Thank you to Grim Apocrypha, Dante Alighieri1308, Very New To This and yoyowhitehole for the reviews!
Oh man longest chapter yet. I really do mean to shorten it guys i promise i promise i promise. Congrats to Melisa for now holding the longest pov title. I genuinely just blanked out for a bit and when i came back it was like 1k words longer. Got really into that one. Hope it's good!
Let's get into the next half of the day with Blitz, Kiana, Merlino, Hyperion, Fraser and Melisa! Enjoy!
Blitz Rutherford, District 5.
Weapons were out of the question for Blitz.
She prided herself on playing to her strengths - and, really, it made no sense to try and learn an entirely new skill in two days' time. She'd watched from afar as the string-bean boy from Three had attempted to pick up the bow. He'd gotten lucky that someone had taken pity on him, and that was all. He'd have been hopeless otherwise. Blitz, to some degree, felt that she was in the same boat. If she had been in that same position, she would have failed - and been at the mercy of the boy from Two.
But, on the other side of the coin, she was far too thoughtful to ever be caught in such a position. That's where they differed. That's why she was heading towards the electronics and wiring station. She knew where to focus her efforts to maximize her chances of survival.
Orin's chances of survival.
Blitz grits her teeth as the thought springs into her mind uninvited, her hands clenching into tight fists as she quickens her pace.
Her greatest asset had always been her mind. She possessed a brilliance with technology that was rare even for a place like Five, spinning up brilliant new ideas and spitting out computer code faster than anybody else she'd ever known. Who else had enough know-how to crash some of the most secure networks in the nation? On a computer that they themselves had wired and assembled?
Blitz waves off the instructor who attempts to guide her to the 'beginner's section,' not sparing the plump man a word or even a cursory glance as she heads right towards what she knows. Complex webs of wires and circuits - rudimentary, in her eye, but better quality than even the best supplies back home. Much easier to work with than the fraying wires and eroded copper that she'd had to cobble together into working devices back home.
Rolling up her sleeves, Blitz gets right to work, still ignoring the protesting of the man stood a couple of feet behind her. Eventually, he just gives up and steps back. If she gets hurt, he says, it isn't on him. That's fine. She didn't plan on being hurt. This was her comfort zone - her ultimate strength.
Her hands fly, nimble fingers crossing wires and connecting them to various power cells, flicking switches and testing bulbs. No problem so far - every flick of the switch came with the subsequent illumination of the bulb. Electricity was flowing. Her source here was limited, but that was fine. With a contraption like this and a larger source, she would be set in the arena when it came time to-
"Whoa, nice tattoo."
A voice - a familiar one - snaps her out of her concentration.
Her tattoo.
Shit, she'd gotten so into the zone that she'd forgotten about her sleeves. On her rest was the tattoo she'd had for a good year by now - a crudely drawn circuit board. A symbol to her inner circle, a reminder that she was one of them. Part of their crew. A rebel.
Blitz quickly yanks her sleeve down, her piercing gray gaze meeting the familiar brown of her District partner.
She'd done some thinking since their encounter on the train, because she knew she'd recognized that last name. It had come to her during lunch, when he'd wandered off to go sit with the girl from Eleven.
Fomalhaut. Scrubbed from the public records entirely, it was entirely likely that he had been the last one. But, hidden deep in Capitol archives, had been the record of the Fomalhaut Public Library. She'd never given it much thought before. It had been interesting, sure. A hidden piece of Five's history. But nothing that would have ever helped her, so it was ultimately disregarded as nothing more than a morbidly interesting story.
Morbid, because the last she'd heard was that the entire family had been hung. Publicly executed for betraying the rebellion, selling the names of their leaders to the Capitol. No survivors.
And yet, here stood Kairos. An enigma. Someone who, based on history itself, should not exist.
"You tried any of the pastries they offered?" Kairos took her silence as an invitation to sit, as oblivious (or uncaring) as ever towards her hesitance. "Really good."
"I haven't." Blitz speaks shortly, her words curt and final. At least, that's how she wished them to be perceived, but she had a feeling she was going to be at the mercy of Kairos's good nature for a while.
As predicted, he continues anyways.
"Perfect, because I snagged one for you. Cherry or blueberry?"
"I don't want-"
"I'll take cherry, then. You can have blue, 'cause of your hair."
Blitz glances back to see Kairos already taking a massive bite from the pastry - flakey bread baked into a square with a red jam oozing from the center. It looked... good.
No, Blitz, you can't take anything from this guy. That's what he wants. To get your guard down.
"I'm not a fan of sweets." Blitz lies, turning back. It was difficult. It sounded good. Comforting. But there was no room for simple comforts here.
"Really? Not even if it's right in your face? You can smell the fresh-baked bread, and the blueberry, and the-"
"What the hell do you want with me?" Blitz whips around, her gaze hardening as Kairos's eyebrows raise in surprise, the boy stepping back slightly. His hands are raised in an 'I want peace' sort of way, the blueberry pastry still clutched in his hand. "You're trying too hard to be nice. It's suspicious and I don't like it. You know only one of us makes it out of here, so stop with the fake nice-guy act. You're probably just here to fuck with me, aren't you? I know who you are. You betrayed them. All of them. Sold them out to the Capitol and met the justice you deserved."
Blitz's voice grows with frustration as she continues. The more she thinks about it, the more she should hate Kairos. For what his family had done. They'd set the rebellion back years. Decades, even - and now he was here, tormenting her. Pretending to be kind and genuine and friendly so he could get another rebel killed.
"I bet they picked you to volunteer, too, didn't they? To rub it in my face that they've got Orin back home, ready to kill him the second you get rid of me. Is that funny to you? Does that make you laugh, too, you fucking traitor?"
Blitz is positively seething now, a strange tight feeling in her chest as well as behind her eyes. As if something were about to burst. One of the few things in this world that could draw this sort of emotion out of her was Orin. His wellbeing meant everything to her, and now it depended on her own success as well. She would not let some two-faced liar screw with that, even if she had to kill him herself.
"...Orin..?" Kairos hesitantly questions, and the rage in Blitz immediately flips into confusion when she sees the surprise on his face. Genuine surprise. Genuine horror.
"You... what do you mean?" He questions hesitantly. "Hey, who is that?" Kairos questions, urgency growing in his tone. "What are you talking about, Blitz?"
God, he sounded just like Orin right now. The incessant questions and the sudden worry - it reminded her of home.
A tear rolls down Blitz's cheek. And then another, and soon enough it's complete waterworks, though she retains enough good sense to turn away from her exposed board of circuits and wires.
"They're going to kill him..." She moans, slumping down and turning away from Kairos. "They're going to kill him... it's my fault, it's mine, it's mine..." Blitz whimpers into her hands, doing her best to fight back against the hot, stinging tears in the corners of her eyes.
It's a losing battle.
"Kill who? Orin? Who's Orin? Work with me here, Blitz."
"Friend... He's my friend. My only friend. I don't want him to die. Please, don't kill me. I don't want him to die." Blitz speaks through sobs that wrack her entire body, her voice barely understandable through the raw sorrow coursing through her very being.
They were going to kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Orin was going to die.
Kill him. Kill him.
Blitz can feel her last shreds of sanity slipping away at the very thought, the phrase echoing so loudly in her mind that it's all she can hear. She can see it so clearly - she doesn't want to, but it's all she can think of. Orin's dead body, riddled with bullets and slumped against some wall.
It's your fault. Your fault. It-
"-isn't your fault. It's the Capitol's." Kairos's voice has taken on a tone she's never heard from him. It was... serious. Intense, even. Like the voice of someone who'd been beaten down for the 8th time and was getting back up to fight for the 9th. "Tell me what you can. What you know. I'll help you survive. I swear it on everything."
"I won't repeat my family's mistakes."
