Thank you to n3b, Stargirl94, yoyowhitehole, Dante Alighieri1308, Skeekiest, maitaitiu, ClearedPipes, Grim Apocrypha, and Very New To This for the reviews! Special shoutout to n3b who is on their review grind right now for ALL of the Reaping chapters at once - I've loved reading your thoughts as they come and thank you for your thoughts!
First goodbyes chapter is here! Let's get right into it.
District 1.
Hyperion Leclair, 17.
The goodbyes. A staple of the Games. Tributes were taken to the justice building and held captive for a total of one hour, the door to their designated rooms guarded closely by an armed guard. Just in case anyone should try to escape. Usually, that wasn't a problem in One, what with the brave (yet probably stupid) volunteers, eager to charge off to their deaths and end it all in a blaze of glory. Or, more likely, a slow, agonizing death at the hands of whatever horrific monstrosities the Gamemakers had cooked up that year while throngs of onlookers cheered and stuffed their faces with more food than Hyperion's entire family could have afforded with a month's worth of wages.
He takes a bit of satisfaction in setting the Peacekeepers on edge with his presence alone. They'd probably been used to the cushy life in one - hanging out, shooting the shit with someone who had made it big where they had fallen short. The Games. But, not this year. This year, their charge was Reaped. Like any other District child. Perhaps he'd run away. He wouldn't, but it was fun to keep the boot-licking oafs at his door guessing.
It saves him from having to think about his quickly approaching doom.
They only rise to his taunts for so long, though, before familiar faces start to trickle in.
"Hyperion!" Jean-Paul bursts in, followed by Theia and Jasper. The trio looks positively exasperated. There are wet spots at the edge of Jasper's eyes. He wasn't used to feeling anything but pure joy and pleasure. The sensation of having your friend ripped away, the guise of safety that One provided torn away, was too much for him.
"Guys." Hyperion draws in a breath, immediately brightening his expression. He didn't want them to see him afraid. To see him weak. To be remembered weak. "Funny place to get the gang back together, isn't it?"
"It isn't the time for jokes, Hyperion."
"Is it not? This whole Game is a joke."
Why not go mask off? He was in a shitty position anyways.
Only Theia remains unsurprised, giving a nod. The other two are shocked into silence.
That's the last remark he makes to his friends before they're escorted out. There was no perfect ending. No declaration of strength, and no inspiring final words. His minute was up, and time waited for no man.
Thankfully, while non-relatives only received one minute, family received three.
The next bunch of visitors are near to Hyperion's heart. Mother. Father. Marcellus and Marie.
"BULLSHIT." Marcellus shouts as soon as he walks in the door, shrugging off the arm of one of the guards at the door. "It's bullshit, Hyperion. That snake Lucius was supposed to go, not you. He wanted it! He was supposed to volunteer!"
"Not so loud, not so loud." Montague Leclair speaks, hushing his oldest with a gentle smile and a wave of the hand. "Son... I don't know where to begin. We... none of us wanted this, for you. The Academy was meant to ready you to raise your status here. Not become one of the Capitol's playthings. ...I am truly sorry, my boy."
"We all are." Amethyst Leclair puts a hand on her husbands shoulder, the other grabbing her son's hand. "Be strong. Please. We'll be watching you."
Marie is last, ever thoughtful and careful to reserve her judgement. The others begin to trickle out of the room, but she stays, her voice a whisper. "You're trained, Hyperion. You can win. Tear them down from the inside out."
Hyperion can't help but smirk as his younger sister walks out, fixing him with a meaningful look. She was right.
Dozens of his comrades from the Academy visit and leave. It isn't until the final minute that a visitor actually matters to him again.
Lucius, scar still fresh across the face.
"Your death will bring me a joy that even Victory could not."
He doesn't even bother to stay for the rest of his minute.
Avalon Imperio, 18.
Avalon's parents were simply ecstatic for her. Their daughter, after all, was the best of the best. A continuation to the legacy that the Imperio Wineries had built up. Just think of the press, the money, the fame they would achieve if, no when she won! Forget One - they'd probably have clients in the Capitol with that level of success.
"You've got this, hon." Freya Imperio holds her daughter by the shoulders, the pride shining in her eyes. It was everything her daughter had ever dreamed of. To be the best in the District. To represent. She'd done her hardest to be supportive. She'd watched Avalon train and win and win and win. She had the utmost confidence in her daughter's skill. And yet, it still brought a tear to her eye to see her go. She was not blind to the Games. Twenty-three died, every year, and Avalon was entering the fray. Her own daughter, State above. But she had to be supportive. Give her little Ava something to fight for. People to fight for. "There's nobody in this entire District better prepared than you, Ava. Nobody in Panem who'd better suit Victory. Remember that, please. No matter what - remember that you deserve it. And that we love you, always, Ava."
