PART 3: THE PREDATOR

Chapter 20:

Tigris sprouted up from the metal storm drain grate onto the rough. The golf course was a moon-baked expanse of gray hills rolling down to the vast, sparkling lake and up to the party within Appius Volpe's stately Highland mansion. Slow, brassy music and warm, purple light leaked out from the luxurious five story home into the hot, night air. The revolver's metal had become so warm in her grip, it felt like it might burn a hole in her palm. Tigris slid her chromatifur trench coat off and dropped the bronze gun down the accidental pocket left between the fur fabric and its lining beneath the collar. She turned the glowing jacket inside out, concealing its anxious white hues before pulling it back over her body as her feet carried her up the lawn.

Painted in purple light, Tigris ascended the back patio to weave through the handful of half-naked, masked men but mostly women, drunkenly milling about. An unconscious, bare chested woman was sloppily sprawled out on an outdoor chaise lounge- a mask having fallen off her face to the tiled veranda. Tigris scooped up the mask off the ground as she passed, slipping it around her head to cover her face as she pushed through an ornate set of double doors made of glass and curling wrought iron into the mansion. Between the cigar smoke and wailing horns, Tigris' eyes were watering as much as her ears were pounding, slogging through the dimly lit throngs of sweaty party-goers deeper into the home.

She saw him. The Vice President was across a leather and shag styled den from Tigris, both he and the masked, dark-haired woman in his clutches baked violet and orange in the balmy glow of a fireplace. Tigris watched Appius Volpe's large, smooth hands trace over the half-awake, dark haired woman's hips. The woman responded to his touch by reaching across the counter of the bar they leaned against and downing the rest of an opened bottle's contents with a wince. Appius tittered at the young woman's visible discomfort ingesting the drink, calling a shirtless man over from behind the bar for another round he slid towards her. Tigris snarled, turning down a hall and making her way up a grand, curving staircase that led to the higher levels of the mansion. Every threshold she investigated contained more grotesque acts of debauchery than the one before it- until Tigris found the room she was looking for.

She knew by the quilted bedspread that she had located Appius Volpe's private bedchambers. As soon as the heavy wooden door shut behind her, the party's music was asphyxiated as Tigris crossed into the unlit room. Even in the dark, she could see how extravagant the bedroom was- with mahogany bookshelves stretching to the high ceilings, a hand carved antique desk, and a gargantuan canopy-topped bed large enough to fit an entire family. Tigris drew out an arm from the sleeve of her trench coat, sliding the jacket halfway off to reach down into its hidden opening. She took a hold of the gun's grip in her pocket and crossed to the desk before the towering wall of books and district souvenirs on the mahogany shelves.

She saw a small, rusted anchor that must have been from 4 beside a bull skull that likely originated in 10. A toy model of a steam train was propped against a series of books on tunnels and bridges. A helmet with a headlamp, dried, bundled stalks of tall grass, a red rotary phone, a wicker basket of pinecones, a glass jar of multi-colored buttons. The rotary phone- she heard an ominous ringing in her mind. Tigris began to feel nauseated- maybe she couldn't do this. Maybe this all was a truly deluded, bloodthirsty idea she was poisoned with. The gun's grip had warmed again in her hand by this point, but her fingers still felt cold and numb as metal. She couldn't do it. The bedroom door began to open.

Tigris hit the ground- scrambling under the wooden desk's footwell as Appius prowled into the room practically dragging the sniffling, dark haired woman. Tigris listened to the woman's body make a dull impact with the colored quilt. Appius' heavy breathing came through next, interspersed with the wet smacking noises of lips against bare skin. Tigris curled herself up in a ball beneath the desk, feeling Appius' kisses land on the throbbing jugular vein in her own neck. The lump in Tigris' throat widened, threatening to choke the air from her. Then, the woman's trembling voice broke through breathy exhales and sloppy kisses, pleading:

"Just promise… promise you'll save her."

Appius did not reply- at least not with words as he smacked his lips against the woman's throat. Her discomforted cry to the touch made Tigris' hair stand up on end as she recognized the voice. It was Tallulah Lozen that the man had pinned to his bed. Tigris' heart sank for the Victress. It was one thing to give yourself up to help your loved ones. But, it was a completely different thing for a Victor. Tigris recalled watching Tallulah, then just a girl, eviscerate her competition without mercy during her Games. Now, she was far from someone victorious or triumphant. She was like Tigris- weak, sniveling, desperate, and helpless. Tigris looked up to keep the tears pooling in her eyes from falling and saw the image.