There's a clarity that dispels the mental chaos long enough for Blitz to meet eyes with Kairos, and she's surprised to see that his eyes, like hers, are wet around the edges. His hands are clenched into fists - he looks angry. It doesn't fit him. At least, the him that Blitz had come to know.
Blitz had more experience with machines than almost anyone. She often considered herself to be more machine than person, thinking in logic and absolutes as opposed to emotions and potential. But now, this feeling inside of her was distinctly human. Logic is thrown out the window and emotion takes hold. Her very soul wants to let out the pressure that's been built up inside, like a shaken bottle ready to explode. For once, she listens to it.
"I... I'm really good with computers. Always have been. Good enough to crack into the Capitol's secure networks and raise some hell every now and again. But... but they caught me this time. On Reaping's Eve. They took me and Orin in to kill us. I know it. Neither of us took out tesserae and the escort didn't even look at the names. It was fixed. I... I have no proof, but I know it. I know it." She repeats, partially for Kairos but mostly for herself. "But you volunteered. Screwed up their operation. They came in during my visitation. Orin.." Blitz chokes on her own words, taking a moment to swallow before she continues.
"They'd beaten him up. Broken his bones and bruised his face. He could barely keep his eyes open. And they said... they said that I'm getting a chance. That I'll be able to play the Games, same as anyone else. They won't kill me on purpose, because the freak in charge of everything thinks I could work well under him if I win." Blitz's sorrow turns into a bitter rage, hatred and scorn palpable with every word. "But when - if, I die... they'll kill him too. But I have the chance to save him. Even if... even if I have to give it all up and work in this place for the rest of my life. If he gets to be alive at the end of it all then I don't care."
Blitz's voice begins to break again, and she can only muster one more sentence as the tears begin to take over again.
"I just don't want him to die."
Her partner, for once, takes pause in his words. Considers what he wants to say instead of just saying it.
"Let me help you. Let us help you. Please."
Is what he settles on, a hint of desperation in his own voice. It's enough to finally tip the scales in Blitz's head.
Us..?
"..Fine. Fine, if it saves him. I'll do anything. ..Who's us?"
Kairos gives a tentative smile, offering a hand down to help Blitz up from the floor.
"Little group I'm forming. Figured we could use someone with your technical expertise."
"..Right." Blitz nods, gaining her composure back little by little. She wipes at her eyes quickly, doing her best to brush away the tears as casually as she could muster.
It wasn't pity. They wanted her first. That was fine. She could live with that.
"You're right. You'll need it." She sniffs, earning a bit of laughter from Kairos. "Are we full..? Who else is in on this with you - er, us?"
"We aren't full up quite yet. As for the second part... much as I'd love to tell you... that's a secret. But we'll all be meeting up tomorrow to discuss the possibility of this whole thing working. Stick close after lunch and I'll take you over."
"...Fine." Blitz sighs. Not knowing would have to be acceptable for now. She'd poured her heart out to Kairos. A moment of weakness brought on by her unique situation. But there was no going back. At the very least, she'd need to check things out. Besides... they weren't full yet. That meant...
"There was another tribute I had an eye on. I was thinking about asking him to partner up tomorrow if nothing else happened. Do you mind if I bring him along, too?"
"Oh, for sure. The more the merrier. Who is it?"
Blitz raises an eyebrow and, for the first time, cracks the slightest smile.
"You'll find out tomorrow, Fomalhaut."
Kairos throws his hands up in the air, returning the grin.
"Fair enough."
Kiana Lakhani, District Four.
Kiana was quickly beginning to realize that she might have over-estimated how much people would care about her.
She'd entered the Games slightly worried (partially through the fault of her District partner) that she wouldn't be accepted. That there was just something to her that the others would look at and decide she simply wasn't worth it.
It was why she'd been so eager to fall in line and pick out a friend in Youssef. He obviously thought he was in charge - and that was fine, honestly. As far as leaders went, they could certainly do worse. Gulf would have been a nightmare if he'd managed to weasel his way into the position. Hyperion... yeah, not a chance she would have let that fly. Lethe was nice, sure, but she didn't really seem like the leader type. That just left Youssef and Avalon - and Kiana - as the potential candidates.
But really... just Kiana and Youssef. Avalon had been nice, but Kiana had been warned countless times to never trust a One with your life. They were flighty, Mom had said. Quick to leave at the first sign of trouble, oftentimes without a word to the one who had been their closest confidant just a day before. It was a delicate line they walked on. Each and every individual in the Pack was trying their best to make things easier for themselves. Let someone as crafty and adaptable as Avalon take the head, and things might start to go downhill for everyone but her.
As for Kiana herself..? She wasn't really eager to take the position. Hell, she hadn't really been eager to enter the Games. Sure, they were necessary to keep things in order - but she could have gone her whole life without being involved in them and lived on happily. If she'd been allowed to, anyways, but Instructor Lakhani had made sure that a simple life was out of the question for her daughter.
All that was to say... well, it kinda seemed like she'd been stressing over nothing. None of the others really seemed to bat an eye at her. Even Gulf had mellowed out significantly. He was even able speak civilly to her now! What a speedy improvement that had been. She figured her first impression of him had been right. He was a bully. A skilled, ruthless, aggressive bully, but a bully first and foremost.
He'd picked the wrong person, challenging Kiana. Her willpower was akin to iron, unshakeable in every way, and Gulf had learned that by testing it himself. That had been enough to get him to back off - to at least in some capacity recognize that she was the real deal.
That, and the spear that she'd just drilled into the chest of a training dummy from 25 meters out.
"Oh, good shit." Avalon coos off to the side, stopping to admire the throw. "You're going to do some real damage to one of those poor schmucks when it comes time for the Bloodbath, girl."
"Unless I get to 'em first." Gulf swaggers in, spear in his own hand. Kiana rolls her eyes, but casual competition was much better than unbridled aggression. She could work with this version of Gulf Corpus.
"Big if." Kiana shrugs simply. "Take a throw and we'll see."
"Long as you don't get mad when I absolutely crush it." Gulf shrugs, readying his own spear.
Kiana had watched him fight earlier. He'd honestly been a lot more cautious with his spear than she'd expected, waiting for openings and taking lightning-quick strikes instead of charging in ready to end the battle. She'd noticed, too, that his off hand had often wavered, flexed to grip something that wasn't there. What had he said, back at the parade?
Spear and net.
Very clearly, there were no nets in the facility. They hadn't seen all he had to offer yet.
Gulf was many things - but when it came to sheer capacity for violence, Kiana ranked him at the top of her list. Even after her impression of their imposing 'captain' in Youssef, Gulf was the last person she wanted to end up fighting alone. It's not that she wasn't confident in her own ability - he would just be more trouble than he was worth.
"Here we go." Gulf hefts the spear and then lets it fly. As she predicted, it sails true, impaling the chest just above where Kiana's own spear had struck.
"Fuckin' told you! Prelude to the Bloodbath, baby. Watch yourself, Kiana, or you'll leave with no kills."
"Not happening." Kiana sniffs. "I imagine you'll be so focused with your little spear that you don't notice one of the outliers sneaking up behind you to end your life."
"Who's spear is little?" Gulf scoffs incredulously, the double entendre not lost on him. "You just love to make shit up, don't you? That's not-"
"You two get along so well together now." A usually silent voice drawls from a little ways away, and Kiana's eyes flit over to meet the cool stare of Hyperion, leaned up against a wall without a care in the world. Kiana doesn't miss the thinly veiled sarcasm dripping with every word.
"Oh, we're best friends. You could join in on the fun, if you don't deem it below yourself to interact with the rest of us."
Hyperion's frosty attitude had really been getting on Kiana's nerves. Any suggestion - even from his own partner - was met with such a delicate consideration and an ultimately condescending answer. 'I guess.' 'I suppose we could...'