Sensing the emotion creeping into his wife's voice, Cygnus steps forward. Avalon didn't see him as much - but she didn't really hold that against him. Ever-busy with running the empire that was the family wine business, he was often out for work. He provided the financial and social means to her lifestyle. Money paid for training, and the Imperio name had fast-tracked her into the Academy. He supported in his own way, and it did not go unappreciated, even if she wished she could have seen her dad a bit more.
"Stay strong, Ava, and remember your training. I've seen you with that mace - and you convinced the others to vote you as representative. Work some of that magic on the competition, and you're golden. I'll prepare a bottle of our finest aged wine for a toast, when you're back."
"You'll let me drink?" Avalon feigns surprise, as if she hadn't before. "The finest, no less. I guess I've got no choice."
"None at all. We'll see you soon, hon." Freya speaks, and the trio hugs. Avalon is enveloped by calm.
Haida and Laika come too, closer to the end of the hour.
"Bum luck on the partner this year." Laika is the first to comment, and Avalon is inclined to agree. Of course, the year she goes in is when the boys can't hold it together. What else was new?
"He's not ideal. But he's trained. I'll make do." Avalon shrugs. "And I'll give that candy-ass Lucius hell when I'm back, the coward. What the hell was he thinking, ducking out at the last minute? We had a replacement lined up, and it wasn't Hyperion!"
"Just do your best, please." Haida speaks next, and her tone is pleading. Much more sincere. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't... I mean, what I'll do while you're not here. So hurry back, please."
Avalon's emotion quickly fades, annoyance replaced by sympathy. Her best friend was scared - she'd been trained to detect fear, after all, and Haida hadn't been trained to hide it. The tremble in the voice. The unwillingness to meet the eyes. It was understandable, when she really thought about it.
"Don't worry. I'll make it a quick thing. There've been Games in the past that only span a day or three. End of the month, we'll all be living together in my brand new mansion. Avalon's Victory Villa. Nice ring to it, huh?"
The door creaks open, and a male voice speaks.
"Your minute is up. Please exit, or you will be removed by force."
"Charming, you are." Laika rolls her eyes as she grabs Haida's shoulder, steering the other girl from the room. "You've got this, Ava! See you soon."
"See you soon!" Avalon calls as the door shuts. Nobody else comes.
See you soon.
She'd meant it.
Avalon Imperio would be coming home. Alive.
District 2
Youssef Vyrax, 18.
Youssef's schedule was absolutely packed.
From the beginning to the end, each and every minute was occupied with someone's well wishes or congratulations. Many, he didn't even know. Among the crowds, there were only a few he cared about.
Family came first - that was tradition in Two. The Vyrax family, however, did not have much to say to their boy. Hadrian - father - stood tall and proud, even his harsh exterior and permanent sneer bent upwards into what was almost a smile. Delphi - mother - absolutely beaming, though that too was a rare show of expression from a usually stern and stoic woman. Even little Anika, ever the firecracker and always one to pick fights and start trouble, had taken the time out of whatever Academy bully exploits she'd had planned to come and congratulate her brother.
"Give 'em hell, 'Sef! Score high and kill shit!" She proclaims, pumping her fist into the air. "Just don't get too comfy. In three years, I'll volunteer too, and you're gonna be old news by the time I'm pulled out of the arena."
Youssef remains thoroughly unimpressed. If Anika thought that roughing up her juniors and stealing lunch money was equivalent to Volunteer training - to Peacekeeper missions - to killing - she was in for an incredibly rude awakening.
But, even after that, her words were only the second most annoying thing. The first, actually, wasn't even in the room.
Uriah was missing.
There were only words of mild praise from his parents. Be strong, win, for glory and for Panem. The usual. It wasn't unappreciated, it was just hard to focus.
"Where's Uriah?" Youssef interrupts another patriotic speech from his father, and the room fell silent.
"Probably off fucking around in the mud somewhere, mining or whatever he chose to do with his miserable life. Don't worry about him. This is your day. If he wanted to be noticed, he should have trained and volunteered like you did. It's too late for him to make anything of himself, so don't dwell."
Don't dwell. Youssef couldn't help it. His elder brother was the Vyrax's disappointment. Their shame, and everything Youssef and Anika were taught not to be. And yet... Youssef still wished he could have seen him, one final time.
Next is a face that makes Youssef wince slightly. Easton Rulegard, blonde hair flowing as elegantly as ever.
"Youssef Vyrax, you could not have selected a worse time to ask me to go steady with you."
Easton's voice is a strange mixture of accusation and humor. His pain is veiled behind the punchline.
"I'm sorry, Easton." Youssef finds that he sincerely means it. He'd meant to ask Easton out long, long ago... but that sort of courage was hard to find, even for a man like him. "I'll make it up to you."
