Running. Running. Running. My sides burn. Argus is panting with me, stuffing the former camera drone into his pocket. . We can't stop, not when they know everything, when they're chasing us. My hair mats against my forehead, I tied it back but the band had been lost and I can't stop now, not when they told us to wait there and those peacekeepers ran up. With guns, out. Shot Vio.
It started with the lake. We'd gone because an old man who'd said he'd been at work when he'd seen a boy and a girl break through the fence a month or three after the Tenth. And given what we were doing at the time, well, it seemed like a viable mission. So we'd decided to go out, the last stop of the trip before we'd head back to the Capitol. We'd got special permission when Daddy had told the Peacekeeper we'd be no bother. He even gave us a special comm, so we could keep in touch and if we got into trouble could call for help from a hovercraft. Not that we'd need it, the woods were safe enough as long as we didn't mess around. Still the man tried to get us to take his personal comm link, told me a pretty girl needed to be sure of help.
I'm not sure why Argus wanted to get away from him.
We got shown where it was safe to go through the fence, the one gate so Peacekeepers could conduct routine patrols. It was useful when you think about it, they needed some kind of way to make sure no subversive activity was going on in the woods, not that they expected any. A gate lets you go out and investigate. Anyways, Argus and I step through. We can see the Commander shut but not lock the gate, leaving two of his men to wait on our side, and we're off. We have a map, it can't be that hard.
We're walking, and I get to talking, smile dancing on my lips. "Argus? How did you become a cameraman, I always thought that was a District job?" The hint of a frown comes over his lips, before he chuckles. Thank the State, I thought I'd said something wrong. "Well. I didn't expect to be with the cameras. I trained to be a drone operator, and when Via Aurea said there was an opening in their camdrone wing. Well, it sounded like a good opportunity. How I met Vio."
Vio. His drone, because of course he had to give it a nickname and then cut that nickname down down. The drone perches on his shoulder with a hum, and I resist the urge to smile. Won't give him the satisfaction. It buzzes, and then hums off again. "And then Vio and I had a nice career together, from just after my sixteenth to my eighteenth. Then your Dad says that he'll give me normal pay if I film for his daughter, thought that was a great opportunity. I thought, at the time. Didn't anticipate the tribulation of this arduous trek."
A theatrical brush of his hand against temple, and I do burst into giggles, because that's funny! I do like Argus, he's a nice boy. Not the type to marry, Daddy would be appalled if I even considered it. He isn't from one of the great families, not even a Plinth (if any of them survive) or a Roquefort or any of the newer ones. But he's nice, and he's been good company on the year. I've met a lot of people, Victors, Government People, normal district citizens. But they were temporary.
My boots crunch against a leaf, and I yelp, sound too loud, before letting out a giggle. Capitol Above, I'm acting like a little girl. That thought draws a frown from my lips, and I push it down before Argus can see it. I return to the walk, looking around. It's nice, a little out in the woods, and I know exactly where we are. The holomap sees to that, I shouldn't really have got it but the peacekeeper man said a pretty girl like me needed some extra guidance and I wasn't going to turn it away. So I can see a blinking red dot, and that's where we are, and there's a lake down the path where a man said people used to go. Maybe she went that way?
Who knows?
What I do know is that the sun's warm, and maybe I haven't dressed appropriately because my leggings and cardigan are getting hot. I don't want to complain, but after our third break for water I need to say something. Thus, before we set off again, I raise my hand. "Give me a second, cardigan's coming off."
I offer a chuckle, and a wink, before removing the cardigan and tying it around my waist, arms now bare. My boots crackle the leaf litter as I set off, Argus behind as I face the drone hovering in my face. "I'm out here in the woods of Twelve, where rumour has it their first Victor ran all those years ago after a murder!"
A pause, before I keep speaking. Enough time to build curiosity, what the viewers want. "Specifically, the murder of Mayfair Lipp, daughter of the mayor at the time, and Billy Taper, her presumed boyfriend. They were both found, shot, and though a man and one of our own Peacekeepers were executed for the crime, Gray was also implicated by a Peacekeeper collecting evidence. However, Gray had made her escape, and unlike other Victors was never charged and punished for crimes committed."