It drove Kiana insane. There was no sort of room for that shit here. Gulf was one thing - fiery and aggressive, but he'd learned to control it and lock that shit down when things started to get real. He was a loose canon, but he worked with the group when it mattered.
Hyperion did not. It was genuinely as if he thought himself better than the rest, deeming their presence only barely tolerable enough to stick around and make snide remarks whenever anyone suggested anything at all.
"I'll consider." The boy from One replies smoothly, shrugging his shoulders and not uttering another word.
"I hate him." Gulf mutters off to the side, and Kiana feels inclined to agree. How the times could change. Just 24 hours ago, agreeing with Gulf Corpus would never have registered as a possibility. Now..? Maybe there was more in common than she'd originally thought.
"Well, hide it." Kiana mutters back.
"Two's on their way back."
Merlino Wilcox, District 8.
"And then he showed me how to fire the bow. And guess what, man? I hit that shit! Just off of a bullseye. I can show ya' tomorrow, if you want."
Merlino was quickly growing perplexed with his new... ally? The story he was telling now... well, it just didn't sound true. Why would a Career of all people (and the most imposing one of the bunch, to boot) help some scrawny kid from Three?
Ah, was that a mean thought to have? I mean, he was scrawny, but Merlino didn't really have much room to talk. Nobody ate all that well in Eight. Even with a bit of a stockier build, you could still see Merlino's ribs through his skin.
"...Crazy." Is the word Merlino decides upon, not really having much else to say. "What's, uh... I mean, what did you want to do now that we're out here?"
The topic shift is abrupt and awkward. Merlino winces internally as he stumbles over his words. Looking around, it appeared like the situation had lost its gravity to a lot of the others. They were chatting, strolling around - some were even laughing. Cracking jokes at a time like this. The very concept was totally alien to Merlino. The severity of it all may have been lost on them. But it still weighed his heart down. Every action, every step forward felt like an impossible task. How could people be so carefree?
That included Alt Kingston off to his left.
"Actually, I wanted to see what you could do." Alt shrugs.
Shit, there it was. Alt was going to judge him based on his skill - not that Merlino was all that good at anything. So much for that partnership. That hope of companionship during the arena was quickly being snuffed out.
He'd learned - constantly reminded himself - not to hope. To give up the concept entirely. And yet every time someone extended a kind hand or shared a thoughtful word, he found himself hoping once more that he could rebuild. Take his life back and begin to enjoy it. And, every time, that hope was dashed.
A vicious cycle.
"O-Oh." Merlino stammers, eyes turning towards the floor and his hands wringing together in front of him. "Alright. I'm not all that good at anything, though, so if you want to just leave now, I'll get it, I mean-"
"Hey, never know till you try." Alt gives Merlino a pat on the back. "Stress can really bring the best out of you." The boy from Three pauses for a moment, as if he's trying to recall something. "The blooming flower appears brightest during the harshest storm. Anti used to say that a lot when I was stressing out over school. That's my girlfriend back home! God, I love her."
So that's where he got his confidence from. He had someone to inspire him to do better here - to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to step forward despite the hardship he faced. It made sense. That's why he was just so much better than Merlino was.
"She sounds nice." Merlino sighs, but he'd be lying if he said the imagery of Alt's quote didn't inspire him just a bit. Could he, too, bloom under pressure? Show his true, vibrant colors while weathering the harshest storm of his life? It was enough motivation, at least, to try.
"Alright. I'll try machines first. They've got a little tinkering station next to fire-starting and trapping."
Merlino leads his... ally? Acquaintance...? He leads Alt towards the aforementioned stations, hands shaking both with nervous energy and honestly a bit of excitement. Merlino had been working with machines and metal his whole life. That was the one thing he was good at. There were no generators to fix in the Games, sure, but... maybe, just maybe he could apply that knowledge somewhere else.
"So, uh, what do you tinker with? Like... there's no scientists and stuff in Eight or anything, right? You're not building any super cool machines?"
"Just fixing things." Merlino shrugs as he crouches down at the booth. "Generators, mostly. Lot of 'em are in disrepair. Not the flashiest job, but... it's nice."
"Is, uh.. that where you lost your finger?"
"..Yeah." Merlino sighs. That just made him look weak, didn't it? He was handicapped, for God's sake, and the Games were incredibly physical. Who would want someone like him in a life or death situation?
"And you still continued?" Alt lets out a low whistle. "Brave shit, man. I would have avoided machines for the rest of my life."
Merlino feels something strange welling up in his chest, and then his throat. Was that... pride? Hey, you know what? Alt might be onto something. He'd gone through a life changing injury. Seen his own finger crushed and mangled and torn from his hand - and as soon as he could, he'd gone right back to work, moving more skillfully and carefully than before. That was brave, right?
"Had to bring in money somehow." Merlino shrugs, and starts to get to work. There wasn't really any large-scale machinery present like in the factories back home. Most appliances present in the training center were battery powered or used stored electricity to function. But, electricity could run out - and when it did..? Back-up power sources were available.
Merlino spots it off to the side. A small-scale, good old fashioned diesel fueled power generator. Curious, that they had it here, but who was he to complain about such a fortunate blessing?
It only takes a second for him to slip into the zone. He's presented with the problem - a faulty starter motor. Easy fix. He'd done this probably hundreds of times before on a much larger scale.
His hands work almost entirely on their own, swapping between wrenches and screwdrivers and carefully, carefully replacing what needed to be fixed. Alt says something in the background, but Merlino doesn't even register it because for once he feels at peace. That sense of normalcy that came with his work flowed through him, a tranquil sense that this was him. That he could be useful.
Merlino doesn't know how much time has passed, but when he pulls back his hands are covered in the familiar film of grease and oil. Splotches of the stuff stain his cheek, but he doesn't really mind. It's weird, to feel nostalgic for something that he'd done less than a week ago. But so much had changed since then.
"You said you weren't good at much?" Alt's eyes are wide with incredulous awe, his jaw hanging open. "That only took you, like, 20 minutes, dude."
Merlino shrugs, though he can't fight off the sheepish smile that desperately wishes to make itself seen. "Been doin' it for years. It's just second nature. There are better mechanics back home."
"Sure, sure, if that helps you sleep. Maybe there're better back home, but there ain't better here."
Alt sticks out his hand, and Merlino eyes it hesitantly.
"Allies? I think we'll be able to help each other out a whole lot."
He wanted to ally? With Merlino? ...Why? Why was he asking that? He'd just made a simple fix, nothing all that impressive, but Alt's eyes shone wide with raw admiration for what he'd done. Was his skill really that foreign to the boy from Three?
Merlino casts a glance down to his own hand, still covered in grease and slick black oil.
"You sure? I mean, my hand's covered in-"
Alt reaches forward to shake the hand anyways.
"So what? We'll wash 'em. Here's to friendship."
Alt waves the concern away and then raises his hand, smudging a bit of the oil across his cheek. Just like the splotches that covered Merlino's face.
Merlino nods.
"Allies. To friendship."
And once more, he allows himself to feel hopeful.
Hyperion Leclair, District 1.
"Attention, Tributes. Your first day of training has concluded. Please exit the Training Center. Those discovered on the premises after closure for the day will be severely penalized. Happy Hunger Games. We will see you tomorrow."
The loudspeaker above crackles with a familiar voice. The unsettling tone of the newly appointed Head Gamemaker had been one that Hyperion had grown quickly to dislike. There was a cool venom to his words - Hyperion likened him to a spider, sitting in his web and watching in anticipation as 24 victims tangled themselves in it.
Then again, what were the Capitolites if not a bunch of slavering, bloodthirsty beasts? They were watching every move. He and the others were being treated like animals in a zoo - but the real vermin were the ones living in excess, sitting on their plush couches and indulging their bottomless stomachs in more food and alcohol than the Leclair family could shake a diamond-encrusted stick at.
His allies weren't all that much better.