"You will. I'm moving into the mansion. Dad'll be pulling his hair out when his 'mistake' of a son is living larger than he is. Win. Come back to me, and it'll all be forgiven." Easton steps forward, planting a kiss on Youssef's lips. He tastes like happy memories. Youssef returns it, but it ends too quickly. Easton is pulled out, shouting encouragement to his lover until he can no longer be heard.
His final two minutes are shortened.
First, Pavlov Peckard and Nessa Jung.
They offer simple advice.
"Kick ass, Vyrax. You're tougher than any whelp I've ever seen in this place. In the Games altogether."
"What he said." Nessa echoes. "Wish I could have gone in with you, Youssef. Better mentor me well next year."
Their minute passes, and a final figure enters, head hung low and a strange expression on his face. Was that... pity?
"Uriah." Youssef speaks, his voice hard. "Something to say? Why weren't you with the rest?"
Uriah fixes Youssef with that sorrowful look, shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, Youssef. Please don't die."
That's all he can offer before he turns from the room, ignoring the protests of his younger brother.
Lethe Maiorianus, 17.
Lethe can hear the commotion from next door.
Clamorous voices all blending together as crowds and crowds of people make haste to congratulate her partner. To wish him well. To guarantee his Victory.
He must have had hundreds of visitors.
Lethe gets three.
First, her father, barging in and screaming the second he's allowed. Lethe is used to keeping quiet. Used to his tirades and his insults and his threats, and she finds herself feeling just a twinge of satisfaction deep within her very soul as her father is dragged from the room, near frothing at the mouth as his three minutes expire. For all of his bluster and his bravado, he had not earned a single word from Lethe.
Second, Cora. This one hurts just the smallest bit more, because there had been points in her life where Lethe had actually liked Cora. Of course, she had just been using Lethe to her advantage like Father had. But at least she could play pretend. Be willfully ignorant to her sister's ulterior motives and simply enjoy the moment.
"Lethe. I didn't expect-" Cora begins, but Lethe cuts her off.
"It is what I want, Cora." Her words are methodical and calm, completely devoid of the emotion that tinges her sister's voice. "Please don't attempt to make me feel bad about it."
Cora looks like she has to bite back a response. Like Father, she had been used to compliance, even if she was much nicer about it than he was. Lethe doesn't miss the flicker of anger in her eyes before it's quickly quelled.
"Very well. Good luck."
Cora leaves before her three minutes are up.
Time ticks by. It drags on lethargically, every second passing slower than the last. She can still hear the crowd next door, showing no sign of dying down.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door creaks open.
Lethe doesn't recognize the visitor at first. She'd only ever seen this particular person with sweat staining her face, her hair tied tightly back. It was a different sight entirely to see her in sleek Reaping gown, makeup applied and hair falling down to her shoulders.
"Theodora." Lethe finds herself choking on her own words, unable to overcome her surprise.
"Lethe. Congratulations, girl." Theodora moves in close and pulls Lethe into a hug. Lethe's arms hang loosely at her side, her brain not allowing her to fully process what exactly was happening. Wow, she smelled nice. Theodora was visiting her? Why? Because they'd trained together, right? Of course, but everyone had trained with Theodora. Everyone had trained with Lethe, too, but none of them had come to visit. So why Theodora, of all people? "You earned it. I lost the Selection early, so I got to watch your last 'kill'. You'll do great in the arena. Capitol loves a beautiful killer."
Beautiful...
What was that incessant thumping in her chest? Why was it speeding up?
"Minute's up. Out."
"Yeah, yeah, Vinny. I'm going. Good luck, Lethe."
Lethe looks up, pale blue eyes meeting the brown of Theodora's.
"Thank you." She whispers. There's so much she wants to say, and most of it dies at the tongue.
Theodora smiles back at Lethe as she exits the room, and Lethe vows to herself to fight her hardest to see it again.
District 3.
Alt Kingston, 16.
Alt Kingston's room was full of raw, unadulterated emotion.
They'd arrived right when the hour began - his first visitors. He was happy to see them.
Mom was beside herself with grief, tears streaming down her face as she cried for her baby, her sweet baby boy. Mascara was running and she could hardly form a word, her arms around Alt passing with each horrible second. Eta was much the same.
"WAHHHHH..." She wails. It's loud - it hurts Alt's ears, but he doesn't care. He doesn't have the heart to ask her to stop screaming. "PLEASE DON'T GO, ALT!"
She continues to sob, digging her face into his arm, staining his plain Reaping attire with tears and snot. Once again, he can't bring himself to care.
He can't bring himself to comfort his younger sister and his mother, either. What would he say? 'I'll come back?' As if. What use was it in lying to them? That would just hurt him more. Hurt them more when he didn't make it back home.
