A/N This is the first chapter to feature actual violence and blood, so heads up. Also, one of the tributes is First Nations in Panem, so mentions of forced relocation and integration are present
? Moreno, District Eight Female
The off-season for the Hunger Games was the worst time of year for Eugenia Electrum
Between the end of the Games and the Victory Tour, there was just nothing interesting happening. Of course, people tried to fill their time with soaps, and shows, and endless parties, but none of that wasn't interesting. None of it was real.
Eugenia Electrum craved the reality of the Game, the raw energy of the Tributes She wanted to be an Escort, not for the glamor, but to work with actual tributes, and eventual Victors. Do something that really mattered.
But she wasn't there, yet, and it was the off-season, so here she was in District Eight, doing a puff piece on silk production for Panem's Center for Artistic Outreach.
"So, why don't you start by telling us something about yourself?"
The local girl, just past reaping age, glanced between her and the camera. She'd been prepped in what people called the "District Plus" style. Her bright pink dress was brand new cotton with silk accessories, and her long black hair fell around her shoulders in (mostly) natural waves. The interns said she'd been prepped for the camera, but right now, she looked paralyzed with fear. "What do you need me to say?" she asked quietly.
Eugenia tried to mask her impatience with a wide smile. "Let's start with your name." She asked as sweetly as she could manage.
A pause. "Silka Moreno."
Urgh, District names. "How appropriate! You working with silk and everything!"
Silka merely nodded. It looked like Eugenia would have to do the heavy lifting in getting things started. "So, let's talk about where we are. It's well known that District Eight is an urban district, full of factories and people working tirelessly to provide clothing for Panem, But this-" Eugenia gestured around her, drawing attention to the trees surrounding them, with their pale green leaves and red berries, "-doesn't seem to fit that profile. Can you explain?
"Certainly." Silka nodded again, then, with a touch of hesitation, " This is Silktown, where we make all the silk for the Capitol and Panem. Silk is made from the cocoons of silkworms, which only eat the leaves of the mulberry tree. So when District Eight became the fabric District, Silktown was founded away from the main city, so both the worms and the trees would be able to thrive away from the main factories. SIlk is the only fabric made completely in District Eight, from start to finish."
Her words were fine, but they came across as a bit too rote. She was probably repeating the things she was taught in school. Her eyes had a distant look to them as she spoke, as if she was anywhere except the grove being interviewed.
Honestly, these District kids were so ungrateful. Didn't they know how many Capitol children would be dying to have a chance to be on TV? Couldn't she put a bit more emotion into it?
"That's great, sweetie. Now, why don't we try it again, from a different angle?"
The girl obliged, and slowly, tortuously, they worked their way through the step by step process of making silk. As they moved from the trees to the factories, going over each step of the process, the girl became more comfortable answering questions. Silka was unfailingly polite and deferential, but there was still something… off about her. The other girls twittered around them out of excitement or nervousness, but Silka kept a cool head and an even tone. Even after hours of shooting, Eugenia didn't have a clue what was going on with her.
This was unacceptable. This wasn't just supposed to be a documentary about District production. It was supposed to be about the artistic side of the Districts. And in order to talk about District art, you needed the District artists. And that meant Silka, no matter how closed off she was, needed to shine.
So as they approached the last warehouse, full of strong men and women packaging the beautiful finished goods, Eugenia took the leap. "So, I know some of these patterns have a special importance to you, Silka."
The mousy girl actually jumped a little at the question "What do you mean?" she stalled.
Were all district girls this dense? "I've heard the latest design has your special touch. How do you feel knowing people in the Capitol are dying to buy your work?"
To Eugenia's exasperation, Silka drew in on herself even more. "I-I suppose it's nice. I don't- I mean, I wasn't thinking that my work would be seen by anyone other than… my family." She mumbled, still looking everywhere but the camera, picking at her fine dress with anxious hands.
Eugenia forced a laugh that she hoped conveyed the proper level of gentle amusement. "So modest as well as talented. It sounds like there's a story there, though. How did you become a designer of silk screens at such a young age?" Eugenia's voice oozed honey, desperately hoping the little district fly would come out.
Silka paused for an excruciating minute, then finally spoke. "It started with my grandmother. She had worked at the screen factory since she was small. Worked her way through the ranks. Outside of work she sometimes made blankets for our family. One day, her overseer saw one of them, and immediately took her off of production, and put her on design."
Now we were getting somewhere. Silka still had a stilted edge in her voice, but there was some actual warmth in her words. But she stopped speaking yet again, so Eugenia had to prompt her. "Sounds like a real rags to riches story. I bet all her coworkers were jealous."
"They were."
Eugenia giggled "People always are. I suppose you learned your skills from her."
The girl hesitantly nodded.. "She taught me everything she knew. Everything she remembered. Art, stories."