A sigh, I know enough to express lament in that instance,
The lake was where it all went wrong. There's something gleaming in a patch of mud, and I can't resist some good investigative journalism. Grabbing the gleaming item, because it feels heavy, it's... a gun. Strange, though, it doesn't look like a rebel or Peacekeeper gun from the Dark Days, it looks newer. Dirty, as well, rusted and covered in algae and pond weeds. Like it's been underwater a very long time, even I can tell that much. It's curious, though, and I let the comm hum to life. "Hello? This is Lavinia Creed, come in?"
The voice that comes in is as clear and as rough as if the man was standing in front of me. It's got a certain brightness to it, and I resist the urge to smile. "This is Peacekeeper Darius. I'm coming in, Lavinia." My voice is bouncy. "Of course, we've found a gun on the edge of the river. Thought you'd want to know!"
His voice isn't pleased, or cold, or anything I'd expected. It's apprehensive, and I can hear murmuring voices from the comm, before the man comes back in. "Lavinia. You and your companions need to stay there. We need to come and get you."
Vio buzzes around excitedly, humming, and I look at Argus. He looks apprehensive, but gives an uneasy nod. Within an hour, Peacekeepers are descending from a hovercraft. I didn't know they had hovercraft in Twelve, this one must have been on patrol from a base in Eleven or Nine. Argus bundles us behind a tree, even as they call out. One grabs the gun, placing it in a bag, and Argus presses his finger over my lips. I don't like this, but I trust him. A mistake.
Because when their tones start to get frantic, Vio floats out. I don't know where from, eyeing Peacekeepers. Through Argus' tablet, I can see guns in their hands. Real guns, not like the rusty thing we found.
Crack.
A bullet plunges into Vio, scattering metal and shattering the viewport for a split second before it goes black. I let out a scream, and we begin to run. Argus has grabbed the shattered drone, who knows why, but he's running with it in one hand. A bullet snaps into a tree, and I can hear that peacekeeper. Darius. Calling. "Lavinia, Argus, we don't have to do this. Stay there."
Stay there? When there's bullets whizzing around us? Hell no. I look to Argus, and he nods. We just have to keep running. Surely they're just being secure, but we need to be away. When Daddy doesn't hear from us, he'll check in.
Running. Running. Running. We slow, have to catch our breath, the birds are twittering. Our clothes are torn, caught on branches and thorns as we ran. We don't know where we are, but there's no Peacekeepers. Maybe they gave up. The birds go silent, and I turn, confused.
A harpoon, far bigger the ones used in half the Games, slams into Argus like a truck. Rips into his chest, blood spurting out. He's dead, I've seen enough to know that. It retracts, slower than it had lanced out but fast enough I have scant time to react. I only have time to scream his name before the net falls, heavy and sterile.
It closes, is drawn up. I squirm, but inside the cool, smooth net there's little friction and less ability to escape. The net's coming up slowly, why I don't know. It does give me time to notice a boy and a girl, eyes flicking to theirs for the barest fraction of a moment before I'm out of sight. They looked hidden, and for that I think I'm glad. I don't think they would have been netted, not when the harpoon is scanning the forest.
I'm drawn into the belly of the hovercraft, and transparent doors slide shut beneath me. The peacekeeper captain from before is standing, eyeing me with something between disappointment and desire. "Well, Miss Creed. This is an issue. I have my orders, and I prefer my skin to yours sorry to say. So, I won't tell you what's up. Regardless, we have the issue of what to do with you."
He sighs, and I squirm. "Let me go, please! Daddy will give you..." He holds his hand up. "Your 'daddy' has no idea. He never will, Miss Creed. Now, let me explain what happens. I'm going to go back home, and file a report to President Snow."
Daddy knows the president. I try to say this, but... "And no, he won't be saving you, Creed. Not this time. You found something you shouldn't have, and he's authorized for you to be silenced."
The man takes out a gun, and even as I squirm and scream presses it to my shoulder, before the trigger clicks, and I feel a sharp pinch, before black begins to take over. It starts at the corner of my vision, before beginning to roll in. I try to yell, it comes out slow. The black takes over.
I wake up in a white room, secured to a surgical chair. My jaw aches. There's a man standing there, back to me, and a young woman holding a tray. I try to move my jaw, but that only enhances the ache. The man finally turns to me, and I yelp, a yelp that echoes through the room. He's got glasses, no, goggles on. That isn't the issue. The issue is the blood, speckles of it on his coat and gloves.
