Day 23: Don't you dare.
His boots tap against stone stairs. Head out of the dimming streets, warmth already sapping away. It was warmer up top than down below, but he could hear the yowls of those cats that haunted the streets behind him. Warning what would happen if he stepped out of line, a warning that was to be fair quite effective. He'd seen what they'd done to Cadie, back by the shore. Was content not to let his own flesh get rent, torn to shreds like hers was.
Damn shame, a good ally was a useful thing to have. Especially with that mess of a Squad who'd rejected him despite all his skills still on the prowl. Especially with Amber, who he was certain had left the mangled corpse he'd found in an alleyway, still being around. Tara had gone, his District Partner. She'd volunteered, tried to stick up for him during the Games because she was Two. Not like those Ones, who'd as soon sell out their own mothers for a quick party, or so the rumour rolled.
The underground is cool, damp, smells a bit stale. Encee definitely wouldn't sample any of the water, not even after purification. No telling what kind of grime and disease, even with the Capitol probably having built this from scratch, lurked within. Probably more, realistically, with that tidbit considered. Still, he wasn't there to drink the water. One way or the other, he'd be out tonight. Then thirst either could be filled in entirety or not at all.
There's nobody near the entrance. Probably intentional, but it does mean the echoes of boots force him to look every which way. See the various running figures. Four and Six, Thirteen and Five's Marconi. Tyrek from Ten, and Amber. They're navigating the warren like some bizarre game, and for the moment are all relatively far from each other. Encee's making a run down the wooden bridges, boots slamming against creaking boards, when it happens.
He sees Amber. Amber sees him. They lock eyes for a brief moment, her in the same clothes as she'd worn since the reaping, him in the male version of that outfit. Curved sword at her back, as if the style points of that make up for everything else. One hand flits to his own knife, before he's forced to lean back in face of an angry Six. Evade the first slash of a knife, then the second, twisting slightly to avoid the slashes as he does so. Six stabs again, and Encee grabs his arm. Twists it back to near breaking, and now Six is up against the railing, one of Encee's hands on his throat and the other on his arm, driving back the knife hand, Six is fighting, but his head is bashed once, twice against the wood. His arm is driven back almost to point of breaking, and with a grim grinding of shoulder further than it should Six screams, drops the knife.
A grunt. That's Encee himself, dimly aware of the stabbing in his gut. A short stab, not enough to kill if he survives the next few minutes. Which, in the red lighting, stone pillars and wooden bridges of this former cistern seems increasingly implausible. Then Four's got one arm around his throat to hold Encee still, the other holding a knife driving towards him, and Encee's snatching the knife with right hand from his wrist brace where it had been secured for emergencies. Catching Four's swinging forearm on Encee's own right, delaying him. Slashing the knife down when Four weakens slightly, hearing a cry from Four as a red gash is opened along his arm.
Four doubles over, it's the work of a moment to stab the knife into his back and watch the boy fall to the floor with a gurgle, and Encee can hear a scrabbling on the wood behind him.
"Don't." A simple warning but the boy, crouched and preparing to lunge, doesn't heed it. Six has got a knife, grabbed Four's from the floor. Encee doesn't want to do this. He never even volunteered, although he would have the next year. Just didn't get volunteered for, assigned boy deciding he'd have enough of a chance. Encee could end it, but his head sways.
Six lunges forward, and Encee's forced to step back, consider his options, lunge forward. The wooden boards creak beneath his feet, he can hear the water lapping at the poles of the bridge as he does so. Six stabs again, overextends, and Encee flicks his arm back, driving the knife first into Six's shoulder, steps back, and when the boy bends in pain into his stomach. Six collapses with a yell, and now Encee's limping because he's been stabbed in the gut and damn it hurts. The blood is staining his shirt, everything feels light, but though he may not be done he's a Two damn it. He can win.
He hears a splash. Sees Four slip into the water, but the boy's dead. Has to be. Six is still bleeding, spasming, but the cannon fires and he goes limp.
His vision's swimming. He stumbles forward unable to run, only sees flashing flashlight, hears the boots of former allies tramping across the bridges. There's still four left, he thinks, himself not included. The Gamemakers nudged them towards this early with seven left, but now it ends. They're all down here. He doesn't even see the figure behind him. Hear the boots. He sways again, drops, the knife.
Hearing a pained yell, he tried to discern the source. Doesn't register for several seconds it was from him. Amber stabs the knife into his shoulder, he hadn't even seen that. He grasps at her arm with a bloody hand when she turns, she tries to run. She stabs Encee in the gut this time, fails to cover her disgusted glance. Her look is grim too, tinged with the kind of shock nobody wants. He hears a bullish roar of 'Amber' from across the bridges, looks up to see Marconi rushing towards him. "You won't win, there's too many of us down here." "No? Well I can take you with me." The knife is in her hand, she draws the curved sword from her back, and he watches her rush towards Marconi, Marconi rush Amber.