Hyperion says his goodbyes plainly. There was almost nothing he enjoyed less than spending time with the group that was supposed to watch his back this year. Avalon had immediately slipped into the caricature of a Career from One. Charismatic and agreeable on the surface, and a skulking opportunist beneath. It was hilarious, to watch the others settle in with her. Hyperion knew all too well what was drilled into the Volunteers back home. Win at any cost, and prioritize yourself. Any one of them risked being stabbed in the back if his partner thought that she had a chance to better her own odds.
He doesn't consider himself to be out of her sights, either.
Youssef and his shadow are almost laughable. The professional front isn't going to last long when shit hits the fan. Maybe it would have worked for his little troupe of Peacekeepers that he often boasted about, but did he really think that when the going got tough that these people would handle things honorably? He'd probably be the first to go. That's what usually happens, to the loudest dog in the pack.
Well, second loudest.
Gulf Corpus had brought Hyperion closer to snapping than that twit Lucius could ever have dreamed of. Such a blatant disregard for manners and for the lives he'd signed up to take. Everything about it made Hyperion genuinely sick to his stomach. He was not a man who enjoyed the 'thrill of the kill' as his instructors had so often put it, but Hyperion would be lying if he said it wouldn't massively relieve his stress to just stick Gulf with his rapier and be done with him for good.
The other two were less remarkable - Youssef's shadow, of course, seemed to have no mind of her own. She was an extension of him, and she would fall with him when he was inevitably betrayed. Kiana was typical in most ways - eager to suck up to the big, strong leader to advance a few extra places. Perhaps it was a strategy with merit. Others had won this way before. But it was not the strategy of someone with any shred of self respect.
He's happy to be free of them for a few hours. He'd have to reconvene with the group later - Youssef wanted to talk strategy - but for now, it was just a bit of 'him' time.
And he was rather curious, about the facilities offered.
Most were held on the basement floor - hastily constructed, it seemed, but perfectly acceptable. Just another facet of the new pre-games system, he figured. Watch these children live their daily lives before you send them off to the slaughter!
Absolutely vile.
But, still, there was no use in sulking around while he was here. Volunteer or not, Career or not, he was trained. He was dangerous and capable and there was no use in acting otherwise. He would be ready, when the time came, to do what he had to do.
It takes a bit of searching. He passes through a cinema room - though one look at the films available suggests they've been strictly regulated. This drops his expectations incredibly, but still he continues on.
There's a room with all sorts of flashing machines labeled 'arcade,' and another for more traditional games like billiards and darts. Perhaps they would have been fun, if he enjoyed the people that he was around, but alas - it wasn't meant to be.
Finally, he finds it. The smell is immediately comforting. Familiar. Hyperion's breath catches in his chest as his eyes take it all in. Shelves upon shelves of books in pristine condition - even larger than the Academy library back home, if that was possible.
And, within its depths, perhaps long-forgotten pieces of history. Literature burned and scrapped and destroyed - but this was the Capitol, where anything was possible, right? It was a long shot - but perhaps there would be a little something extra floating around. Something under the radar, forgotten about until it was dragged from some expensive box and put on display for this impromptu showcase.
Step. Step.
Someone was tailing him.
No matter. If they were there for confrontation, they would be hard-pressed to get the better of him. None of the outlying tributes this year possessed any real physical superiority aside maybe the boy from Eleven - and these steps were far too light to be from him.
Now, back to what mattered.
Where was it, where was it...? Ah. Philosophy. Existence itself. What it means to think, to be human. It meant a whole lot more than what Panem provided - of that, he was certain.
Thumbing through the rows, Hyperion finds that his diminished expectations had been entirely correct. The shelf is entirely filled with contemporary names all regurgitating the same loathsome rhetoric. The shining glory of the Capitol and it's strong - but just - arm. How control is a necessity and how a sacrifice is demanded in all natural things to keep an order. The same old bullshit.
Well, his little stroll had been entirely fruitless.
Or, almost fruitless. Because there was somebody else interesting in the room right now. Someone who had been doing his very best to tail Hyperion. Someone who was doing a very poor job, despite his relatively plain looks.
Hyperion turns his back towards this would-be stalker, making his way towards the end of his current isle before stopping. Without turning around, he speaks.
"You planning on watching me the whole time, Five?" Hyperion's tone is cool - collected. He'd spotted the unkempt curly hair and had narrowed it down to three boys. Three, Five, Nine. Too tall for Three, and Hyperion has the inkling that the Nine boy wouldn't have been one to skulk around. So, it left one option.
"Man, you Careers are good." A voice calls back. Hyperion turns around and, sure enough, the boy from Five stands at the opposite end of the isle. "Here I thought I was being sneaky about it."
Hyperion internally grimaces at the term. He was no Career - but it wasn't worth correcting the boy. It was better if he just assumed.
"You are a Career, right?" Five seems to know just what buttons to press. "I mean, you're from One and all. But, then again, you were Reaped. Like me and most of the others. Do you consider yourself to be one?"
"I consider myself to be nothing more than that. I am Hyperion Leclair. I am from District One. Any further label is unnecessary."
"Mmm, gotcha, gotcha. You an avid reader, Hype? Can I call you Hype?"
"You may not."
"Noted! So, books? Yay or nay?"
Hyperion tilts his chin up. In a way, his fellow tribute sort of resembled Hyperion himself. Tousled brown hair - though Five's was more unkempt and curled than stylistically tousled. Same fair skin, same dark eyes and lean build. It was almost like someone had drawn Hyperion from memory, and this guy had been the result.
"I enjoy a good read." Hyperion states simply. "Is that what you followed me here to ask?"
"Yeah." Five states simply, and Hyperion cocks an eyebrow. "What? I only really started following you once you stepped foot in here. Actually, I think I was here first. Anyways, that's common ground! Got any favorites?"
"Nothing you would know, I'm sure."
Of course, Hyperion had favorites. Favorites whose names had been wiped from the records. Favorites whose works were viewed as blasphemy to the word of the Capitol and its President.
"Humor me? I went through all the effort, you know. Drop a quote?"
Hyperion suppresses an eye-roll. Perhaps back home, some wide-eyed and mildly annoying classmate asking for recommendations for their readings would have been endearing. Here, in these circumstances, with this particular Tribute? Something felt off. He couldn't explain it - it felt as if he was being led, almost, as if he was a piece falling into place.
But, humor him Hyperion will, because once the boy from Five was left scratching his head in confusion at something he'd no doubt never heard before, Hyperion could cut his losses and find something better to do with his time.
"Alright." Hyperion considers for a second, the words of ancient philosophers long forgotten to history racing through his head.
"To renounce liberty is to renounce being a man." Hyperion settles on and, as expected, Five's eyes grow wide - thoughtful, he was sure, attempting to place this quote. But he wouldn't be able to, because the number of people with access to this sort of thing were probably countable with one hand. And even then, he'd only given half of the-
"...to surrender the rights of humanity and even its duties. Tough one."
Five finishes, a lopsided grin stretching across his face, and now it's Hyperion's turn to have his eyes grow wide, because how the fuck had the string-bean from Five recognized the writings of Rousseau?
"Family used to own a library. Whole big thing back in Five - doubt you've heard of it, and I don't have time to explain. Wanna hear me out now?"
"Speak, and speak quickly." Hyperion's voice is taught, like a fraying rope about to snap. Whatever was happening, it complicated things. Greatly.
"Gotcha! So, to lay it out simple, I've been thinking from the moment I saw your name called. You're more in our boat than you are in theirs, right? I've listened to them talk - they're unsure about you. You won't be safe with the Careers. I want to invite you to ally with me. And hey, before it was just a little theory - but now we're kindred spirits, aren't we? Citing the same philosophy and the like."
