a form of collateral damage - he wasn't one to lose sleep over it. He didn't care who he hurt, as long as he got to live life the way he wanted, then it was all for a good reason in his eyes.

Jacquard wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, to the point that he had expertly perfected his methods of inflicting as much damage as he wanted. He had grown a taste for it overtime, and felt that he was always drawn to one specific devastating attack, one that was as destructive as it was a spectacle.

Fire. Fire was an element Jacquard had been fascinated with for as far back as he could remember. The way it could wreak havoc and bring a building down to mere ash within minutes. The way it singed human flesh to the point that it did irreparable damage on a molecular level. The way he could harness such a cataclysmic force of nature all with just a little lighter fluid and a simple matchstick.

It was one of the most proficient methods of destruction and killing within District 8, with factories and housing filled with flammable materials that almost made it impossible to distinguish whether arson was involved. It was effective and spectacular, and therefore, he had a particular affinity for the dangerous element. If he could burn down all of District 8 purely for his own entertainment, to watch as the city crumbled around him in a burning blaze of glory - he would.

Fortunately for Jacquard, his compulsive obsession with fire was going to be perfect for tonight, as his appetite for the flames would certainly be satiated with the plans they had all outlined in the previous weeks.

It was a simple plan. Jacquard would infiltrate their main building, before spreading lighter fluid all throughout the perimeter except for the main entrance. The place would be set ablaze, causing the occupants - including Garrick himself - to escape from the building, funnelling out of the front into the open crossfire of bullets from Jacquard's group. Perhaps if he were lucky, he'd trap a few inside, with nowhere to run other than the roaring flames of the hellfire he had brought to them.

Now, it was simply time to execute the plan.

"Be careful, alright?" Janet murmured to him, as she turned to embrace him in a proper hug. Jacquard scoffed, before leaning back and looking her dead in the eyes.

"Babe, they won't even know what hit them. Caution is for pussies," he dismissed her, causing Janet to roll her eyes.

"Just accept the damn worry I have," she scolded him, causing him to laugh.

"Fine, fine. I'll be 'careful' then," he air quoted, as he turned to the rest of the group. "Now, shall we?"

With that, they left Janet behind, setting off for the enemy territory with a tense sort of excitement. The journey to the Grover Gang's main territory was not a long one, but it was certainly a tricky one. With the increased gang activity in recent times, District 8 had become a hard city to navigate with the increased presence of Peacekeepers roaming the streets. This had been especially hard during the dead of night, when lockdowns and curfews had been implemented to prevent the rise of night crime.

Additionally, Will and Lonny's gang had become Peacekeeper enemy number one, as they had constantly been the most aggressive and retaliatory group towards them. Peacekeeper's were constant targets for Jacquard and his people, as not only did the Peacekeepers impede on the territory that they managed, but also because they were a prime source of weaponry that was otherwise impossible to get one's hands on.

Weapons such as firearms were contraband in Eight, similarly to how they were all across the nation. But that didn't stop many from raiding Peacekeeper stock and taking the weapons for themselves, or even just attacking the nuisance at the source and taking their weapons from their dead, cold hands.

Jacquard still remembered the first Peacekeeper he had killed. She had been a woman who had called out for her child in her dying breaths, as the blood drained from the bullet wound through her chest. It was some bitch named Luxanna - or something along those lines, according to the comrade who had called out to her. She was a pretty thing from memory, who honestly had no place being in that line of work. He could tell from her refined accent that she hadn't been from District 8, but that didn't matter to him as he had silenced her words forever. She should've known better than to be there in the first place.

He had been young when he had done the deed, but he wouldn't have changed it even if he could go back. He felt nothing whenever he ended another persons life, no sympathy, no hesitation, and certainly no regret. Perhaps if anything, he felt powerful; the sensation of holding another persons fate in his hands never failing to give him a rush of adrenaline.

Fortunately for the large group, they had many ways to manoeuvre undetected throughout District 8, possessing an intricate knowledge of various routes passing unnoticed between buildings, alleys and even underground. They wouldn't so much as even spot a Peacekeeper in the vicinity of the area, remaining undetected as they weaved through buildings until they reached Grover territory.

"How did you even find out where their main compound is dad?" Henry questioned inquisitively, straggling slightly behind Lonny who led the way at the forefront.

"We received a tip-off, been scoping the area for a couple of weeks now. They won't even know what hit em'," Lonny explained, a slight chuckle following his words.

"We're almost there," Will informed the lot of them, slowing down as he turned to all of the members. "Jax, this is where you seperate from us. Use the sewerage tunnels to get up into their hold and find a way in. We've noticed they usually leave a window cracked open on the ground floor, seems like that's their smoking room."

