CW: Violence. Lots of it. Also mentions of attempted physical assault and bullying. If you have particular triggers and are uncomfortable with reading a chapter, DM me and I'll give you a brief summary, no questions asked.

"Life robs you. Sometimes, you have to rob it back."

Ebony Warwick, 16, District Seven Female

July 14, Year 77

Ebony Warwick's hand flew to her mouth as the boy from District Seven's head shattered on the cobblestone ground. His killer, a hound of some kind, leaped out of the very same fourth-floor window the boy had just fallen from and landed unscathed, the ground cracking and denting under it. Saliva dripped from its bloodied fangs as it eyed its meal with a cruel eagerness.

People screamed, gasped, cried, all those dramatics, around her at the horror of the sight that soon unfolded. Ebony looked away. She could never stand the sight of brain matter, the very thing that spilled from her uncle's head after he was shot eleven years ago, the very thing that ruined her life before it even began.

"Traitorous bitch!"

"The Warwicks are nothing but a bunch of cowardly weasels."

"Careful, she might sell you to the Peacekeepers for a woodchip."

Cruel words, but somehow when Ebony fought back, she was the crueler one. When she bruised the jaw of the girl who cut her hair and slammed her into the wall, she was the bully, the violent one. It ran in the family after all.

For people who were supposed to be impartial, her teachers didn't even try to at least pretend they weren't biased against the boy who abandoned his district partner for the Careers.

Ebony loved to remind them that Cedar Warwick wasn't given much of a choice. She loved to ask them what they would do if they were bleeding on the ground with an arrow pointing right at their heart, and the only way out was to shake the hand of the one holding the bowstring.

Those petty little bitches had no answer…but they enjoyed twisting her words, telling the teacher that Ebony Warwick had told them that she hoped that they wound up in the Hunger Games.

"You of all people should know the horrors of that place," Ebony was told one day. "How dare you wish that on others."

The thing was, Ebony had no idea what it was like. She wasn't the one reaped for the Games all those years ago. She wasn't the one who had to make those hard choices, but she was the one who suffered for them.

So, Ebony Warwick lived her life as a pariah, with nobody in her corner, nobody except her grandparents, who understood her less and less as the years went by, then nobody at all when they joined her parents in death. Her anger and pain grew and grew, even as the hatred towards her family lessened with each passing year. She looked forward to the day she could show all of them what a traitorous bitch really was.

Ebony Warwick let the smile fall from her face before she lowered her hand. Then, she turned and left the town square.

Her stomach growled as she pushed past the crowd of people. She hadn't been able to scrap together much more than some soggy, old vegetables and a burnt lumpy paste that was the cook's feeble attempt at bread earlier that morning. Most of her good food came from the market, but that required money and money was something that Ebony hadn't had a good opportunity to acquire as of late.

Some would have thought her strange for even attempting to stomach food after something like that. Ebony could care less. In fact, it was good riddance. The boy who had just died was the older brother of one of her bullies. She was no doubt crying for him now, pathetic little tears. If District Seven never had another victor again, Ebony would throw a huge party. The only Victor they got since Cedar died was Johanna Mason, and she was long dead now. Now, with the recent passing of Jackson Lombardi, District Seven was saddled with a Career mentor who couldn't give two shits, and the thought made Ebony smile.

Once Ebony was out of the square, she made her way back to the community home. She could watch the Games there. The girl from Seven was still in it; if she died next, Ebony didn't want to miss it.

As she walked, she passed by a girl around her age sitting against one of the many rotting cabins that made up the residential area. She was dressed in a nice outfit, probably scavenged from a trash can or something. No one wealthy enough to wear a dress like that would be caught dead in the square during the Games. They'd be lounging on their plush couches and sipping their fancy beverages while witnessing the spectacle unfold before them.

Still, Ebony needed the money, and she would take anything at this point.