Five was much smarter than he had been letting on. Too smart. He'd have to report this, surely-
What was he thinking? Would he have to report it? What Youssef and his followers didn't know wouldn't hurt them. The pack of dogs could use a rival group - it would certainly give them challenge for once in their privileged lives. And was there a point, there? Hell, Gulf had been ready to go at it from minute one. Hyperion had started off on the back foot, having to 'prove himself' to even be able to sit around with the others.
Was that the kind of Games he wanted? The kind of group he wanted to be with? Perhaps he was thinking about it all wrong. He was the black sheep. Whatever he thought about the others, they surely all believed worse of him.
"Who's in?" Hyperion speaks, and is displeased to find Five shaking his head.
"Nuh uh. Sorry, but... well, I hope you can understand that I'm not so eager to just dump it on you right here. Give your group the slip and follow me after lunch tomorrow, and you'll see. If not, then you won't. That's all!" Five drops his voice to a whisper. "By the way, I think I heard two more people wander in. I'm a much better listener than stalker. Don't say anything stupid."
"As if I would."
"Never doubted ya'!" Five whispers again, and then raises his voice.
"Whoa, fine, man, I'll get out! Damn!" He shouts with convincing distress, and then hurries away, running as if he'd just been threatened at knifepoint. It takes Hyperion no time to catch on, and he quickly finds a book, opening it to it's first page and walking from the isle. As he begins to fall into his act, it mildly perturbs Hyperion that he'd never gotten Five's name. It had never come up. The boy was excellent at diverting attention from the obvious things.
He steps out into the open, and...
Nobody there.
Exiting the library, though, is a different story.
Off to the side - just behind a shelf out of view. Two silhouettes.
Avalon and the shadow. Lethe, her name had been. Watching silently.
Hyperion raises his book in a toasting gesture, falling into his most convincing 'gentleman-scoundrel' persona, the one he'd perfected long ago.
"Outliers. So easily frightened." He remarks, snark and sarcasm etched into every word. "See you two tonight?"
Avalon falls into an easy grin and gives a double thumbs up. Lethe makes no movement, pale blue eyes tracking Hyperion until he exits her field of vision. Creepy.
But, out of their view now, Hyperion can really consider. He'd been given a choice. A risk to his safety - but would he be safe anywhere?
A choice indeed - a game of betray and trust.
Maybe 'choice' was the wrong word.
A dilemma, perhaps?
Fraser Klinekole, District 10.
He'd waited too long.
Fraser had made the easy choice on the train to steer clear of Rhea. Whatever she had going on was not something that Fraser wanted to be a part of. She didn't know that he knew what her deal was, and that was the best possible outcome. He had to keep up this mask, because letting it slip could put him in her sights. Well, more in her sights, because he was certain that his partner was 1): mildly sociopathic and 2): already considering him to be easy pickings.
He didn't like the way she'd looked at him. The way she continued to look at him, whenever they were in a room together. Out in the small village settlement where Fraser lived, wild coyotes were a common sight. Without fail, they all had the eyes of a hunter. Dead and cold and analytical. Thinking purely about whether attacking and killing whatever they're looking at would be worth the effort.
Rhea's were the same. It made him more than uncomfortable. It was downright terrifying.
But, in his efforts to avoid her, he'd made a mistake. Laid so low that it had come to backfire on him.
He'd watched it happen throughout the day. Cliques formed and groups solidified. The only ones left alone were those who shirked companionship. The tall boy from Eleven, brushing off his partner and her ally before storming off to eat somewhere else. The dead-eyed girl from Twelve, who Fraser felt inclined to leave well enough alone. Most of the others..? Well, they'd found someone to stick close with. To bet their hope on.
The worst part was that it was entirely his own fault.
There had been plenty of people whom he had noticed staring in his direction - but he'd avoided eye contact, because there was no way to be sure about them. He was unwilling to take the risk of an alliance that would leave him stranded. Much more selective than the others. And as a result, it appears that he had been left entirely alone. Overlooked and without a group to support him.
In the Games - for someone like Fraser - that was essentially a death sentence.
Sure, he could always search for something tomorrow. But he'd still have missed the mark. He was nobody's 'first choice' now. Allegiances had been formed. Bigger groups would undoubtedly fracture into smaller cliques as the number of Tributes dwindled, and late additions like Fraser would be the first on the chopping block when the time came. It wasn't that he was indecisive, no. That was far from the truth. It was that he didn't know these people. He lacked the information to make the decision.
A pit of dread opens up in Fraser's stomach. He can already see it. He's in a battle with his own mind, desperately attempting to think about anything else, but his brain paints such a vivid picture. A featureless face - an ally - stabbing him in the back. Or the stomach. The others watch, because he wasn't their friend. Just an extra number to help the real alliance along until they didn't need it anymore.
He didn't want to go out that way. He didn't want to go out, period.
He didn't want to be expendable.
God, he needed a glass of water. Or maybe something stronger - but he didn't want to lose his inhibition.
Kerry wouldn't like it if you came home drunk.
Water it is, then.
Fraser slowly moves himself out of his too-large bed, slipping out from under the heavy comforter and sliding his feet across the floor. He didn't want to make any noise. To let anyone know he was on the move. To wake the proverbial beast in the next room over.
Painstakingly, carefully, he makes his way to his door and unlatches the lock, turning the knob with the utmost care. For once, Fraser is thankful for the entirely ludicrous levels of care the Capitol puts into their creations, because his door slides open smoothly without even the slightest 'creak.' He lets go of a breath that he didn't entirely realize he'd been holding as he glides out of the room, feet still sliding across the floor just in case.
He's just about to reach for a glass, when...
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Someone's at the door. Why? Anyone with permission would simply enter themselves. Rhea was already home, he was pretty sure, and his mentor was currently passed out drunk on the couch after a long day of nothing. Who else would want anything to do with District 10?
More importantly than that, though, it had made noise. The last thing he wanted his Rhea Clement emerging from her room to come check out whatever was happening.
Which really only left Fraser with one choice.
Moving as quickly and silently as he can manage, Fraser first looks through the peephole. He doesn't recognize the person on the other side - which is odd to him, because she looks like someone who should have stood out.
Dyed blue hair frames a face covered with piercings. The lips, the nose, the eyebrows and the ears are all dotted with metal. It was an interesting look, to say the least.
She looked young, too. Around Fraser's age. Young enough to be a Tribute. Fraser glances towards the clock on the wall.
11:30 PM.
What could she possibly want at this hour?
"Hello?" He calls softly. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"You're the boy from 10, right? Fraser? I'm Blitz. I want to talk."
Fraser's heart drops - and then rises, and then drops again. What could she want to talk about. Was she plotting something? He had no idea what this girl was about. What if she was trying to lead him somewhere to get him killed? No, there were cameras quite literally everywhere. She'd be caught and 'disqualified,' which was really just a nice way of saying killed.
So maybe it was something good, then? But what? An alliance?
His heart rises back up from his stomach and into his throat.
He couldn't miss a chance like this. That, he knew for certain.
"Alright. Let's take a walk. I don't trust my partner." He whispers candidly, praying that the girl from Five could sense the truth in his voice.
She deliberates for a couple of agonizing seconds, but Fraser breathes a sigh of relief as she nods. "As long as it's quick. I want to be back before Midnight."
Right. The not-so-strict 'curfew.' Fraser was in the same boat as Blitz here, though. He had no inclination to find out what made it so heavily encouraged.
Fraser whispers a plea for Blitz to wait for just a moment, hurrying as quietly as he can back to his room and grabbing his assigned key-card off of his desk. He'd need to get back in, after all, and simply leaving the door unlocked invited all sorts of outcomes that he'd rather not deal with.
Soon enough, he's out the door, letting it fall shut with a soft 'thud.' Standing face to face with Blitz, the two of them were nearly identical in terms of build. Fraser only stood an inch taller, but both were lean and more bone and sinew than fat or large muscle.