It was instant film- all the small, square images pasted to the underside of the desk were, in fact. They were the kinds of photographs that were fully developed and visible moments after being taken. Tigris remembered that camera and its bright flash that had captured her before she could even squint. Tigris stared at the picture posted there like it was her reflection- and it nearly still was. The young girl in the frilly red dress depicted in the image was just as tortured as her- sat on a colored quilt on a bed so large it extended out of the image's frame as if it stretched on indefinitely. The girl was practically screaming, thrashing, and begging along with the dozens of other silent pictures of girls beside it for Tigris to help them. Tigris extended one hand upwards and pulled the image of her younger self off the desk's wood grain from the collection of children's photographs before slipping it into the hidden pocket of her coat. Then, with the other hand, she cocked the revolver.

Tigris emerged from beneath the desk, stepping out and pointing the gun at the bed. The figures there stirred noticing her, then their shadowy silhouettes went still as death. Her finger on the trigger, Tigris eyed her mark- the slight glint catching in Appius' eye as he stared down the barrel of her revolver. The pair froze for far longer than Tigris expected them to- that is until Tallulah seemed to wake and make a scrambling, half naked dash out from under Appius, off the bed, and out the bedroom door. As the door slammed shut again behind Tallulah, Tigris held the gun on Appius. The man merely sat forward and asked with a sigh:

"Which of you is it?"

Tigris pulled off her mask with her free hand, letting it fall to the floor as Appius peered through the darkness making out her features.

"Tig." Appius discerned with diffused surprise, then asked: "Can I have a cigar before?"

Tigris kept the revolver trained on Appius as he reached over to his nightstand where he had a lighter and a box of long, fat cigars.

"I always knew this day would come." Appius spoke into the end of a cigar he popped between his teeth, lighting its other end with a flash of fire from the lighter that briefly illuminated the hidden wrinkles of his face. "Never thought it'd be you, though."

"Then who?" Tigris asked: "Gloria? Tiffany? Bella? Mavis?"

"Honestly…" Appius began, taking a draw from the cigar: "I'd have expected one of the dead ones sooner."

Tigris felt her trigger finger quiver. Appius blew smoke out into the air between them where it hung like a confused haze.

"Are you going to shoot me?" Appius asked.

"Yes." Tigris answered.

Tigris held the gun on the man and willed herself to press down on the trigger with everything in her. Her finger didn't budge. Appius calmly moved to the edge of the bed:

"No, you're not." Appius asserted.

"Yes, I am." Tigris replied.

"You know how I know you won't…?" Appius stood. "You were such a good girl."

"Shut up." Tigris spat.

"You never fought, never bit, never yelled. So different from your average Capitol girl." He explained. "You just didn't have it in you… but I'll be first to admit- people change."

"They do." Tigris snarled, adjusting the gun in her grasp.

"I'm not that same man I was, either. It's why I voted to spare your life this past January. But maybe you're not that same little girl." Appius expressed. "And that's a shame."

"Is it?" Tigris asked him. "It's a shame for you."

"No. For us." Appius explained. "Tigris- why do you want to kill me?"

"You know why- what kind of a question is that?"

"Do you think I'm evil, sub-human, beyond redemption… worthy of a bullet to the skull?" Appius sucked on his cigar and blew another puff of smoke out. "I'd agree. I am a monster. But, when I'm dead… what will that make you?"

Tigris answered: "The same as I was."

"That's what I assumed too." Appius sighed. "But the harm you cause… it stays in your soul even if you think you don't have one. Until one day, you wake up with a hole in yourself you didn't realize had been bleeding for years. You're right. I know what I did to you. And know every ounce of pain I feel, deserved or not, I know is deserved. Every time I suffer, justified or not- I know it is justice. Anytime I see your aging face and feel proud, and ashamed, and grateful, and resentful it all already feels… shot."

Tigris felt like her arms weighed a million pounds holding the gun on him. Appius went on:

"I am not usually a man of mercy." Appius explained. "But I still see that sweet girl who wouldn't hurt a fly." Appius began to slowly cross towards Tigris: "Do you really want to be someone worse?"