She patted her fraying jean pocket, and to her relief, the sharp rock she used as a knife hadn't fallen from it. Ebony knew she would have noticed it falling, but the paranoia was there all the same. That rock, wrapped in old fabric from her grandfather's jeans, was her lifeline. It kept her safe, and it kept her fed.

Ebony took a deep breath and carefully approached the girl. "Hey, you good?" she asked.

The girl nodded, sniffling. "Yeah, I just needed to breathe for a moment. That one was…a lot."

Ebony knelt next to the girl. "Yeah, it certainly wasn't pretty. Have you eaten anything today?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah. A few hours ago, thankfully. Ate at the market."

Ebony smiled. "At the market, huh?"

The girl looked up, a confused look on her face. When she saw Ebony, her face paled. "You're…you're…" she stammered.

Ebony shook her head. "Wow. You were so nice to me until you recognized me. You're just a two-faced bitch like the rest of them."

The girl's eyes went wide. "N-no! That's not what I… I mean… Everyone…"

"Everyone what? Thinks I'm a monster? A traitor just because of what my uncle did twelve fucking years ago? You still can't get over that? Enough of that though. You got any money left over from the market? I could use some grub."

Just as quickly as the girl's confusion shifted into indignation, it twisted into defiance.

"Get your own."

Ebony reached into her pocket and pulled out her rock. "You want to rethink that?"

The girl failed to notice what Ebony had in her hand. "Piss off."

Ebony sighed. "Wrong answer, sweetheart."

She slammed one hand onto the girl's mouth to muffle her screams and grabbed her by the hair with the other, quickly dragging her behind the cabin as she struggled.

Once she was sufficiently hidden, Ebony reached into the girl's pockets and found quite a few coins. "Wow, guess you could share after all. You know, no one likes a liar. Guess I'll have to teach you a lesson."

As Ebony raised her rock to do just that, she relished the power she had over this girl.

They thought she was a cowardly monster. They thought she was the same as her uncle.

Ebony was not her uncle's crimes, but that didn't make her a saint either.

And if they were going to treat her like a monster, she would show them exactly what a monster was.

"You can run, but you can't hide; I always get what's mine. Justice."

Gideon Holland, 17, District Seven Male

July 3, Year 78

CRACK!

The man cried out in agony as the axe through his wrist. The axe then struck and splintered the wooden table with a loud thud, separating the man's wrist from his hand and the knife he had been reaching for. Blood immediately oozed from the stump, forming a crimson pool that spread across the mahogany table and dripped onto the floor below.

The man ripped his ruined arm off the table and close to his chest. He gasped and whimpered in pain as the remaining skin tore apart with the effort. The blood began staining the sleeve of his nice jacket, and stained his chest where he cradled the stump.

The axe striking the tree stump. Blood pouring from the neck.

The Axe of Justice calmly pulled his axe from the table with minimal effort. He turned back towards the man, rage burning in his eyes. The man's own eyes began to widen. It was filled with a fear that could only be described as prey when it was faced with a predator.

That fear was reflected in the man's eyes almost as brightly as the fire burning in the nearby hearth, a hearth that had been cooking the man's dinner when the axe had arrived. The smell of meat and potatoes was intermingling with the blood now.

"I wouldn't try that again," the Axe said calmly.

The smell of iron and pine trees. The crimson shimmering in the moonlight.

"N-no…" the man whimpered. "Please don't…"

The Axe rolled his eyes. "Please don't what? Kill you? Like you tried to kill that woman?"

"It was self-defense!"

"I've dealt with enough scum to know that if you're only trying to defend yourself, you don't stab them five times, and you certainly don't stab them in the back. You also don't take their money afterward, but I bet that's what you were trying to frame it as. A robbery gone wrong. All because you couldn't take no for an answer, right?"

The man whimpered again. His color was starting to drain from his face, his eyes growing unfocused.

The head falling from the stump, unfocused eyes, and a final expression of fear.

"But that's the truth!" he squeaked pathetically. "That's the truth, I swear!"