"Let's go." Fraser suggests, and Blitz once more nods, taking the lead and striking off away from the door, walking at a leisurely pace that Fraser quickly matches. Once they're far enough away, he asks his first question.
"What did you want to talk about?" Fraser asks. A fair place to start, he reckons, because he knew very little about the girl beside him other than the fact that there was a chance she might say something that he wanted to hear. A chance wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. And he'd stewed around in 'nothing' for long enough.
"You were at edible plants today, yes?" Fraser doesn't enjoy the way Blitz looks at him either. It's as if, yet again, he's being sized up and analyzed like one of Dad's cows. But it's different this time. Appraising instead of predatory.
"Yes..?" Fraser answers hesitantly, and Blitz nods in confirmation as if she'd already known. Well, he was sure she had known, because there weren't really any Fraser look-alikes running around to mistake him for. If she was looking, she'd probably seen him.
"I saw you get a perfect score a couple times."
"I've just got a good memory." Fraser shrugs.
"A good memory is the sign of an intelligent person." Blitz returns, turning her head to meet his gaze. "I could use some more intelligence around me."
Fraser's breath catches in his throat. It was going in the direction he'd wanted. It sounded an awful lot like she wanted an alliance. And she had come to him. He wasn't an expendable addition, but a first choice. Would it be this easy? It shouldn't be, but right now it seemed like it was.
He couldn't let this opportunity slip. It was all or nothing, Fraser. He has to go for it.
"I'm plenty intelligent." Fraser stammers out, latching on eagerly. "I'm a good planner and a great thinker and sometimes my old man dragged me along to his genetics job, so I've picked up a bit from him, too, and I want to do my best to get back to him and everyone else. I'm serious about it."
Blitz cocks an eyebrow, seemingly impressed, particularly with that last bit.
"Genetics. Interesting. My intuition never fails me." Blitz pauses, considering something for a moment before seemingly deciding to follow through. "Meet us tomorrow after lunch. Follow me away from my table, but be discreet about it."
Us?
"Who, uh.. who is 'us?" Fraser's voice shakes a bit, because he'd been under the assumption that they would be paired up. Maybe recruiting some others along the way, but it would be Fraser and Blitz and their brains when it really came down to it. He would be integral to the alliance - but now there was an 'us.' Others, and once more he felt like a last minute addition.
"Can't say." Blitz sighs, and Fraser feels his willingness to accept the offer waning by the moment. He doesn't hide it very well, either, because he can see the concern spark up in Blitz's eye. "Swore to keep quiet until tomorrow - but I've already vouched for you to the one acting as leader. If you come and you decide you want the spot, you're in. No questions asked."
That made it a bit better, actually. But there was still a whole lot of uncertainty going into this. What Fraser hated most was being uninformed. Not having the proper knowledge to make a decision that would significantly affect his chances of survival.
But... it was a guarantee, from her. If he chose to take her at her word, and if he were to show up and agree - he'd have a spot, in a potentially much larger and safer group. Power in numbers, right? In his dad's genetical terms, diversity of the 'gene pool' ensured a better chance at surviving.
"I'll think on it." Fraser ultimately decides. He'd be doing a lot of thinking tonight. Honestly, he doubted he'd get any sleep - his heart was already pounding in his chest and his mind was working over-drive to get through every what-if scenario, theorizing possible members of this group and debating who he would be okay allying with.
"Please do." Blitz stops, and it's only then that Fraser realizes they're back at the door to Ten's suite. "I'd really prefer to have you with us, but... it is your choice. I have to go, now, or I'll miss the curfew. Good night, Fraser. I'll... hopefully see you tomorrow."
Blitz gives a polite goodbye and walks away at a brisk pace, clearly eager to get back to her room before the clock struck 12. Fraser, at least, could agree with her on that. He taps his card to the door and is greeted with a soft 'beep' and a green light. Pulling the handle down opens the door, and Fraser steps back inside, careful yet again to let it close softly behind him.
He takes care re-tracing his steps, sliding his feet along the floor to avoid making any sort of noise. He's almost back to his room - his hand is on the knob - all he needs to do is turn it, and then-
"Have a nice little stroll?"
Fraser nearly jumps out of his skin, all care forgotten as Rhea Clement peeks over the back of the plush living-room couch, eyes wide and smile wider in the dark.
He says nothing, only shoving his door open and racing inside, slamming it and locking it immediately. But the sight of her lingers in his mind, her predator's grin and her eyes wide with an anticipation he had yet to see out of his District partner.
In the end, he almost wishes he'd just braved the night and stayed outside.
Melisa Hayes, District 9.
Melisa couldn't quite bring herself to do what was best for her.
She'd caught on quickly that most of the others weren't keen to be tied in any way to young Fox St. Aubin. It had been taking a toll on the much younger boy, she could tell. His advances, his attempts to socialize had mostly been shot down. The bitch from Eight had even screamed at him, telling the poor kid to keep his nasty, dusty hands off of her.
She could understand the hesitance, though.
In a place like this, a situation like this, the youngest of the bunch was undoubtedly an anchor. But watching him smile and laugh and genuinely just enjoy life... it brought a sense of familiarity that she couldn't bring herself to abandon. Even if it made it hard for her to do what she wanted.
Because nobody really wanted to be attached to Melisa, either. Not if they were convinced that sticking with her would mean little Fox would be tagging along. Her goal had been to make friends. To get to know a little about everyone she could and minimize the number of people who would view her as just another face to pick off.
There had been some success, sure. The pair from Seven had been receptive enough. She'd shared a laugh with the girl and Gerald's stupid puns had won over the tall, wiry man from the lumber district. But when Fox had shown up, the other two had shared a meaningful glance and left shortly after. She was confident they wouldn't be at odds, but... they wouldn't really be working together, either.
Obviously the Careers were out of the question. They'd want to kill her anyways. So would Fox's partner, if she chose to believe him. There was no reason not to. He was from Twelve. If it was anything like Nine (and Melisa would bet money that it was), he would have been forced to grow up quickly and learn hard lessons at a young age - and even at a glance, Esther from Twelve seemed like the kind of girl you wouldn't want to cross.
So she could bear with it, for him. Put herself in the back seat again and let the kid enjoy what he could, while he could.
It's a bittersweet feeling - and Melisa must remind herself once more that it's not his fault.
"What should we watch next?" Fox pipes up from the seat to her right, sitting up a bit straighter as the credits to their movie begin to roll.
The theatre had been full, earlier. A group of three girls had been giggling to themselves over movies, and that's when the girl from Eight had snapped at Fox. The boy from her District and the boy from Three had shown up. Eight had seemed more receptive to the trio, but was quickly steered away by the curly-headed boy from Three.
"It's getting late." Melisa speaks up, standing to look for the projector. "I think we should be getting to bed. It'll only look bad for us if we oversleep for training tomorrow."
"Awwww, one more? Pleaaaaase?" Fox begs, and Melisa feels her stern exterior begin to melt. He looked so innocent - and that innocence only had a few more fleeting days before it was likely snuffed out forever. "This one's got a part two, I think! Let's watch the sequel!"
"Fox."
"Half of the sequel?"
"Come on, Mel." Gerald pipes up, legs kicked up on the chair in front of him and arms folded across his chest. "One more ain't gonna hurt, right? Plus, we'll look all big and bad for the camera tonight, too. Figure the audience loves a group who break the rules, huh? In a cool way, anyways. And our way is totally cool."
Well... maybe. Gerald made a half-decent point. She was sure many others had simply retired to their quarters by now, which meant that the die hard fans (usually the ones with all the time and the money) might be tuned into them, now. It was more than just a movie. It was a chance to get some real backing.
"Fine. Just half, and then it's straight to bed, and if either of you are late to training tomorrow it never happens again."
"Deal!" Fox shouts eagerly, and Gerald cocks an eyebrow, grinning in response.
"You're sounding a lot like my mom right now."