Even Dad and Router had made the trip, though they kept their distance as Mom and Eta wept. Dad's face keeps twitching - his mouth threatening to turn into a frown. There's a single wet spot on his cheek. It's the most emotion he's shown for Alt as far back as he can remember.
Even Router appears shaken up - his brother was Reaped, for the State's sake - but for once in his life he appears to know better than to try and say anything. It was thin ice. Alt was allowing him here for the sake of the others. To have the family together, one last time. But if Router tried anything... hey, Alt was going to die anyways. Might as well give his shitstain brother something to remember him by.
Alt finds himself surprised by the pure vitriol he could muster for Router, but he hides it well under the mask of tears.
Just as soon as they had all arrived, though, the three minutes are up. Three minutes into his hour here, and his family was already gone.
He had been happy to see them, but his heart tears in two as he watches Router and Mom and Dad shuffle out of the room. Eta clings onto him, arms wrapped tight until she too is pulled off by a guard.
"ALLLLLLT!" She wails, and wails and wails until Alt can no longer hear her.
By the time it's all over, Alt almost wishes they just hadn't shown up.
There are a few other well-wishers. Coil and Edison from his math class stop by - his two real 'friends,' though none of their words are all that different from any of the others. Classmates and acquaintances come and go, but Alt is really just waiting for one person. His mind is working fast. It's the last two minutes...
Is she not going to come?
"Your minute begins now."
He hears it from outside, head perking up as Antikythera Singh enters. She had been crying, too - and she hadn't tried to hide in.
The second she's in the room, Alt is in her arms. He gives her the tightest hug he can muster, and she returns it, holding him as close as she can.
"Anti... I thought... I thought you... I'm going to die, aren't I? I love you, Anti, I love you, I love you so much, I-"
"Hey, hey, hey... don't talk like that, please. I love you too. Of course I'd come. I... wanted to be the last person you saw. Is that selfish?"
"No, no, no." Alt speaks hastily, acutely aware that his time is ticking down. 20 seconds gone. "It's perfect. I'm glad it's you."
Anti pulls him into a kiss. Ten more seconds go by before she pulls back.
"Listen to me, Alt. I know it's crazy - I know your mind is racing right now, okay, but please listen to me." Five more seconds. Alt begins to hyperventilate as now more than half of his final minute with Anti is gone.
"W-What..?"
"Fight, Alt. Please."
"Anti, I can't. I'm..." Alt gestures down towards himself - thin build, bordering on malnourished and just around average height. "I'm not built for it. I'm not especially good looking or smart or skilled. I can't."
"You can and you will." Anti speaks firmly, her hands moving up to Alt's shoulders as she shakes him, snapping him out of his stupor.
Ten seconds left.
"For me."
"Anti..."
"For me."
"For you." Alt swallows hard, sweat pouring down his brow as the final seconds tick down.
"Good. I'll be here. I'll wait, for when you're back. You'll treat me to another dinner with that Victor's purse, right?"
Despite himself, despite the tears and the fear and the sadness, Alt can't help but smile.
"...Of course."
"I'll look forward to it."
A Peacekeeper steps in, arm already outstretched. Anti would be afforded no leeway with her minute.
So she'd make some.
Ripping away from the grasp of the guard and rushing toward Alt, Anti plants a final kiss on the lips of the boy she loves before she's tugged backwards, her eyes burning with determination as she's pulled back. As if she's trying to transfer some of that fire into Alt.
He feels a spark - in his stomach, something lights up. Something to fight for.
For her.
Vivienne Cross, 17.
"They didn't even show up?"
"Mom did." Vivienne corrects, sighing to herself. "Dad... must have been busy."
The irritation lacing her voice was a practiced one. Many times had Gregory Cross missed his daughters formative moments, because he was just too busy.
"Oh..." Luci looks down for a second, as if trying to figure out just how to cheer her best friend up. "Well... at least she cares..?"
"She told me not to embarrass her and dad while I was in the arena."
Silence hangs in the room for what feels like an eternity.
"...I'm sorry, Vivi. I knew they were... they could be bad, but-"
"I didn't expect much more from them, truthfully, Luci. I'm just glad I get to see you before I go."
"I'm glad I get to see you, too!" Luci brightens up immediately, snapping up the new topic with haste. Her enthusiasm had brought a light into Vivienne's life even in her darkest times - and that would not end now.
And it doesn't. It only lasts a minute, but that's one less minute spent staring at the walls and counting the seconds down. She gets a few others visitors. High society men and women expressing their greatest condolences for the Cross family. Not for her. For her family. For the heiress they had lost.
It sickens her.
What must it be like, to be only concerned with money and status and end results? High society was a poison - one she had no choice but to indulge in.
Creaaaaaak...
Another visitor, here to wax poetic about the tragedy of the Cross family. How-
No.