"They're about to be inhaling a whole lot more smoke then," Jacquard grinned, as he took the canister of flammable liquid from his father. "Time to flush the bastards out."

With those words, Jacquard separated from the group, continuing to follow the tunnel they were using and memorising the directions they had previously mapped out in their meetings leading up to the ordeal. It didn't take long for him to reach a ladder, that led to a man-hole which if he was correct, should have led him up into the courtyard of their compound.

Fortunately, the route they had mapped out turned out to have worked, as when Jacquard slowly lifted the man-hole to expose himself to the overground, he found himself in a concealed area directly outside of the main building. It was an old warehouse from what he could make out, repurposed to suit the needs of the Grover Gang's activities, which likely extended to housing many of the members as well. It was well fortified from what he could tell, spotting various patrolling gang members and tall concrete walls that outlined the perimeter of the land. It was a tough place to lead an assault, Jacquard wondered how the rest planned to get in.

As he looked around, he spotted numerous tall buildings outside of the property, many of which that looked run-down and uninhabited. If he had to take a guess, they would likely overlook the entrance from those vantage points, raining down gunfire from above, before breach the front gates once their first wave of security was dealt with for a ground-level assault.

These guys are in for a world of pain, Jacquard snickered, as he scurried off along the outside of the building. It didn't take long for him to spot the open window for him to climb into, the pane of glass only being just ajar as he slowly pushed it inwards, and swung his legs over the windowsill.

Once he was in, Jacquard immediately got to work.

Using the canister, he doused the inner perimeter of the bottom floor of the building, making his way room through room as he avoided those of the Grover Gang that passed by. Fortunately, it seemed as if most of the rooms weren't being used at the current moment, as most of the inhabitants seemed to be located on the upper-floors, a fact that they had previously scoped out over the weeks spent watching the premises. It had given him ample time to douse the place undisturbed, to the point where he finally completed his first task, leaving just the front doors as the only area that wouldn't immediately light up in a blaze.

The rest of them should be in position by now, Jacquard thought to himself, as he lazily tossed the gas canister to the side, and lit up a cigarette from his back pocket. He brought the filter to his lips, taking in a long inhale as the tobacco smoke filled his lungs, gracing him with the smoky flavour he so thoroughly enjoyed.

He turned for a moment, gazing at the interior of the warehouse one last time, admiring what they had done with the once deteriorated place, only to make it one of their own homely bases. All of that work, only for it all to go up in flames. How tragic.

"Burn baby, burn," Jacquard smirked, before flicking the partially diminished cigarette onto the gas puddle in his vicinity. Jacquard watched as everywhere that he had doused with the fluid was instantly engulfed in flames, a spark of delight in his eyes as he felt the heat burning and destroying everything in it's path.

He slowly pushed the doors open to exit the building, only to be met by the carnage his fellow members had unleashed on the guards out front. Bodies laid crumpled on the ground, the smell of gunpowder still fresh, although now beginning to become overtaken by the smell of smoke from the roaring fire within the building. He walked through puddles of blood, trampling whoever rested dead on the ground as the crackling flames began to become audible from the outside as well.

It took a few moments, but the shouting and screams from the people inside finally arose above the noise, the people on the lower floors having finally realised that their building was now burning to a crisp.

Jacquard locked eyes with the rest of his men, as they stormed the gate and made a beeline for any form of cover they could find.

"That was awesome!" Henry exclaimed, a wild look in his eyes as he examined his gun. "Where did you get the silencers Will? They couldn't even hear the shots, that's some special forces kind of shit!"

"Enough talk boy, get your ass into gear," Will shouted at Henry, diving behind one of the many bushes that littered the front yard.

"Jax! The hell are you doin'? Get behind some cover!" Lonny commanded him as, Jacquard raised his arms outward, his palms aimed at the sky.

"Settle down… what's there to be afraid of? They're going to be so disoriented that they won't even know what's going on," he cackled, turning on his heel to watch the massacre before him.

"You foolish boy," Lonny grunted, as he remained focused on the front doors, his gun trained directly on the exit for all those who sought to escape.

"What can I say? This is the perfect view, out in the open," Jacquard grinned, as his fingers found the grip of his own pistol.

It only took a few moments, but before too long, a horde of people began staggering out of the entrance to the building, coughing and spluttering with their hands on their knees, having likely found that all other exits had already been blocked by the searing flames.