"Sounds like you're used to being scolded?"
"Only when I tried to get some excitement in my life."
"Well then your mother was right." Melisa sniffs and moves towards the projector. She notes as Fox scampers off somewhere, coming back at an almost full sprint with the coveted sequel to their movie in his hand. "Chasing highs will get you nowhere but an early grave."
"Hey, lived this far, and I plan to keep on living. Let's play that movie! I wanna see what Aurelius does after the war."
Melisa sighs, but obliges. The movie they were clamoring over had been Capitol-written slop. A dark-days period piece, a brave and handsome soldier named Aurelius falls in love with a loyalist woman from Eight. The only problem, of course, being that Eight was one of the strongest rebel-holdouts throughout the entire war. But through honor and obedience and bravery, Aurelius whisks her away from it all, though by the end of the first movie he's left comatose with his damsel at his side. It hadn't been good, by any means, but it was the first time any of the three had watched a TV so clear. Heard voices without a lingering static. It was enough to get them to keep watching, at least.
The next movie picks up just about where they'd left off. Aurelius is in his hospital bed and the point of view shifts to his lover, a beautiful woman named Spindella. Melisa watches with mild intrigue as she bursts into the room, demanding that the doctor find a cure or else she would march out into the world herself and-
Hey, what was that smell?
It was putrid. Foul in a way that Melisa couldn't describe, like the essence of decay itself. It appears her allies, too, smelled something off.
"P.U, Gerry." Fox waves his hand in front of his nose, and earns a scandalized gasp from Gerald.
"Hey, hey, NO way. We're NOT pinning this on me. God, what the hell is that smell? It's like when Castella dropped an egg behind the counter and forgot about it for a week." Gerald gets up and pauses the projector.
"Who?" Melisa questions.
"My sister. Very forgetful." Gerald turns back to Melisa and Fox, covering his nose and his mouth with the crook of his elbow. "And whatever this is, it's very smelly. Worse than the egg mishap. I think we're being pranked or something. "
Raising his other arm, Gerald waves a hand, casting a shadow across the screen as his hand moves in and out of the projector's light.
Melisa's eyes scan the room. Her fingers feel around for any sort of device. Her nose is being constantly assaulted by this sulfuric odor. She can taste the rotting scent in her mouth.
But it's her ears that give her the next clue.
She hadn't heard it over the movie. Not until Gerald paused it. But over the speakers, it's now clear. Very low. Very ominous.
The sound of a tolling bell. It rings thrice more, and then falls silent.
And along with it, the theatre.
All is still for a moment, until the projector itself begins to flicker.
"Aw, man. Hey! Stink-bomb us if you want, but we're trying to watch that!" Gerald shouts out, indignance rising in his voice. He flails his arm around once more, casting a shadow on the flickering projector as if to prove a point.
"Whatever." Melisa's partner sighs. "Hope they found that funny, at least. Maybe the people at home'll feel bad and throw a couple dollars our way. Fox, Mel, let's just go to bed."
Gerald drops his hand. Melisa and Gerald turn away, ready to leave, but Fox's voice stops them. It's muffled by his sleeve, the younger boy having copied Gerald's own gesture, but his words are clearly audible.
"Whoa! How are you doing that, Gerry?"
"Doing what?"
Melisa is the first to turn back, and immediately she can feel her heart pumping in her chest. There's another silhouette being cast through the projector's light. Another hand across the screen - but nobody else in the room. It was longer than Gerald's, too, each finger hyper-extended and each joint pronounced, twisted and ruined beyond recognition.
It waves.
Gerald lets out a shout of fear.
"What the FUCK?" He stumbles back, nearly tripping over the armrest beside him and falling into Melisa. She catches him, barely managing to steady the weight of her partner as her mind kicks into overdrive.
"Language." She whispers harshly, but she can't really put her heart into scolding Gerald right now because 'what the fuck' was right.
"What's happening? Guys? Are we gonna be okay?"
Fear was creeping into Fox's voice as well. Gerald had been a sort of rock for him. They'd gotten along well with their jokes and their desire for adventure. So seeing him unnerved would obviously unnerve Fox, too.
Which only meant that Melisa would have to stay calm. To think. To rationalize.
"The curfew." She suddenly gasps. "It's past midnight now. It has to be. It was 'heavily encouraged,' but not enforced. Is this why..? What do they have planned?" She does her best to fight the fear that so desperately tries to claw its way into her voice. She had to stay strong. Be the pillar that weathers the storm.
"We just need to get back to our rooms."
Would they even be able to leave?
There were two exits. The underground facilities formed a loop - both would lead back to the elevator eventually. To the left would be the shortest route. They'd only have to pass through one other room. To the right would require them to complete the loop. But it should be simple. Pick whatever one is safest. Easiest.
"Left! We need to go!" Melisa shouts, and it spurs the others into action. Gerald runs, and Melisa does too, grabbing Fox and nearly dragging the boy along as they all make haste towards the left door.
Footsteps.
"Shit!" Melisa swears, completely disregarding the fact that she'd scolded Gerald for doing the same moments earlier.
He doesn't seem to notice, either.
"We'll have to take the long way, but as long as we're fast it'll be fine. Go!"
The three dash back across the room, vaulting over seats and moving as quickly as the narrow isles would allow them to go. Melisa's hands fly towards the doorknob when Gerald's hand rushes to meet theirs, stopping her attempt in its tracks.
"Gerald, what are you-"
"Listen!" He hisses, and Melisa does.
More footsteps.
They were surrounded.
"They're at both? What do we do?" Melisa grabs at her hair, tugging at strands as she tries to find some way to work out the stress.
The footsteps grow louder now. It's as if they're being taunted. The fact that they're trapped in this little room is being rubbed in their face. The steps are impossibly inconsistent - as if there are too many legs fighting to take a step at once, stumbling and tangling and creating an awful rhythm that drove Melisa mad. It was horrible. Awful.
But it was nothing compared to when the voices started.
It begins as whispers. Words she couldn't catch. Phrases that didn't quite match up. But quickly, too quickly, it grew into screams. Guttural roars of terror and heart-wrenching, wounded cries of sorrow.
And then the cries become familiar.
September screams for help, begs anyone who's listening to open the door and come help them. They'd hurt their leg and couldn't move.
Catarina pleads for Melisa by name. Tells her she loved her and needed her help and please, oh please God she didn't want to die.
Even Mint, usually speaking in signs, isn't safe. He can't articulate the words. Melisa is only left with an ear-shattering scream of pure agony, as if her friends is experiencing the worst pain he's ever felt with none of the ability to express it.
The worst comes when she hears the unmistakable cries of the twins, both Finch and Maggie shouting out and crying for their big sister.
"ARI? ARI!"
Melisa is snapped out of her own head when she hears Fox's voice, too, but it doesn't come from outside. He's at her side, tears staining the reddened face that now matched the hair on his head. He's straining, reaching towards the handle on the door and it's all Melisa can do to hold him back.
Her grip is tight. Too tight. Fox begins to scream more. He needs to save his sister, he says. He promised he'd protect her.
Her grip grows tighter. Melisa is entirely overcome with emotion. Fear, yes - but anger as well.
How dare her friend's voices be used, weaponized against her? How dare the twins be brought into this at just 2 years old? And how dare they utilize these same tactics against the youngest Tribute in the entire god-damned year?
"Hold him, Gerry!" Melisa's voice is taught with frustration - with more anger than had ever been mustered up in such a small frame in their entire life. Her entire body shakes with the passionate wrath that had been dying to escape. Usually, there was no target for these sort of things. The culprit was always out of reach, and Melisa would be left to suffer the consequences. Usually, she was helpless. Usually, they could not make a change.
But today, they could.
Once Gerald's grip on Fox is secure, Melissa darts off, hands flying to cover her ears from the veritable cacophony of screams and sorrows that do their best to push her over the edge. It doesn't do much - but it takes the edge off long enough for her to solidify her plan.