"Viv." The all-too-familiar voice speaks. Vivienne barely manages to hide the twitch of her eye.
"Viv, it's me."
Why was he here?
Hadn't he fucked her life up enough already?
"Adrian." Her voice is as cold as ice.
"I wanted to say I'm sorry, Viv. I've only got a minute. But now that you're-"
"You had three long years for a sorry. Did your little mistress convince you that this was the 'right thing to do?' Tell you to take the high road? That seems like the sort of stunt she'd try to pull."
"Don't-" Adrian's voice flares up, and then he cuts himself off, staring down at his feet. Ashamed.
"No, by all means, defend her. Defend her to my face, right before I'm sent off to die."
"Viv, come on-"
Adrian takes a step closer and is met with Vivienne's open palm to his cheek.
A small smile plays across her face as the mark reddens immediately.
"Guards!" She shouts, effortlessly slipping into a distressed tone of voice. "Guards, help! He's hurting me!"
"Hey, I'm not-" Once again, Adrian is cut off as he's dragged from the room, his eyes pleading for Vivienne's own. But she wouldn't dignify him with another glance his way.
Who did he think he was? Trying to use her to clear his conscience before she was sent off to be slaughtered. The fool could live with his mistakes. She would not grant him salvation.
District 4.
Gulf Corpus, 17.
"Atta-FUCKING-boy, Gulf."
His dad's praise is accompanied via a hard pat on the back, the massive fist of his father knocking the wind out of Gulf. He can't help but smile, the grin on his face matching that of his fathers. They looked most similar when they were smiling, he'd been told. Their dark skin and red-brown hair, the shape of the face - he was his father's spitting image. All except for his sea-green eyes, which he'd gotten from his mother, who was currently standing with her arms folded behind her back a couple of feet away.
That didn't seem to matter to Dad. So it didn't matter to Gulf.
"What a surprise. Here I was, just complaining to your mother last night - that blonde whelp isn't gonna cut it. He's too soft. Imagine my face when you stepped up! That's my fuckin' boy, that's what I said to the guys next to me."
"Hey, like you said." Gulf begins, his dad's eyebrow cocking upwards and his smile growing. "He just couldn't cut it. Bet it was that bitch Lakhani's doing, too - playing softball so her own daughter would have an easier time if she made it to the end with him."
"Now, Gulf-" His mother begins, but she's cut off by raucous laughter from her husband.
"Damn right, boy! Way to stick it to her. She's always had it out for you, you know. Called me into so many meetings - saying your behavior was 'unacceptable.' Not your fault if the others can't keep up with you, is it?"
"That's what I always said! Had to fight the fuckin' bitch to even get her to let me participate in the Selection, tooth and nail."
"Ah, none of that matters, now - she can't save her daughter from you. You're a real Career, boy. Might makes right in the Games - and you're set to be the mightiest of 'em all."
Gulf's father pulls him into another bear-hug, and the rest of their time is spent laughing and joking. Only when they're being escorted out - Gulf's father chatting with his former comrades-in-arms at the door - does mom make a comment.
"Good luck, Gulf." Her voice is stiff. "Don't forget all you've learned, my boy. Stay strong."
"I'm always strong, mom. See ya' in a couple weeks."
There's no doubt in Gulf's mind as his parents leave. He'd see them again soon, right after this nice long Capitol vacation. Kill a few tributes, win the crown, come back home richer than ever before. Sounded like a plan.
There was still one more matter to take care of, though.
"Gulf? You were volunteering? Why didn't you tell me?"
Bowden Reif's panicked voice echoes off the walls, immediately giving Gulf a headache and dashing his good mood.
"Bowden?" Gulf's tone is dismissive, his words flippant. "Ah, right. I was so busy. Forgot to tell you. We're done."
"We're... huh?" Bowden's face changes from worry, to shock, to abject horror.
"Don't give up hope, Gulf. If you win - when you win, then we can still - "
"Oh, I'm not giving up hope. I fully plan on winning" Gulf shrugs, cutting his former boyfriend off. "I'm just dumping you. You were fun while it lasted, though, if that's any condolence to you."
"What...?" Bowden is left utterly speechless.
"That's all. We're not really a 'thing' anymore, so I don't really need you here for goodbyes. You can go now."
Bowden isn't able to muster up the courage to do anything but leave, his exit slow as his feet drag across the floor in disbelief.
Good. That was one problem solved for when he made his return.
Kiana Lakhani, 18.
"Is it true, mom?"
"Is what true, Kiana?"
"What he said."
...
"...I did no such thing, Kiana. But it would have been easier if-"
"I don't NEED it to be easier. Gods, you've been pushing for me to get here my whole life - told me that only the best will cut it - and then you undermine me! He wouldn't have helped me, mom, he'd have died before we ever made it that far!"