A serrated hymn was scraping along the surface of Tigris' mind, and she couldn't find it anywhere within or outside of herself to do anything but lower the gun to her side. The chromatifur against Tigris' skin went a sad, blue hue. She couldn't do it. Tigris couldn't kill. But the realization that Appius was more than capable of the inverse dawned a moment too late on Tigris. She was knocked to the ground by the man's violent lunge at her. The gun was wrestled from her grip. She was gasping for breath as the man clamped the smooth grip of his hands around her throat. Tigris reached out for the gun, and found nothing but air, reaching into the void fading in around her only for it to grab back and pull her into unconsciousness.

The next thing she knew, Tigris could feel herself being dragged across the cold, dusty floor. Through the darkness, the fuzzy glimmer of a crystal chandelier through a gaping hole in the ceiling was glowing like fire in Tigris' dazed field of vision. She faded out again, only beginning to wake once more when the blood had run back down from her head to the rest of her body. Tigris could hear the others' petrified confusion tapping on the surface of her consciousness- but it was the delicate sound of a tinny dinner bell that fully snapped her awake.

"What was that?!" Mrs. Matrona Cominia's voice cried out.

Tigris tried to stand, but her limbs were firmly bound to the arms and legs of a wooden chair.

"Quiet!" Androcles Anderson hissed at the old woman- straining to free his wrists restrained to his own chair.

"What's going on?!" Dr. Fling asked in a panic: "Where are we?"

Tigris looked up to the gaping opening in the ceiling high above the four of their heads. Beyond it, she could see a remodeled coffered ceiling and a brilliant, new crystal chandelier. Around Tigris were broken bits of concrete, stacks of wooden boxes, shattered remnants of black and white tile, and dusty, antique furniture. With horrifying clarity- Tigris knew exactly where they were.

Tigris cried out in pain, realizing she would have to break every bone in her hands to free her wrists. A dull rumbling like far off thunder came rolling through the dark basement. Tigris froze with Matrona and Fling as a nearing series of sharp clinks struck the concrete from within the room's shadows. Androcles feverishly wrestled against his restraints with all his might. Tigris saw a dull, red glow emanate from the darkness before its source emerged from the shadows behind him. The gaunt, starving Manticore stepped into the jagged spot of light cast through the fissured opening above the man.

The beast's once dazzling colors were now subdued to a weak smoldering of diffused light across its protruding rib cage. One of the spiraling horns on its head was only a third of the way re-grown, still a full foot shorter than its twin. The cast iron chain was still locked around its drooping, matted mane- but its eyes were devoid of the unmistakable humanity Tigris had once observed. Now, all she saw in the creature's black-eyed gaze fixed on Androcles beneath its rows of teeth was hunger. The creature let out a roar so thunderous Tigris could feel her bones rattling. She closed her eyes and when she opened them- Androcles, his chair, and the Manticore were gone.

Not a single word Matrona hollered was intelligible. Dr. Fling sobbed equally wildly- the man's unrestrained tears stirring something within Tigris' hazy field of view. She looked down at herself- the chromatifur trench coat she wore now bubbling with an icy white rainbow of color. As she heard the Manticore rebounding on them again from the darkness, Tigris' coat's hues began firing off with a renewed, terrified vibrance. The Manticore pounced back into the light- its teeth clamping down around Dr. Fling's torso with a wet crunch. Woozy from malnutrition, the Manticore's right front leg was swept out from under itself as it slipped on its loose chain sliding across the dusty concrete. The creature went skidding across the floor- its body slamming through the two remaining chairs with a pair of splintering crashes.

Tigris grunted upon impact with the beast's body against hers. She'd hit the concrete with such force the wooden chair she'd been tied to broke apart in pieces, freeing her arms and legs in an instant. The Manticore quickly righted itself, bounding away back into the darkness with a screaming Dr. Fling hanging from its mouth. Tigris sat up to see Matrona- several yards away in a similar state to herself, languishing on the ground amidst the shattered remnants of her chair.

"Come on!" Tigris approached the old woman and pulled her up to a sitting position, but Matrona struggled to breathe let alone run away. She snapped at Tigris in pain:

"All my bones are broken, you ugly-"

The sounds of Dr. Fling's agonized scream echoed through before the snapping and squishing of his flesh and bone between the Manticore's teeth followed. Matrona promptly stood and hobbled away. Tigris quickly caught up to the old woman's tottering, which couldn't have clocked in any faster than three miles per hour. The sounds of the beast's pounding claws clanging against the floor came bounding after them again. Tigris grabbed Matrona's hand and pulled her behind a stack of wooden crates piled up near a wall of the basement. Matrona's loud wheezing breaths broke through the silence, so Tigris clamped a palm over the woman's mouth.