The projector is plugged in, many wires affixed to it to ensure that it runs smoothly - but none of that matters to Melisa Hayes as she grabs the device and tears it upwards, yanking wires and snapping delicate bits of machinery between her hands. It wouldn't need to be working for what she had coming.
The dash back to her allies feels as if it's in slow motion. It's much harder to maneuver with the bulky body of the projector in hand, but she can't afford to shout. To add to the chaos - or worse, to give away their plan to whatever was out there.
"Get to the left door." She speaks through gritted teeth, and Gerald only nods, his eyes wide and his breathing shaky as he tugs a sobbing Fox along. Melisa follows close behind, stopping when they're half way in between the two exits.
"Keep going, and run when I give the signal."
Gerald and Fox continue on, and eventually they're both sat by the left exit. The closest to salvation.
The voices grow louder...
And Melisa hurls the projector as hard as they can manage, directly towards the right-side exit.
The voices stop. The footsteps scurry around... before suddenly they're all at the right exit.
"GO!" Melisa roars, and an unearthly shriek follows her own.
Gerald throws the door open and races out with Fox. Melisa is close at their heels, adrenaline fueling her every step. They fly through the gaming room, dodging around tables and chairs until they can see the elevator - open and illuminated with a bright yellow light. Salvation from the darkness.
There are footsteps behind her, too. Racing to catch up and cover the ground that they had lost. Too numerous to be a human and too uneven to be some sort of four-legged beast. Melisa fights the urge to look back.
Don't give in to your curiosity. Whatever's back there, you don't want to see it.
Ahead of her, Gerald and Fox launch themselves into the elevator and Gerald pulls Melisa in right after, slamming the 'shut' button.
The silvery-steel doors close with an almost languid apathy, far too slow for whatever's surely right on their heels.
But it's nothing.
Through the crack in the door, Melisa sees nothing but darkness. And then they close.
"Twelve. Up to Floor Twelve."
"Gotcha." Gerald breathes, moving to press the indicated button.
"W-Wait.." Fox whimpers, and all eyes turn to him. "Can I stay with you guys? Please? I... nobody in my room is very nice to me. My partner's scary. I don't want to... to be alone with her right now. Please. Please.."
"Mel, can we even do that? I mean, I'm not against, but-"
"Press floor 9." Melisa places an arm around Fox and, soon enough, he's huddled up against her, his tears staining their shirt.
Gerald gives a solemn nod, and then presses the 9 on the keypad. It glows a soft orange, and tinny jazz music begins to play over the speakers as the elevator hitches, and then is on its way up.
The next few minutes are the most stressful Melisa has ever had in her life. It feels like it could start again at any moment. Any sudden movement was another flicker of the screen. Any random noise was another whisper in the dark, or another scream of agony.
But there's nothing. The elevator moves off without a hitch, and nothing breaks and no light so much as even sputters. The elevator door opens up, and the hallway is well lit and almost inviting. The District Nine suite is just a few short feet away, and after a bit of hyping themselves up, the trio makes the dash. Melisa fumbles for her key-card and eventually manages to tap it against the door. They flick the light switch to 'on' as soon as she's in the room and lock the door behind them.
Now that the adrenaline and the terror is subsiding, Melisa realizes just how tired she is. She can almost feel the bags under their eyes forming as she thinks, and she imagines the others feel the same.
"I don't even have anything to say about this." Gerald declares, shaking his head. "Where's Fox sleeping? Let's decide that, and then I'm knocking out for the night."
"The couch is fine." Fox pipes up, glancing between both of the Nines. "I just didn't want to be up there all alone with Esther. Maybe that thing will go get her, now."
"Maybe, kid. Maybe." Gerald sighs. "Couch it is. Don't take offense to it, guys, but I don't even want to see your faces until tomorrow morning. G'night."
"Night, Gerry!" Fox calls, even managing a small chuckle as Gerald heads off to his own room.
"Good night." Melisa echoes. "Are you sure you'll be alright out here, Fox? What if we set the cushions up on my floor so you aren't all out in the open? Would that be better?"
Fox's eyes light up.
"Yes, please! That's really kind of you, Auntie Mel!"
"Auntie? I'm hardly older than you are, Fox."
"But you're being so nice! Like one of the sisters at my community home! I call all of them Auntie, too, and some of them aren't much older than you!"
A smile tugs at Melisa's lips.
"Let's just get those cushions set up, 'kay?"
"'Kay!" Fox echoes, and within minutes the couch has been stripped and a makeshift bed has been made on the floor to Melisa's room. She spreads a spare blanket across, and it seems that this is good enough for Fox. Before the lights are even out, he's sprawled out across the cushions, blanket wrapped tight around himself and leg dangling off onto the floor.
Melisa takes a bit longer, changing her clothes in the restroom and rinsing her face with cold water.
What had happened, down there? Whatever it was... it was almost incomprehensible. A trick of the Gamemakers, perhaps? It would go along with the new pre-games regulations. How sickening. Was that what these facilities were for? To add another terrifying layer? To play tricks so the audience at home would be entertained even before the slaughter started? She exits the bathroom, flicking the lights off and climbing into bed.
The living-room light was still shining under her door. She'd forgotten to shut it off. Oh well - that wasn't her problem. It was her way of getting back - running up the electricity cost as high as she possibly could.
Melisa is ready to go to bed angry. That is, until she sees a shadow make its way into the light. It hovers at her door for a moment, and then moves away.
The lights outside of her room turn off. To the side, Fox snores peacefully.
Melisa had been ready to go to bed angry. Now, she was wide awake with something to protect. She wouldn't be going to bed at all.
TRAINING DAY 1... IS DONE! A lot of District 5 this chapter as you may have noticed, and we're getting some major balls rolling here in terms of alliances and potential groups. But that's not the elephant in the room right now, is it?
Congrats to Melisa, Fox and Gerald for being the first people to get Midnight Terror'd (TM pending). This POV slot (final POV of day 1) was destined to show this facet of the Head Gamemaker's whole new pre-games setup, but I mulled over just who it would be for quite a while. Eventually, this group seemed like good candidates. People willing to stay out and enjoy the new stuff in Gerald and Fox, with someone like Melisa to balance them out and be the one to hold it down. Her emotions certainly got the better of her - but, in this case, that raw emotion was just what she needed to keep her head on straight and get the hell out of there.
No further yap! I promised extra info last chapter and I'll deliver.
The Capitol has been watching and forming opinions throughout day 1! Here's how they currently rank tributes, 1 being most favorable and 24 being least.
1: Avalon
2: Youssef
3: Kiana
4: Kairos
5: Mira
6: Hyperion
7: Ariadne
8: Gulf
9: Vivienne
10: Rhea
11: Gerald
12: Lethe
13: Fox
14: Melisa
15: Melora
16: Sterling
17: Blitz
18: Fraser
19: Acacia
20: Ronan
21: Esther
22: Merlino
23: Alt
24: Raiden.
AAaaaand... alliance tracker! This will most definitely be seeing some changes by day 2, but in its current state it's a lot of 'maybes.' Next chapter will move thru the training period a little quicker tho and we will for sure be seeing Kairos's big ass meeting thing go down and that will shift the landscape for sure.
Careers: Avalon, Hyperion, Youssef, Lethe, Kiana, Gulf.
Rebels(?): Kairos, Melora, Blitz
Sevens: Ronan, Acacia
Nines + Kid: Melisa, Gerald, Fox
Normal Dudes: Alt, Merlino
Sixes: Sterling, Mira
It Girls: Ariadne, Vivienne, Rhea
Solo: Fraser, Esther, Raiden.
That's all! I'll see you guys next time! Thank you so much for reading and as always feel free to drop a review if something's caught your eye!
Til next time,
logangster