Kiana's indignance is bolstered by the fact that, one way or another, she will never have to bow down to Beatrice Lakhani again. As an instructor. As a mother.
"You don't know that."
"If he lost to that asshole Corpus, then he'd lose to me."
"Kiana Lakhani. I am your instructor, and I would not stoop so low as to rigging the competition."
"Right. As my instructor. It's always as my instructor, isn't it? I'm not your daughter, just your latest project. Nevaeh had the guts to tell you no and Sakshi couldn't live up to your bullshit expectations, so it's all on me. Like always."
Beatrice is caught off guard by the unfiltered anger that laces her daughter's voice. It hurts a part of her, deep down - the part of her that was a mother. But that part of her has long since been buried.
"It is on you. You will bring honor to Four. To your family, and to yourself."
"I don't even want-" Kiana begins, but cuts herself short. She can't bring herself to lie. She did want to win. Just not for herself, or for her district or for any of that nonsense. She just wanted mom off of her fucking back for once in her life.
"Whatever. I've said enough. I'll be back - and then I'm done living my life the way you want me to do it."
"...Good luck, Kiana." Her mother speaks simply, sighing to herself as she exits the room. Father and Sakshi follow, each of them fixed with withering glares as they exit. They hadn't uttered a word the whole time aside from a final 'goodbye' as they left, content to agree with everything Beatrice had said.
Kiana is unable to wipe the bad taste of the goodbyes from her mouth - but she's able to at least somewhat mitigate it when her friends come in. She only gets a minute with them, but Caspian sneaks her pack of cigarettes and a lighter as a good luck charm and Riley and Maia wish her the best of luck. Maia asks if she can live in the Victor's Village too, when Kiana is back, but there's an unease that permeates the group. They weren't Academy-trained, like her. The Games were not some glorious sacrifice. They were a very real chance at death. At the loss of a loved one.
And their dear Kiana was in the crosshairs.
District 5.
Kairos Fomalhaut, 18.
There are voices outside - familiar ones.
Ones that wish to visit...
And the one guarding the door.
"Tribute Fomalhaut does not wish to have visitors right now."
After minutes and minutes of loud arguments, voices old and young fade away.
Good old Septimus. Kairos clutches the yoyo tucked into his sweater. He'd have to give that to Septimus when he left, as a token of his thanks.
Only after, though. Right now, it was Kai's only source of entertainment for the next hour.
Blitz Rutherford, 16.
They don't know.
Mom, Dad, and Rin had no idea. As they sobbed, arms around their dear Blitz and tears streaming down their face, they lamented the misfortune that had landed her here. The cruel stroke of fate that had taken their daughter, their sister, away from them.
But they were all oblivious. Because Blitz knew, deep down in her heart, that fate had nothing to do with it.
She had come back that night, after her dinner with Orin, to her computer completely and utterly wiped. Her heart sunk immediately. She attempted to reset her computer to a back-up of the previous day, before her successful cyber-attack - to no avail.
Data has been wiped by protocol G.A.V.I.A. Passcode required to access your back-up request.
No, fate had played no role.
It would be the heavy hand of the Capitol - content not only to steal the power that Five generated for itself, hoarding it like greedy pigs - but content enough to steal Blitz away from her home. All for fighting back.
That was the fate of those who were caught, she knew. Death. Would she even have a chance in the arena? Or was she already fixed to die, doomed from the moment her name was called?
"Time's up."
A voice calls out, and Blitz swears to herself as her mother cries out in grief. It was already up..? Those three minutes had passed in the blink of an eye.
"Blitz..."
Rin's lip quivers as he looks up at his big sister, a cautious hope in his eye. He was still too young to fully understand. He thought she could still come back.
"It's okay, Rin." Blitz lies, the very fact that she's able to keep her voice from wavering a testament to her inner strength. "Take this, buddy, okay?"
From the inside of her coat, Blitz pulls a small device with a propeller on top.
"Hold that to make it spin, and then let it go and it flies for a bit. Give it a try."
Rin obliges. He'd always loved Blitz's little gifts, constantly pressing her about making some new toy for him to play with. The little device, small enough to fit into the 10 year old Rin's palm, rises into the sky before losing steam and floating back down. He catches it, a shaky smile spreading across his face.
"I'll make you a bigger one later, 'kay? Now go with mom and dad. They miss you already."
"Okay... I'll see you later, Blitz, right? When you come back, I'm gonna make my hair blue, just like yours!"
It takes all Blitz can muster to not shed a tear - but her eyes remain dry as Rin exits the room, racing to catch up with his parents who waited outside.
She receives no visitors from then on. More accurately, she can here them be turned away. Special circumstances, the guards state. Right up until the last minute.