The elderly woman placed her own hand over Tigris' grasp on her face, and Tigris took notice of the wedding band on Matrona's finger beginning to glow. The pair listened to the sniffing snout of the Manticore gradually making its way closer to their hiding spot. The beast's massive face came around the boxes and took in both of the women, staring back with a frozen terror as it smelled the air between them. The Manticore's giant eyes shifted back and forth only once between the two. Then, it leaned forward and bit down on Matrona's leg. The old woman screamed, reaching out to Tigris in an effort to prevent herself from being pulled into the creature's jowls.

Tigris gripped Matrona's hands, trying to pull the old woman free from the beast's mouth. She lost the tug of war over the old woman after less than a second. Matrona got out one last wrathful cry before her hands were ripped from Tigris' grasp and she was thrown into the back of the Manticore's throat. Tigris listened to Matrona's mastication and looked down at her palm to see the glowing white ring she'd left there. As the Manticore strode away chewing its catch, Tigris watched the ring's phosphorescence against her palm fade back to its original state like the cooling of hot metal. Tigris slipped the ring on her finger, crawling towards a large aluminum ventilation grate on the wall. She attempted to pry the metal grate away until she noticed the ring in her finger begin to brighten again.

Tigris dove to the floor at her side as the Manticore charged at her. The beast's body slammed into the vent, breaking off half of the bolts fixing it to the wall. Tigris scrambled behind a dry rotting couch that had to be over a century old. She felt something hard and cold beneath her coat as she curled up as small as she could make herself. Tigris reached down to locate the object, finding it was not under her coat, but inside of it. Tigris' fingers wrapped around the grip of the bronze revolver curiously present in the jacket's front pocket.

She pulled the gun out at the same moment the Manticore was on her swatting away the couch between them like it was a play toy. Tigris fell back with the gun in her hand, the shining ring on her finger tingling against her knuckle. The Manticore's coat glowed with the same iridescence as it stood over Tigris, blood dripping from its long black fangs on the ground between them. Then, Tigris pointed the gun at its chest, closed her eyes, and fired all eight rounds in rapid succession. She opened her eyes to see the Manticore looking back at her with the same blank expression, if not confused, perhaps. Thin streams of black blood came dribbling from where the Manticore's heart would be if it had one. A line of black drained over the monster's torso where it fell to the ground.

The dark 'drip, drip, drip' splattered to the dusty floor beside a glowing knife where the couch had just been.

Tigris lunged forwards and snatched up the iridescent blade, watching the Manticore recoil from the knife's glowing point and fall back directly into the path of a similarly luminous net being shot over its body from behind. The beast thrashed and fought with burning pain against the sparkling, silver netting it was caught in, being dragged away by an unseen force into the darkness. Tigris overheard Vipsania Sickle's voice from the other side of the basement as she crawled towards the vent that had been broken open. Vipsania sounded like a construction worker- her brusque commands echoing off the basement walls as a platoon of Peacekeepers worked to load the Manticore into the back of a large, armored vehicle at the top of an opened loading dock. Tigris felt the knife's cold sting in her hand warm- watching its glow die as she approached the broken vent grate, climbing through the opening and breaking out into a run after slipping into the air duct beyond.

'Should I wear the leather skirt or the black striped pants-' It was a far simpler problem to busy her mind with. Eventually, Tigris found the way to a utility pump station which granted her access to the sewers through a rusty metal door and short flight of concrete stairs. 'What shoes?' She'd failed- failed horribly, at that. Appius meant to kill her there. What would he do when he discovered she lived? 'The pants, of course… with those strappy stilettos. That'd be divine.' And why did she still have the gun? What time was it? How long would it take to navigate safely all the way back home? 'Hoops or dangly?' Tigris was being bombarded with questions as she turned a corner and was confronted by a silhouette at the end of the tunnel.

Goneril called out to Tigris:

"The wrong bastard is dead, Miss Snow."

"What are you talking about… I couldn't kill him." Tigris replied, gripping the knife.

"I'm referring to our dear, late Commander-In-Chief Caracalla Mazza- kicked the bucket just hours ago." Goneril put a hand on her chest with sardonic sorrow. "We have a new President now."

"Oh, my…" Tigris shook her head. "I almost just shot him."

"And why didn't you?" Goneril asked, approaching Tigris.