She sounded like a better subject than her granddaughter. "Is she around? I'd love to speak to her."
"She's gone."
A short sentence, spoken abruptly. But in those two words, Eugenia could hear the loss and pain. For the first time, Silka Moreno felt real, not just a jabberjay parroting words. Now, she just needed to draw that out. Build the story of the girl continuing a family legacy, that was something she could bring home. But Eugenia needed to proceed carefully, not spook the girl.
"I'm sorry for your loss." The girl didn't respond. "Would you say that your work is a tribute to your lost grandmother?"
The girl didn't respond, just stared off into space. Eugenia tried again." Would you say it reminds you of your time with her? Does it help you feel close to her, even though she's gone? Doing things you used to do together?" Nothing. Eugenia felt an edge creeping in her voice. "You said she liked to tell stories? I'm sure everyone would love to hear some of them."
Still silence. But then she saw it. Tension in her face, her hands shaking balled up into fists. The girl's polite facade finally cracking.
It was perfect. Eugenia gestured for her cameraman to get a close up.
"No!" Silka stumbled backwards, covering her face. "I don't want-"
"Oh, don't worry, we're-"
"Stop." She was pulling away more, trying to get out of the camera's view. Justus, her cameraman, tracked her movements, but the warehouse was busy, and she dodged between the stacks of boxes out of sight.
Back on the floor, Eugenia felt her stomach churn. This couldn't happen. They'd been close to something usable, but if word got back that she lost control of her subject… well, she couldn't let that happen. "Wait here." she ordered Justus. As much as she wanted to get this on film, right now it was more important to get the blasted girl back. Eugenia hiked up her skirt and prepared to wade through the sea of boxes and bodies.
It was as unpleasant as she worried. The heat of summer hadn't quite faded, and the feel and tast of sweat hit her immediately. Up close, she could see the wear and grime on the worker's clothes and even their bodies. Disgusting. And to make things worse, they were constantly moving back and forth, forcing her to dodge. She couldn't go more than a few steps without one getting in her way. If any of them touched her, Eugenia would need to completely reset her look before getting back on camera.
But she was an intrepid reporter and future Escort, so Eugenia would take the risk.
First, to find the girl. Silka Moreno in the Capitol-provided dress should stick out in the crowd, but even as Eugenia tripped trough, she couldn't see a single wisp of silk, or the girl who shared her name with it.
"Excuse me, ma'am? Are you looking for Silka?
Capitol ladies didn't jump in surprise or trip over their own feet. She simply reacted promptly and moved in time to see the worker girl addressing her.
While she was clearly still a laborer, this girl was much more persentable than most of the people around her. Her shirt was clean, her long golden hair was tied back neatly, and she didn't look like she'd been bathing in sweat. The girl looked like a better prospect as a guide than anyone else there. Eugenia nodded curtly. "Take me to her." she ordered.
The girl moved swiftly, darting to one side and beckoning Eugenia to follow her past a stack of boxes. As they moved away from the crowd, Eugenia noticed the girl's poise, and how confidently she moved.
Why couldn't this girl have been the one chosen? Why did she get the useless timid girl with no stage presence?
The new girl must have been having the same thought, because as she guided Eugenia,she called backwards."Figures Silka wouldn't be able to cut it. Given her family."
"Oh?" Eugenia quickened her pace. Anything that might make the girl more interesting was worth hearing.
"Outlanders, you know. Scratching out a life outside the Districts, barely hanging on. Panem saved them, sent the adults to Ten and Eleven, and had the kids brought up properly here. My grandmother says they had to be taught completely from scratch, even how to speak right."
The girl stopped short and gestured to the side. Eugenia turned, and saw that yes, Silka was there, hidden in a corner. She was speaking agitatedly to another worker. The boy was massive compared to Silka , but he held her hands gently in his. He also shared her dark coloring and hair. Perhaps they were siblings? No, definitely not siblings, she corrected herself as Silka raised her head and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Still, there was something sweet and innocent about the scene.
A fleeting thought, that they were intruding on something private and shouldn't interrupt, crossed Eugenia's mind. That thought was quickly replaced by the much stronger thought that she needed to get the girl in front of a camera now, before it got dark and they needed to set up more lights. Eugenia cleared her throat and started to call for her.
"Wait!"
Eugenia stopped and turned. The blonde girl looked up at her innocently, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "I just thought, with Silka being that way.."
"You thought what?"
Eugenia drew herself to her full height, looking down on the girl who dared to interrupt her. She at least seemed to realize her mistake as she stammered. "I-I mean- I just wanted to help, and I could- I mean, on TV." She giggled nervously. "You might want someone who's real District Eight to represent us."
This District girl…
The absolute gall. Such presumption. To think she knew better than her, Eugenia Electrum, on what the best choices were for Eugenia's work. "District is District, girl. Get back to whatever it is you do, and I might not call for the Overseers," Eugenia said coldly.