There is no knock on the door. It bursts open and a body tumbles to the floor, and the first thing Blitz notices is the black eye on the visitor's face. Then the bloody lip, and the arm hung up in a sling.
"Orin!" Her heart threatens to leap from her chest as recognition dawns on her face. She rushes forward, but is stopped by the muzzle of a gun.
"No touching, Tribute. I've got special information, straight from the top. Head Gamemaker's taken an interest in you."
The guard before her is not dressed in the common Peacekeeper whites. His armor is a matte black, and his visor is entirely darkened. It's impossible to tell if it's even a person under there or simply some cold, unfeeling robot.
"Blitz..." Orin moans in pain, attempting to say something, but is silenced by a kick to the chest, causing him to cough up a glob of his own blood.
"No talking, either, Bellows. You're here as an example."
The officer turns back to Blitz.
"You know why you're here. Normally, you'd be killed the second you stepped foot in the arena. I'm sure the thought's already crossed your mind. But the Head Gamemaker this year is a peculiar man. He wishes to give you a chance. If you win, you will be pardoned - on the condition that your 'prodigious ability with electronics' is put to use working directly under him. His words, not mine."
"I would never work for him. Or you. Or anyone from the Capitol."
"He thought you'd say that. That's why your little friend is here. We're under standing order. Hold Orin Bellows for the duration of the Games. If Blitz Rutherford is to perish in the arena, her accomplice shall die with her. If she shall win and refuse to work with us, Orin Bellows shall die anyways."
Blitz isn't able to muster a response this time.
"I trust you understand. That will be all."
Tugging Orin from the floor roughly, the officer exits the room, a barely-conscious Orin being pulled along like a dog on a leash.
Blitz's fear for Orin is only matched by her fury. Her mind is too clouded to process the fact that she even cares about what might happen to Orin.
She would win. Keep herself alive. Keep him alive.
And then burn it all down from the inside.
District 6.
Sterling Lee, 18.
"Trav."
Sterling isn't sure he's been heard over the wailing and sobbing of his five siblings. Even the most headstrong of the bunch had been reduced to tears within the span of the first minute.
"Trav!"
Sterling tries again, catching the attention of his younger brother. The second eldest, after himself.
"You know how to run things. Take care while I'm gone, okay? You and Willow... watch the rest. Make sure they stay out of trouble. Keep their noses clean and all - especially Monaca. She's always got something going on. Don't let her get herself into trouble."
"..Okay." Traverse sniffs.
"And don't let Willow do all the work, either. You hear that, too, Willow, right? Split the burden. It's too much for just you and just Trav. Work together."
Willow can't muster up a word, unable to fight off the breakdown that had accompanied the day's events. Still, she nods, and Sterling can rest just a tiny bit easier when he catches the glint of determination in her eyes. What a crooked world it was, for a girl so young to be forced to shoulder so much responsibility.
"Make sure Grayling keeps up with his studies. You're really going to be something, Gray, when you're older. With those scores you might end up starting your own business - making money and living happily ever after. Don't forget all of us when you make it there, 'kay, buddy?"
Grayling lets out a wail, clinging tighter to Sterling's arm.
"Jeanette.." Gods, Jeanette. What could he even say to her? She was only eight. She hardly had any idea what was going on. All she knew was that her brother was leaving her, and he sure as hell couldn't tell her why. What kind of older brother would he be then?
"These guys are all gonna take care of you for a bit, okay? I'm going on a trip, and when I come back, we'll be rich, and we'll all live in a big mansion together and we'll have warm tomato soup every day. So stay strong, alright? Trav and Willow will play with you when you ask, and Gray and Monaca will, too. I love you."
"...You mean it? Every day?" Jeanette sniffs. Tomato soup had always been her favorite.
"I do. Just give me a month."
It was the best he could do. Not a complete lie, but... well, it wasn't so much as to when he came back. It was an 'if,' and a rather large one at that.
The tears flow freely, from Sterling and from his siblings as they're eventually rounded up and dragged from the room.
Other stop by - Columbus and Indiana. Columbus had obviously taken a hit of morphling to cope with the shock, and it takes all of Sterling's willpower not to snap at him for it. Indiana is more sincere. They promise to check up on the kids when they're able, and Sterling is immensely grateful. It would be a great help, when he was gone.
No, he couldn't think like that just yet. It was just getting started.
Dakota's goodbye is probably the hardest. She had taken him in, both the good and the bad. He was prepared to spend the rest of his life with her. Wait until Jeanette was old enough to start her own life, and then step out of the ring for good. Pick up some labor job, come home every night to Dakota's patient smile and tender arms. They'd planned it all out together - which only made it hurt worse now that it was being torn away.
Their final 'I love you' is shared in a whisper so faint that only the two of them can hear it, their breathing intermixed until Dakota is forcibly torn away from Sterling, even his strong arms unable to cling on tight enough to prevent her from being dragged out of his reach.