"I let him talk." Tigris sighed. "But I don't think I could have done it, anyway."

Goneril argued. "Certainly not because you think he's a good person?"

"Of course not." Tigris scoffed.

"No one is." Goneril ripped the knife from Tigris' hand. "Stop thinking of people as being good or bad."

"How should I think of people?" Tigris asked.

"Dead or alive." Goneril responded. "You want to be a good person? Good- but what does that mean? How much are you willing to let die to not kill?" Goneril pressed the tip of the blade into Tigris' skin. "You can have your blamelessness and keep it too- I'll toss it right into your grave after you."

"I don't know what I am supposed to do." Tigris anguished.

"You have to make an impossible choice. Happens all the time." Goneril shrugged. "Someone will get hurt, someone will be disadvantaged by it, someone will die. Who is it going to be, Miss Snow?"

"Look-" Tigris leaned forward against the knife. "I'm not worried about killing Coriolanus. I'm worried about saving my tributes' lives, now."

"You likely can't have one without the other." Goneril explained. "You understand that, surely?"

She did- but not out loud. Goneril raised the knife to Tigris' chin:

"The bloodbath is in an hour or two. Your kids are probably being raised from their beds as we speak to get camera-ready for the big day." Goneril tapped Tigris on the lips with the blade. "They say the camera adds ten pounds, but it also adds ten years. You can see every line, every wrinkle, every spot, every little imperfection you have earned across that face throughout the years." Goneril gripped the blade's hilt tighter. "I know a way to get rid of all of that."

"Please- I don't want any trouble." Tigris begged.

"Or a new face?" Goneril traced a line over the underside of Tigris' chin, chuckling: "You already have trouble- that's out of all our hands." Goneril lowered the knife from Tigris' throat and held it out to her in an extended palm: "Might as well get them dirty."

Tigris looked down at the knife- accepting both the blade and the message at the same moment:

"Let me change my press-ons first."

Goneril's indomitable presence escorted Tigris through the main corridors she'd had to avoid before in fear of the Animals. But, all of them seemed profoundly disinterested with her as Goneril led her through a seemingly circuitous route that had them at the ladder to Tigris' studio within the hour. Tigris turned to offer either a thanks for navigating or for not skewering her through the jugular; she wasn't sure, but found herself alone again. Tigris shuddered as a chill ran down the tunnel and up her spine as she ascended the ladder and emerged into her destroyed studio apartment.

It was ransacked. Broken furniture, shattered mirrors, shredded cushions, busted light bulbs, and most glaringly: an entire empty wall of shelves. Every tape was missing. Not a single episode of Capitol Letters remained, just long, dusty sections of empty space filled the shelves in their absence. Tigris crossed to her fabric room, pulling the door open to find all her clothing and belongings untouched. She breathed a sigh of relief, but the hollow silence that followed suddenly sent Tigris into a panic:

"Smax?"

Tigris called out to the cat but no purr, mew, or even a hiss responded to her.

"Smax?!"

Tigris raced back out into her studio, frantically pulling away the scattered remnants and debris strewn about the floors in search of the cat. Her heart pounded with a million worries and explanations for Smax's absence along with the tapes, and every idea she imagined was more tortuous than the last. Then, Tigris saw Smax's cat bed, sitting in its same spot among the destruction and carnage on the floor. But, instead of a fluffy white cat nestled atop its bedding sat a picture, perfect rose- as colorless as snow.

The cab driver complimented her little black dress, but Tigris' throat felt too tight to reply. The sun began to rise as the cab pulled away from Tigris' studio and she was blinking into its golden crest shining behind the Supra's skyscraping frame before they'd even reached downtown. The building was so tall, the tallest in the Capitol in fact, that its penciled tower could be seen slicing into the clouds from nearly any point in the city. As the cab pulled up to the curb, Tigris paid the driver and took a deep breath before crossing the sidewalk and pushing into the gleaming lobby.

There were cameras and stage lights and media correspondents everywhere chattering into microphones discussing various tributes' odds. As Tigris was spotted by the reporters, several came rushing up with their blinding lights and massive cameras- sticking handheld mics in her face and asking about Flossie. Tigris flashed smiles into the cameras, but didn't have the time to address anyone's questions as she was directed towards the elevator bay by a Peacekeeper who explained where she was to go. She stepped inside the first lift that arrived with a ding and opened for her, selecting the '-1' button before the elevator began its descent. Finally, the lift settled on the level she'd chosen and opened on the Gamemaker Center.