The girl got the hint and scattered. Eugenia took a deep breath to calm herself. She was the one in charge, she needed to show it. "Silka!" she called using all her voice training to make herself heard over the pandemonium of the warehouse.
The girl startled, drawing closer to her boyfriend "I'm so sorry. I just… My grandmother…" She looked up at her boyfriend who enveloped her protectively. They really were cute together. It was a shame Justus wasn't there at the moment, it could add a nice touch of warmth to the special. Maybe later they could try. But first they needed to finish the interview portions."It's fine darling. we're almost done with the main filming, but we do need to finish."
They headed out into the sunshine. Silka was as quiet as ever but Eugenia's thoughts turned towards the special. The girl from the warehouse might have been completely out of line, but she had provided Eugenia with a decent hook. Outlanders saved from the wilds, brought into Panem's light. And the young girl who overcame her family's past to create beautiful things for the Capitol. If that blonde girl knew of the family's history, surely there were others who knew more.
Yes, this would work nicely, Eugenia thought as the modest girl posed. She could see it now, the nervousness, the need to appear poised and ready at all times. All attempts to overcome her family's past. As the girl spoke of simpler times and family baking, Eugenia felt she could see the real Silka Moreno. And all of Panem would see her too.
At least, they would have seen her if the segment hadn't been cut for space.
District Eight could screw itself.
Finally, it was over.
She probably hadn't needed the two showers to get the sticky gunk out of her hair, but she still felt dirty. She could still feel the slime of the dress's collar on her neck. She hated the feel of silk. People said it was ironic, hating silk when she was Silka Moreno of Silktown, District Eight.
But they were wrong.
She was Catori Moreno of the Hopi people. And she could dislike anything she wanted. And like what she wanted too.
The comfort of wool. The night sky. The stories her family passed down. And Ahota, her fiance.
Right now, they were together, on her roof. Stargazing. Her last screen pattern had depicted the stars, and the Capitol had loved it… for five minutes. Then they moved on to the next pretty thing.
They took her work, and threw it away. Just like they did everything else.
Long ago, the Capitol took them from their homes, ripping them out of their beds for daring to live outside Panem, to turn down their kind offers of protection.
It took away their parents, sending them to be worked to death in Ten and Eleven.
It took away their names, their language, their history and forced them to spit Panem's own words back at them.
It took their art, seeing her grandmother's personal blankets and forcing her to continually make patterns for people who didn't care about the heritage or history.
It took away their children. Catori had an uncle she never knew, one who died for a crime he had no part in.
And now it was trying to take even more. The stories her grandmother told. The history of their people and their beliefs. Because nothing was ever enough for them.
But Catori and Ahota had had enough.
She knew there were rebels in Eight. They all did. Catori didn't want any part of that. She didn't want to hurt anyone, even the Capitolites. She just wanted to get away from this place that might be prettier than most of the District, but was just as much of a prison.
She nuzzled Ahota. "Tell me the plan again." she murmured. It wasn't like she didn't know it. But she needed the reminder. After a day of playacting and praying to not let anything slip that could come back to hurt them, she needed the reminder that it wasn't going to be forever. They were going to escape, one way or another.
And she loved to hear Ahota's voice.
Her drew her in. "We wait for the start of the Games. The Quell is a big event, and with all the unrest in Eight, they'll need more Peacekeepers in Central to control the crowds. That means fewer here. Once we're ready…"
He continued, and Catori let his deep voice wash over her. Wanting this moment to last, but also wanting to see a better future. One where their children would be free to live and believe what they wanted, without Panem and the Capitol holding them hostage.
It seemed so long until the Quell. But her people had endured longer. She just had to endure a few more months.
Militia Forge, District Two Female
Militia was well aware of the advantages of living in a favored district.
Fewer families starve and families didn't fear the randomness of the Reaping.
The most loyal Peacekeepers were allowed to marry at the end of their tours, bringing their new spouses from the outlying Districts to the safety of Two. (Militia owed her existence to that rule)
And of course, she mused as she walked up the finely manicured grounds towards the blindingly white mansion, the rich were richer.
The Legion family may have lived up to their names in the past, but currently, they were no longer soldiers, but overseers in charge of all the quarrying of marble across the District. Whether the Capitolites wanted it for sculptures, or tabletops, or any of the billions of things Militia had forgotten from her grade school days, they would have to deal with the Legions.
Militia had no use for marble. But the second daughter of the family had gone to the Academy with her. Fought her every step of the way, mocked her because her mother was from District Eight, and in general shoved her position in Militia's and everyone else's face. Now, on this chilly day two weeks before the Victory Tour, she had some use for Militia.