"Drop em'!" Will roared, before a series of suppressed shots were fired on every man that had exited the building. Screams and cries of both confusion and pain pierced the night sky, with several of the Grover Gang dropping in an instant, and the rest frantically trying to make sense of the situation.

Jacquard fired his gun as many times as it allowed him to, emptying his clip into the nearest people to him and grinning like a madman while he did it. The shooting didn't last more than a minute, before just about every one of the Grover Gang at the compound had dropped to the ground, lying dead and lifeless next to the increasingly fire-claimed building.

It had happened so quickly, Jacquard felt as if he didn't even have enough time to truly appreciate the moment. However, at least he could take it all in now in the aftermath. The blissful heat, the smoky fumes, the… breaking windows?

"We gotta get the hell outta here!" Lonny instructed, his eyes scanning the area. "Peacekeepers will be swarming here like flies to shit."

"Job looks done to me," Will admired, as he turned to Jacquard's father, throwing his gun over his shoulder. "I say you're right."

"Come on, let's go," Mel sighed, looking displeased as he stared at the gun in his hands.

"You lot go on ahead," Jacquard insisted, his eyes wandering off to the side. "There's something I need to check."

"Are you crazy?" Will exclaimed, his eyes wide with bemusement. "This isn't the time to be frolicking around, we gotta go!"

"Don't worry about me, I'll catch up," Jacquard assured them, before taking off in the direction he heard the breaking glass coming from, despite the protests of just about everyone else there.

Someone thinks they're escaping this, Jacquard suspected internally, as he circled the perimeter of the building, searching for where the window had been broken. It was far too early for a window to have broken naturally from the flames, the only way it could've been done was if someone had broken it personally. Someone was trying to escape, and he was going to find out who.

It didn't take too long for Jacquard to locate the source of the breaking window, as he turned a corner and was met with the sight of a person stumbling off of the ledge of a ground floor window, coughing profusely as they collapsed onto the pavement a mere few feet below. It was hard to see who the person was, their figure nothing but a shadow against the burning light of the fire and the darkness of the evening atmosphere. However, what he could tell from the smoke-induced coughing and spluttering, was that the person was a girl.

"Well, well, well… what do we have here? An escapee?" Jacquard cackled, as the girl remained on all fours, desperately fighting for oxygen to the point that she didn't even acknowledge his presence. "I'm sorry to crash the escape party but… I'm afraid that's not going to happen."

The girl continued to cough for a little while longer, before she eventually looked up at Jacquard, her eyes filled with tears from all of the smoke inhalation. It was only then, that he was able to recognise her.

"If it isn't Ritva Zelenka! It's been a while, hasn't it? So, you were running with these dogs, huh? I guess you won't be any longer, they're all kind of dead," Jacquard laughed, watching as Ritva scowled at him, clutching at her chest.

"Go… to hell… asshole," she wheezed, before bursting into another coughing fit, her lungs unable to contain it any longer.

"You see, that's not a very nice thing to say," Jacquard sneered in response, before swinging his leg back and punting her in the stomach. Ritva released a guttural scream, as she rolled over onto her side, winded and desperately trying to suck in air thanks to the kick he had inflicted on her. She couldn't help but groan as she curled into the fetal position, completely helpless due to the state Jacquard had put her in.

Jacquard knew of Ritva from fairly long ago, the two having been in the same schooling system together. She had always been a bitch back then, and he could see not a whole lot had changed with her in the current day. He knew that she had gotten caught up in some gang related activity some time ago, but didn't care enough to find out exactly who she had joined and for what reasons.

This however, certainly changed things. She wasn't just apart of any gang, but their direct rivals - the Grover Gang. She very well was likely involved with the thievery they had committed against Jacquard, meaning his sympathy for her was all but existent.

"So you thought it would be a good idea to steal from us huh? Kill our men and make off with our possessions and money?" Jacquard sneered at her, as she continued to try and recover. Ritva propped herself up on one shaky wrist, looking up at him darkly.

"I didn't have… any involvement in that," she insisted, sweat from the flames dripping down her pale skin, and her short, black, shoulder-length hair disheveled to the point that half of it covered her face. "I've been trying… to leave Garrick… for months now."

"And yet you're here tonight? Funny how that works," Jacquard scoffed, earning a frustrated look from Ritva.

"You can't just leave this life Jacquard… you should know that. How many people have you killed… who tried to leave?" She breathed, her words cut by brief interludes of inhales.

"Hmm… dunno. I guess it's about to be one more," he responded casually, as he took out his gun, aiming it at her head. Ritva's eyes widened at him, the fear in her eyes palpable as the barrel of the gun stared down at her.