It was a lofty, subterranean dome- with two concentric rows of rounded white counters that looped around an empty, circular courtyard of sorts at the middle. The counters were lit up with holographic figures, shapes, and numbers that two dozen Gamemakers fiddled with as Tigris crossed through the room. Among them, Tigris recognized Vipsania Sickle and Io Jasper flanking the elevated seat at the termination of the outermost circling counter, clearly marking the position of the Head Gamemaker, who himself sat in an almost meditative state. Tigris crossed directly to Coriolanus and called up to him at his throne:

"Where is she?"

Coriolanus peered down at Tigris.

"Where is it?" He retorted before adding: "I know you have it, Tigris."

"Have what?" Tigris replied with incredulity, posturing to defend her innocence in regard to the black book's disappearance.

"Don't play dumb." Coriolanus murmured. "If I find that tape in your collection… you'll get that cat back in a box."

"What…? Tape?" Tigris remembered, choked, and attempted to regain control of the subject to hide her guilt: "Give me Smax back, please."

"I can't trust your loyalty to me." Coriolanus glibly replied. "But I can trust your loyalty to her."

"Coriolanus… is she alright?" Tigris worried.

A screen on the other side of the rounded wall blinked on to display the twenty-four tributes' vital signs being measured in real time.

"Compared to who?" Coriolanus asked, looking up at the screen where Judge's rapidly pounding heart rate was being monitored. "You better get down there- a lot of people are counting on you."

Tigris grimaced as she turned and followed the circumference of the room, passing by Faust Crane who was sitting within the confines of a small room set in the wall. He appeared beyond exhausted, rubbing sleep from his eyes as she passed. Tigris made her way along the wall's bend until she was at an industrial elevator at the other side of the room. Then, Tigris stepped inside and pressed the 'L' button. She felt like she was falling forever, watching the level indicator go into the negative double digits before the numbers switched to letters. Tigris' heart kept dropping further with every passing ding of the elevator level indicator, imagining what calamity would ensue when Coriolanus found the tape in her collection.

She racked her brain trying to remember what Capitol Letter's episode sheath she had hidden it within- but her scattered, frenzied mind drew a blank. Eventually, the bottom of the elevator shaft met with the lift and opened on a sputtering fluorescent tunnel. A Peacekeeper driven shuttle cart transported her down the never-ending subterranean avenue until they reached its end- culminating at a curved hallway of twenty-four doors. Tigris' heels clacked with echoing strikes down the dim, blinking corridor's curve. The doors along the wall were numbered with temporary markers laminated and posted against their faces. She studied them as she trod forward: 'F8… M2… M9… F6… M10… M12…' Tigris pressed on, stopping when she reached a door marked: 'F1,' turning its handle and entering into the room beyond it.

Flossie looked like a snow angel. Still so pretty, delicate, and glowing in the stunningly white Arena uniform she was dressed in. The pleated jumper dress, crimped blouse, and starchy vest she wore were blindingly bleached, while the mary-jane shoes and flowing ribbon tying back her blonde curls in a bow were a deep, blood red. The Arena uniforms this year seemed better suited for a lecture than a fight to the death- Tigris thought, and Flossie apparently was equally as perplexed by the styling, asking Tigris as she stepped into the room:

"Did you design this?"

"No, girlie." Tigris replied, crossing to Flossie who was seated in a wire chair.

"Do you have an idea why it looks like this?" Flossie asked.

"The arena might be snowy, maybe..." Tigris guessed.

Tigris' eyes fell on the tall glass tube in the corner of the room that would deliver Flossie into the Arena. The girl began to shake with fear and whistled.

"I'm sorry for talking about Mr. Snow." Flossie grunted and bobbed her head.

"Don't apologize to me for anything." Tigris implored taking Flossie's hand: "Let me worry about you, girlie. You focus on surviving, alright?"

Tigris dug into her pocket, removing Matrona's platinum wedding ring she slid onto one of Flossie's fingers.

"What's this?" Flossie asked with a nervous whistle.

"Your token." Tigris replied. "If you see this ring start to glow- run, you hear me? Run as far and as fast as you can until it stops."

"Why?" Flossie asked anxiously.

"I hope with everything you won't need to find out." Tigris answered. "But it'll protect you."

Flossie's eyes brimmed with tears as she reached out and hugged Tigris with a crushing embrace.