I scream, finally, and he rolls his eyes, leaning in with a pair of pliers in one hand with a small spike on one, and a scalpel in the other. "Oh, don't be like that. This is better than the alternative. Now, stay still."
The pliers clamp onto my tongue, piercing a hole, and I let out another scream. Keeping hold of them, the Doctor slips earphones in, putting in a call on his comm once that's over. I can only hear one side of it, but the words are damning. "Hey, are you sure about this? Vocal cord removal is just as effective, and. Yes, yes, I understand. Such a waste, though. Some people don't want a blonde."
He tightens his grip, and picks up the scalpel from the silent young woman. An explosion of pain blossoms as the silver flicks below my eye level, and I can feel something slipping down my throat. A sucking hiss as a machine is brought down, seal over my mouth, and I can only watch as a column of red flies up. The pressure from the pliers is no longer there, and my mouth feels empty.
The red dries up after near on twenty minutes. The tube in my arm, pumping new blood in, has been there for ten, and as the bleeding slows the tube is removed, and I feel a searing pain as the Doctor reaches into my mouth again. When his hand comes out, the pliers are picked back up, something pink being dropped into a bin before he speaks to me.
"Well, that was remarkably clean. Your new owner will be impressed. Some of the backalley jobs are... unsatisfactory. Can't believe people take them. Anyways, girl. Before we start, you get this. Don't have enough for everyone, but you were Capitol. So you get this."
A stinging pain in my stomach, and I feel a lightness come over me. A giddy lightness, morphling. Something, a metal collar around my neck, opens. I couldn't feel it before, but now I lean back into the base of it, and the doctor tightens my wrist and ankle restraints, before beginning to cut into my abdomen. I can see every precise slice, even if I can't feel it past a tingling excitement. Must be the morphling.
When he's done, he explains what he's done. Sterilized me, some routine blemish clean up, implanted a tracker. The slight joker in my left temple wants to claim that at least now I won't feel any of the pain or discomfort I go through monthly, before the realist in me explains that this is still a shitshow because now I can't have kids. The doctor smirks as he underlines that it was a necessary service for potential clients.
Not that I'd get any. Soon enough, I have the typical Avoxing procedures applied, as it's explained. A short video, first, putting an absurdly positive light on things.
Then the processes. Remake, as I got when I asked Daddy because my look was out of fashion, but more permanent. Permanent makeup, depilation, some light surgeries, the whole nine yards. Don't want Avoxes having to handle their personal appearance every day, after all.
A steel collar slipped around my neck, labelled with my number. 72-612-19. I don't get it, but given I'm in a class with 72-612-23, 72-612-22 and 72-612-21, it's some kind of numbering system. We're all female, that at least s consistent, and we're all given the same red trousers and shirt. It'll be replaced eventually, but for now at least we all look near identical. The collar has an inbuilt tracker, and other modules. It could have been a bracelet or anklet or anything else, but clearly the Capitol had some ideas.
Daily indoctrination, aural and visual. Until we all nod along, and do whatever we're told perfectly 99.9% of the time, and handle the Avoxing surprisingly well. It takes nearly 6 months, as I'm told. Before we graduate, and assignments are handed out. Crying 23 is sent to the Silk Belt, 22 is to report to the Presidential palace, and 21 is for the house of a rich family.
Me? I'm assigned to the training centre. To a side room, where a young blonde man explains my new role. Training the tributes, after a certain fashion. After all, the good tributes need some practice at what they do, and Avoxes are disposable. I'll be fixed up if it isn't too bad, and the tributes (those invited to participate) are all warned not to cause issues. My first, and as it turns out only 'user' comes in relatively soon.
A slender girl with raven hair, knives in each hand flashing and slicing as she giggles. Her words are as light as her fingers, dancing across the body in excited patterns. No removals, but a lot of vicious cuts and patterns. A wooden item is hanging at the training issued belt, but she doesn't use it. Good, I'd expect it's some kind of evil device, or such. She does give me a kiss, though, as she finishes, before straightening up.