"There's no use begging, I never leave a job unfinished," Jacquard informed her coldly, before pulling the trigger. He waited for the blast of the gun, with Ritva shying away in fearful anticipation for her demise. However, it never came, a clicking sound signifying an empty chamber being the only thing audible.

"Shit," Jacquard muttered, examining his empty gun in mild frustration. "There should've been at least one bullet left!"

He hit the gun a few times, before aiming it at Ritva once more, wasting no time before pressing the trigger. This time, a shot did go off. However - it did not come from Jacquard's own gun.

"Fuck!" He roared in pain, feeling a searing hot pain as a projectile grazed his forearm, the bullet coming from behind and causing him to stagger to the side.

"Ritva… run!" A hoarse voice instructed, causing Jacquard to turn his head in the direction of the culprit. He became distracted from Ritva, his eyes locking onto a man on the ground, who had seemingly crawled all the way over to their position, leaving a trail of blood in his stead. The man stared Jacquard down weakly, training a pistol on his general area despite the uneasy swaying from blood-loss induced accuracy.

"Garrick!?" Ritva cried out in surprise, allowing Jacquard to connect the dots as to who exactly this was.

"Garrick, huh?" Jacquard growled, holding the spot where the bullet had grazed him, whilst feeling the blood begin to soak his fingers. "So you survived the slaughter…"

"Go! Ritva!" The man continued to shout, as he fired off more shots at Jacquard, each of them missing wildly as Garrick hardly seemed to have the energy to keep the gun aimed on him.

"Well, let me do the honours then, old man," Jacquard hissed, as he strode towards Garrick and kicked the gun out of his hands. It went flying for a few feet, before sliding across the concrete and coming to a stop several yards away. Jacquard proceeded to pummel his fist against Garrick's face, causing the man to groan as he rolled over in pain, disoriented by the trauma to the head.

"You could've gotten away y'know? Played dead and waited till we were gone," Jacquard spoke up, as he lazily made his way over to Garrick's gun, and picked it up for himself. Garrick began to cough up blood, before chuckling to himself as he rested on his back, looking up at the starless sky.

"No," he croaked, turning his head to Jacquard. "There's no way I'm surviving this. But she is."

"What?" Jacquard questioned blankly, as he lifted his head up to follow the direction that Garrick was motioning towards. His stomach dropped as he noticed the absence of Ritva, the spot she previously was now just holding a few shards of broken glass on the floor.

"You bastard," Jacquard growled furiously as he stormed back towards Garrick. The man began to laugh hysterically, the blood continuing to flow from his mouth.

"You do realise I'll hunt her down, right? I'll never let her get away for good, she's as good as dead," Jacquard pointed out, as Garrick gazed at him blankly, the life continuing to drain from him.

"That may be true, but as long as she's out there… you didn't finish the job."

With those words, Jacquard felt an inconsolable rage blossom in his chest, as he aimed Garrick's own gun at the dying man's head.

"I like a chase," he sneered at the fallen leader, before firing a bullet through the man's skull.

---

Author's Note:

Hi everyone, I'm back! I do apologise for the wait on this chapter, I know the previous ones came out much faster, however that was largely due to the fact that I pre-wrote most of them to be able to release them in quick succession. Considering the large word count of these chapters, it's only natural that they take a bit of time. Additionally, I did also fall ill with Covid fairly recently, so that took me out of action for close to a week at least. I've also spent some time planning out the pre-games, such as POV orders, alliances, events, and perhaps even an early draft for a potential death order… However, today's focus is here, and we're back with the The Underbelly of Society - Night Before The Reapings. I had a lot of fun writing this, so let's briefly cover our debutants.

Today we were introduced to Mavis St. Clair, Peter Kissinger, Nimue Soares, and Jacquard Rousseau, each of which were very unique and intriguing in their own right. I'm sure there'll be some mixed opinions about these characters (*cough* Jacquard *cough*), and I hope you found all of them entertaining. I would love to hear your thoughts! An additional thank you to AstralKnight98, AlexFalTon, averyandomauthor, and VeryNewToThis for Mavis, Peter, Nimue, and Jacquard respectively. I would especially love to hear what you all thought about my interpretations of your characters.

This is already long, so I'll wrap it up here. Next chapter will focus on The Reaping itself, where we will see some of our tributes reacting to finding out their fates, as well as meeting even more of our tributes as their District Partners. Just a side note, if you're ever curious on my progress with an upcoming chapter, I do track my progress on my profile, noting completed POV's, as well as estimated release periods (and dates when I'm close enough to know). That's all for now, thanks for reading!

~Reign