The Axe took a couple of steps back and picked up the severed hand like it was a soiled towel before walking behind the man. He studied the hand for a moment, the same hand that nearly took the life of an innocent woman, only guilty of being in the scum's crosshairs, the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Axe tossed the hand into the hearth. The fire crackled and burst out as the flames began to consume it. The smell of burning flesh joined the chorus of smells. "Liar," he snarled. "A liar and if you had your way, a killer. The woman lived. She'll live, but she'll have to live with the scars of what you did forever. And she'll never feel safe as long as you're allowed to walk."

"I'm sorry! Please don't kill me! Please!" It was pathetic how quickly he went from claiming self-defense, something that got him acquitted long before the woman was even conscious enough to speak for herself, to apologizing and begging for his life.

"No! Please! I'm sorry!"

Gideon Holland narrowed his eyes. "If you were sorry, you wouldn't have done it."

Five times. Five times did Gideon plunge the corner of his axe into the man's flesh. Five stab wounds in the back, just like what this scum had done to that poor woman.

Gideon gripped the man's shoulder tightly enough to leave a bruise as he did, and only when he drove the axe deep into the center of the man's back and felt his legs give out, felt the nerves in the lower half of his body die as his spinal cord was severed, only then did he let the man drop to the ground.

Blood immediately began to pool around the man. Gideon straightened up and tried not to smile.

Another job well done.

The man groaned in agony as he tried to drag himself to the fire with his last remaining hand, his blood-crusted fingernails scratching against the wooden floor as he did. He was probably trying to cauterize his wounds, and stop the flow of blood.

Gideon couldn't care less what the man was trying to do at this point. Whether he lived or died didn't matter anymore. If he died, he was off the streets for good. If he lived, he'd never walk again.

No matter what happened next, justice was served.

Gideon calmly wiped his bloodstained boots on a nearby rug where the blood had not yet stained it. He wiped his axe clean on a nearby sofa, used a nearby basin to clean his hands, and once he was satisfied with the cleanup, he went for the back door of the house. The man was still twitching on the ground when Gideon left. Not that he cared.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the heat of the fire and stench of blood, flesh, and dinner was replaced with the summer night air and the smell of pine trees. Gideon took a deep breath, relishing in the freshness of it all, before heading back home for the night. There were no more lowlifes to deal with that evening, and the Reaping was the next day. Innocents would die for the crimes of others in a few weeks, and unfortunately, that was an injustice that not even he could rectify. Not if he wanted to keep his head.

The severed head rolling away… The cry of the nearby vulture as he walked away from the stump and past the defiled grave.

It was times like this when Gideon was grateful for his dark clothing. It kept the bloodstains from showing too obviously. It had been a long time since that much blood had to be spilled in the name of justice, and there was quite a bit of it. There hadn't been that much blood since Circadian, and that had been a messy affair. A well-deserved, but still messy affair.

District Seven didn't have a strict curfew the way other districts did. Perhaps that was part of the reason why such injustices like what had happened to that poor woman had occurred. Gideon wasn't one to judge too harshly though. The Axe of Justice operated in the night and the less impeded he was in his quest, the better.

When Gideon was about halfway home, he heard the sound of rushed footsteps behind him. Gideon turned around and was shocked to see Rudy Castlemire, his best friend and confidant, running up behind him. "Gideon! Thank goodness! I've been looking all over for you!"

Gideon was suddenly confused. Usually, Rudy was at home around this time. While she didn't know the full extent of his "extracurricular activities," she knew enough to know that Gideon needed an alibi, and that was where she came in.

The fact that Rudy wasn't home to do just that… Something was wrong.

"Rudy, what's going on?" Gideon asked quietly. "Why aren't you at home? It's dangerous out here at night."

"I know, I know, but your dad came to my house looking for you. I told him you were taking a quick walk. She asked me to find you."

Gideon barely had enough time to register all of this before Rudy said something that made his blood go cold. "It's your sister."