Wes is last. He does not mince his word.
"You come back, Lee. Fight til you fuckin' die and then fight the Reaper when he shows up to claim your soul."
"Fight who? The Careers? They'll wipe me off of the map, Wes. The other Outliers? I don't have the heart."
"Yes, you do. I watched them drag yer' girl out of here kicking and screaming. You telling me after seeing that, seeing what she's going through, you still don't have the heart?"
"I don't-"
"Bull-shit, Lee." Wes spits onto the floor. "You do. You just need to find it before you die. You're my best fighter, kid. 25 wins and 1 loss since you've picked up the knife - and that loss was your first fight. Show some of that ferocity in the arena, and you're golden.
"Wes-"
"Shut the fuck up, kid. I'm not gonna hear it. You fight. You win. You come back to your girl with bags of gold and jewelry and money and you live happily ever after. Got it?"
"Wes."
"I asked if you got it."
"I got it."
"Good. Don't disappoint, Lee. I'll be watchin'."
Wes exits the room, and there's a new sensation replacing the hollow feeling in Sterling's chest. Something to fill the void.
Fire.
Mira Andrelo, 17.
Mira finds herself unusually calm, even in the face of certain death.
Had all the gambling, the time in Six's rotten underbelly desensitized her?
Many a man, grown and drunk and angry, had threatened her life after she'd run them for all they were worth. But that kind of stuff hadn't phased her in years.
Perhaps it was because she wasn't really leaving anything behind.
Jax had come in. It had been emotional, sure. He had been fighting back tears, and so had Mira. Their exchange had been charged with grief and it had ended with a hug between siblings, Jax and Mira the only two who could accurately understand each-other's plights.
But Jax didn't need Mira to survive. He would find work - honest work, not like her - and prosper. Caster would be in good hands. Jax would look out for their youngest brother and make sure that he, too, kept on the straight and narrow. He'd be better with Jax, anyways. Mira and Caster had always fought.
Stop looking back. He'd always tell her. The past can't be changed, but your future can.
But her past had brought her to where she was today. If her parents hadn't gotten themselves hooked on that rotten drug, then Mira wouldn't have had to take out so much tesserae. Wouldn't have had to resort to gambling. She'd have been able to get a real, steady job. Or, better yet, stay in school and keep learning.
Her past had shaped her. Made her into the Mira Andrelo that could immediately tell a bluff from the truth. Who could look the promises of death in the face with a coy smirk and demand all that it had to offer. Who could make out like a bandit from the most dangerous parts of her home. It had taught her how to survive. How to thrive.
It would prepare her for this.
There's a knock at the door. Another visitor.
"Andrelo." The gruff, raspy voice drawls, and Mira's interest is instantly piqued.
"Ol' Spades?" She questions hesitantly, watching as a hunched figure shuffles into the room.
"Damn right. Thought I wouldn't come to see you, girl? Only took so long 'cause the morons outside yer' door hassled me and shook me down for everything I had. Convinced I had somethin' to sneak in for ya'."
"Did you..?"
"Yeah. And they didn't find it."
Ol' Spades winks, and Mira finds herself curious. From some pocket hidden under layers and layers of clothing, the old man produces a single playing card, the edges coated evenly in metal, adding weight to the card itself.
"The Joker?"
"Bingo. The wildcard. When you bring the Joker into your game, the balance completely shifts. Using it right can mean victory."
Mira grabs at the card haphazardly, and draws her hand back with a hiss when it connects.
"Edges are sharp, by the way." Ol' Spades voice is tinged with humor. "Keep it somewhere safe. Say it's your token - just don't let 'em feel the sharp edge. It ain't much, but I want to help any way I can."
"Spades..." Mira tucks the card into her own pocket. "So you do have a heart."
" 'Course I do. Just doesn't get much use nowadays. But I can't stand to see my protégé go down without a fight."
Mira nods, her resolve renewed. Calm is replaced by fierce determination.
"Get out and there shake things up, Joker. Win the whole pot and get your ass back home so we can celebrate."
Spades hobbles from the room, leaving Mira clutching the card tucked into her jacket.
She'd been thinking far too straightforward. If she went about things by the books, she'd never win. But shake things up..? Cause a little chaos? Make people unsure?
Her path to victory was laid out in there. All she had to do was perform.
Coming in at a beefy 8k words... WOW that was a lot more than I thought it would be. But... intros 1 is done! D7-12 Next!
A lot of these guys had a pretty good-sized cast of background characters that i didn't just want to entirely discard, so here they are in Goodbyes! I hope it served them well haha.
Not a lot to ask here - thoughts, comments, concerns are always welcome! Let me know if this has changed your opinion on any tribute or given you any new predictions for this batch of 12!
Until next time,
logangster out.