"Thank you." Flossie nearly wept. "Thank you for the dresses, the advice… the ring." She stepped back and took Tigris in with a dewy-eyed gratitude: "I don't deserve any of it."

Tigris nearly broke, simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing:

"You don't, Flossie." Tigris shook her head. "You deserve much, much better."

"If I win…" Flossie sighed: "I hope I can be like you one day, Miss Tigris."

"No." Tigris replied. "Never stop being Flossie. She's beautiful."

A tear fell from Flossie's eye as her pink cheeks lifted to smile at Tigris. An automated voice came crackling through a speaker on the wall:

"Five minutes until launch."

"When you get up there…" Tigris ordered: "Get out of there."

Flossie swallowed and nodded, twisting the ring on her finger as she looked over to the glass tube in the corner. Tigris squeezed Flossie's hand before making her way back towards the door. As she pulled on the handle and began to exit- Tigris heard Flossie give one last parting offering, forming a heart with her trembling hands over her chest and stating after a whistle:

"No, you're beautiful- old hag."

Flossie's eyes went wide with shame at her own words- but both she and Tigris responded to her involuntary tic with the same apology:

"Sorry."

Tigris departed the room dabbing at her eyes and biting the insides of her cheeks as she trudged down the hall. She had to hike all the way to the third to last door in the line before Tigris reached a door marked: 'M1.' She entered and found a boy she hardly recognized as Judge. His muddy hair was trimmed sharply while his face and hands were washed blemish-less of their black and brown polish stains. Judge was dressed as bright as a star in his white uniform but was more melancholic than Tigris had ever believed he'd be capable. The blood colored tie around his crisp, white collar reflected off his reddened eyes that fixed on Tigris as she closed the door behind herself. After a long beat, the boy asked:

"Is it real…?"

"Yes, baby." Tigris answered ruefully.

"No, not the…" Judge's voice broke as he trailed off and seemed to deflate even further: "I'm not gonna be a star."

Tigris humored the boy's lost cosmic delusions. "Of course, you-"

"It's not real." Judge cried. "Momma isn't a star."

"Judge, don't say that." Tigris shook her head. "She is really up there, I believe it."

"It doesn't matter." Judge wept. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"Baby, it does-" Tigris argued.

"No! It doesn't, even if she is, that's even worse-" Judge gripped his white pleated slacks and wept: "I lied! And Momma said not to lie- but I lied to you."

"It's okay, honey. It's okay." Tigris crossed to the boy and knelt down to be at eye level with him. She took his hands and pulled him into an embrace, holding the weeping child as she asked: "What did you lie about, Judge?"

"One minute until launch." The speaker on the wall sounded.

Judge cried into Tigris' chest and confessed:

"I am afraid." Judge cried. "I'm so afraid to die."

Tigris gripped the hilt of the platinum knife she'd concealed in her jacket pocket with one hand and Judge's tiny shivering hand with the other.

"You're not going to be a star now." Tigris replied, sliding the knife out her coat and pressing its cold metal into Judge's warm palm: "Because you're going to be a person for a lot longer, okay? Momma is really up there. I will be too. And we will move the heavens and the earth and the moon and the stars to save you, child. It's okay to be afraid- that doesn't mean you're not strong. Everyone's afraid of dying."

"But I'm just as afraid… of what it would mean if I live." Judge studied his reflection in the blade.

"Thirty seconds until launch."

"Judge… you deserve to live."

"We all do." Judge replied instantly. "I think we all do."

He set the blade down on the floor at his feet:

"I'm sorry I was so mean to you. I was scared. I don't think you're a bad lady. I actually think you're a really nice, good lady.

"Ten seconds until launch."

"And I don't think you would hurt the worst monster in the world." He added.

Judge hugged onto Tigris' torso once again as the transparent cylinder's sliding glass doors rotated to open. A beeping countdown began as the child released himself from the fabric of Tigris' dress and crossed on quivering legs towards the tube. Judge stepped inside and turned back to face Tigris as she blinked away her blinding tears and swiftly snatched up the knife off the floor. She raced towards him to force the platinum blade into his possession. But the glass cylinder closed up around Judge that same second, both he and the platform beneath his feet beginning to rise before she could reach him. Tigris watched Judge's petrified, wet eyes blink at her with helpless terror as he rose. And though she couldn't hear him, Tigris clearly read the final two words on Judge's lips as he was launched into the Arena:

"Be good."