~ASM~

Despite Rudy's assurances that Quince was just fine, and so was the baby, it took all of Gideon's restraint to unwisely rush to her house while covered in blood. Rudy made sure he made it back to her house, snuck him inside, and let him wash up and change before going to check on his sister. The now rinsed clothes were stuffed into the floorboards, where Gideon would retrieve them later, and he was now donning the same outfit he had worn to school all day.

Quince had grown distant as of late. She had moved out not that long ago after getting married. Gideon never even got the chance to meet the guy, let alone watch them tie the knot. Oriel had met him once and had some decent things to say about him, which was all the reassurance Gideon needed, but it was still strange that Quince always gave him the runaround when it came to his brother-in-law, especially when Quince had a baby on the way.

Still, despite this distance, Quince was still Gideon's older sister, and he cared deeply about her. He didn't want to see her hurt.

Unlike the scum that had broken into her house…

When Rudy and Gideon reached Quince's house, the Peacekeepers were still there, answering questions and searching the area. Even from the outside, Gideon could tell the house had been ransacked. Useless fools… Gideon thought to himself. Unless they caught the lowlife red-handed, they would not catch them now. Even then, justice was not guaranteed.

Quince was standing in front of the house, wrapped in a blanket and shaking. The sight of her, terrified but alive, filled Gideon with relief. He didn't lose her like he lost his mother. She wasn't hurt or murdered. She was alive.

"Quince!"

Quince looked at Gideon, eyes wide. "Gideon, I… Why are you here?"

"I heard about what happened," Gideon replied. "Where's Dad?"

"Finding my husband," she said quietly.

"He wasn't home?" Rudy asked.

Quince simply shook her head. "Working late."

"Are you and the baby alright? What happened?"

The Peacekeeper who was questioning Quince had stepped away, leaving the three alone. Quince glanced over to make sure that was indeed the case before looking back to Gideon and Rudy. "I was cooking dinner for my husband. He was working late, like I said. I heard a loud crash like the back door was being kicked in. I went to look and that's when I saw him."

"Him?" Gideon could feel his anger rising.

"He saw me and I guess he panicked. He just…went after me. I don't know what he was trying to do but…" Quince swallowed hard. "I guess the commotion was enough to draw the Peacekeepers. They got here pretty quickly. Thankfully he wasn't able to…hurt me or anything. Just made a mess of the house."

"Surprising," Gideon said bitterly. "They're usually quite slow." Rudy quickly shushed him. Gideon took a deep breath, already relishing in all the ways that he was going to hurt whoever did this. "Did you see what he looked like?"

Quince suddenly looked confused. "Why do you want to know?"

"The more eyes looking for him, the better," Gideon explained.

Quince looked at Gideon for a few seconds but seemed to accept the answer. "I couldn't really get a good look at him in all the chaos but…I do remember he had a weird scar on his face. It was… shark-shaped? I don't know how that happened, but it did stand out."

Gideon could feel his fist clench. "Okay, I'll keep an eye out."

There would be no taking action that night. Gideon would be kept under close watch. He'd be taken straight home and would be unable to leave his home without suspicion.

However, the moment the Reaping was over the next day, Gideon would be scouring the streets, talking with contacts, calling in favors, and when night fell, the man with the scar was his.

The Axe of Justice would pay the scum a visit, and he would never see another sunrise.

The lowlife could run, he could hide, but justice would find him all the same.

Gideon would make sure of it.

Thank you to Paradigm for Gideon, the storm that is approaching, provoking black clouds in isolation (sorry, his theme song is All the Kings Men but I get Bury the Light vibes from him)! Ebony is mine. I had a last-minute drop out and needed a quick replacement, so I substituted a kid of my own, Ebony Warwick, the niece of Cedar Warwick from Cursebreaker. Gideon's faceclaim is Danil Uspenskiy and Ebony's is Cynthia Wrobel.

Next time on A Single Moment, we head to District Eight, where we will meet Blanca and Jann! Until next time everyone!