"Sorry about that. But Cee said I had to get some practice in, and all the other Squaddies are too nice. I really am sorry, I should focus on the tributes. But, you'll heal. Won't even need a scar removal! Plus, after this maybe you'll get promoted! I doubt they'll make you do this two years in a row!"
The girl helps with putting skin back where it should be and rubbing rapid-heal cream on. Maybe it's too expensive to be used on an Avox, but she giggles and rubs it on anyways, leaving. Bitch. The pain is disappearing, but how could she be so callous with people? The Capitol wouldn't stand for this.
But, of course, I'm not people. I'm a person. Or not, according to what I was taught. So I stay, and wait, without anybody else coming in. A mercy.
Training centre Avoxes aren't reassigned until after the Games end. Instead, we help the mentors with anything they could need, whether that be bringing Haymitch his third bottle of liquor (apparently a surprisingly high total in two hours, but given what happened to the tributes of Twelve understandable), or tallying sponsorship donations for Citrine and Laurel because the software won't do it.
The Victor that year doesn't stop by, even if we are permitted to watch the victory ceremony. They don't usually, the twirling and excited girl on screen hardly has the time. And her expectation comes true, because after a year cleaning in the Silk Belt (I ignore the room label ending in 612-23), I'm promoted. Up to the tribute apartments, where I get to stand around and serve two children sent to a likely death by the Capitol.
A certain death, when I'm told I'm going to be in the Twelve apartment. I ignore that, though, because that's not a nice thought. At least they have an end in sight, I'll be serving until there's no use for me, and that looks to be a good long time. The girl, though, is a volunteer. A rarity for the Out districts, rarer still for Twelve. A volunteer I recognize.
The girl I saw when me and Argus were caught.
I don't acknowledge her, but she acknowledges of me. Terror flits across my features, before I turn away, returning to my spot. The group discusses me, settling on a name I don't know but decidedly isn't my former one. Good.
The next few days I remain as invisible as possible. Any issues and I could be moved somewhere a lot less pleasant. I turn down the beds, fold the covers, anything keeping me out of the way. After a few days, though, the girl isn't at the table. She's in her room, I can hear some ruckus as I come closer to the door. My eyes widen when I see the mess, when the girl yells at me. Still, I have a responsibility, and her breakdown won't help her. So I glide outside, returning armed with a damp cloth I use first to wipe her face of the tears, and then her bloody hands. I disagree when she suggests it was her fault I was in this state, signing that she would have been Avoxed as well.
An hour cleaning the room, two pairs of hands makes it go a lot quicker. I even tuck her into bed, before gliding out.
I don't see her again in person for a year, even as I watch her climb over bodies to drag a boy and herself into the upper echelons of the Capitol. I'm pulled back into Twelve's room to serve alongside a new Avox, given only a few days to show him the ropes.
After the 'tributes' are gone for the second year in a row, we get to watch the games as before. Three days of watching and serving the mentors, until the light flashes across every screen and the Wheel erupts into chaos. The trophy cabinet is smashed, weapons appropriated for those in the room. I can only watch, shaking my head when offered a weapon.
I do take the small group, seven of them, through the Avox tunnels to the transfer. Ignoring the barking guns at our backs in the wheel, ignoring the clashing of steel when one of the blondes stays behind to confront a pair of pursuers. Ignoring the hum of a hovercraft as the six meet up, four heading back into the inner city and two heading on to a landing pad.
I return to my mat in the dorms. Another avox tries to rouse me, to wake me for something. I ignore this. Have to ignore this.
The hand that rouses me the next night is less gentle. The grip is iron as the peacekeeper loads me into a hovercraft, takes me with the new Avox (74-708-3) to a block outside of the city. A prison. The boy's there, some others I can glimpse through
There's no waiting. I'm thrown into a cell opposite him, before two attendants begin to twine copper wire around me, up my arms and legs. Around my head, and chest. Once they're done, and I'm cocooned in a flimsy cage, a button is pressed.
Electricity courses through the wires, the purest agony for a second as I writhe as much I can. Then nothing. I'm feeling a distant pain, but nothing more.
Then it ends.
Author's Note: Lavinia. A character we see very little of, and leaves a lot of questions. To say she's a sad story (in canon) would be an understatement, and I'd hope I did her some manner of justice!