One of the advantages of graduation was supposed to be that Militia would never have to see Catha again. But the nauseatingly over the top invitation to tea and croquet appeared in Militia's mailbox. Accompanying it was a note mostly boasting about her own life while being condescending about Militia's. But also including a threat to spam her mailbox until she agreed. And as it happened, Militia did have something she wanted to talk to Catha about.
Hopefully all Catha wanted was to use Militia's connection to the Mayor for her own gain. At which point, Militia would tell her, politely, to go fuck herself, and they could go back to ignoring each other.
But for now, she needed to prepare to deal with her. Focus on what made her happy, nod through everything. And nothing made Militia happy quite like the opera.
Inside, she was still in the land of song and monsters. Opera was a world driven by powerful emotion. And by filling her head with the songs of the opera, Militia herself felt powerful, and ready to take on the world. It was a technique that helped her to overcome all sorts of things…
Smack!
"Oh, careful darling!"
Including irritating former classmates who thought it was funny to hit croquet balls directly at visitors' legs. Militia suppressed a wince, instead approaching with the closest approximation of a smile she could manage under the circumstances.
Catha Legion was standing on the green, swinging her croquet mallet back and forth as she giggled and skipped over to Militia. Her shiny blonde hair was tied back with red ribbon, and she was wearing a matching red and white coat and skirt with leggings so bright it looked like it would obliterate any dirt that dared to come in contact with it before it could stain.
She looked harmless enough on the surface. At least to people who hadn't seen her performing the same giggling routine while smashing dummies and new recruits' hands with her warhammer at the Academy.
Militia would prefer to get right to the point of the visit, but Catha wasn't playing. Instead, she bounded over and went for the pretentious Capitolite kiss-on-the-cheek greeting. "Militia, so wonderful to see you. Although it seems like you've gone through a bit of a rough patch." She stated, slyly waving at the fresh cut on Militia's cheek.
Militia's strained to keep her voice calm and her expression clear. "A shady person thought I was an easy target walking to work alone. I showed him otherwise." She replied brittly. She searched Catha's face for any genuine response to this information.
She didn't get any. Instead, Catha covered her mouth in an affected gesture of shock. Then, voice dripping with fake sympathy, she asked. "Did anything happen? Well, anything worse than that?" She pulled in closer, eyes pouring over her stitches. Probably calculating how badly it would scar.
That was enough of that. Militia pulled back. "It's fine. I'm here, after all." She bent down and grabbed the blue ball Catha had shot at her. "So, are you ready to play, or do you want to finish what you were doing?"
The girl giggled again and snatched the ball out of her hands. "Oh, I think we have time for a round or two. Then we can have tea, and have a deciding match before dark." She narrowed her eyes with a smirk. "Unless it's too cold for you."
One thing Militia found ridiculous about her fellow cadets from Two was how basically anything could turn into a pissing contest. One you had to play or lose ground. Including things like playing croquet outside in winter. It could be snowing, and the two of them would still be out here, talking about how brisk it was.
And dammit, even knowing it was stupid didn't mean Militia was immune. She'd rather run around naked in the snow than give Catha the satisfaction. "Sounds like fun." Militia answered with a forced smile. At least this was only a temporary thing.
Catha was already moving, pressing a button on her communicuff and giving orders to someone who was presumably in the house that she could have just walked inside to speak to. Soon enough, a hulking servant brought out a second, shabbier mallet and handed it to Militia with a grunt. "So, the goal in croquet is to-"
"I know how to play. Shut up and take your damn turn. " The works were out of her mouth before Militia could stop herself. It was a bad move, letting Catha know she was getting to Militia. Militia might not be high society like the Legions fancied themselves, but she should have known better than to expose a vulnerability like that. No matter how much Militia was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and how much she wanted to scream at Catha, she had to wait for her opportunity.
Catha herself just laughed at her outburst, and moved to take the first shot. The first few turns they played in silence. Militia focused inwards filling her head with song. The songs of Asha, guardian of the Outside. Beautiful and powerful, willing to do anything to protect those under her care.
Militia had always wanted to be like that. Someone who was strong enough to protect those under her care. Someone who could lead them towards a brighter future. Her father's empty words about honor and duty of Peacekeepers and Tributes were meaningless compared to the chance to actually make a difference.
It was why she trained. It was why she was working as an intern instead of picking up one of the cushy Peacekeeper positions available to a top cadet. And it was why she was here today.
Crack
A perfect shot. Militia's ball sent Catha's flying and hit solidly into the stake. The game itself might be a meaningless distraction here, but damn if it wasn't satisfying. Militia flashed a smile at Catha, who tossed her hair and moved to take her turn without comment.
At least, at first.
"Will you need me to call a car for you to get home? We don't want you to get attacked again."
Clack
"I'm surprised that you have those kind of issues where you live. But I suppose getting coffee for people doesn't pay especially well"
Clack
"I heard you've been heading over to the Academy lately. Reliving the glory days already?"
Noise. Just empty noise. She didn't matter. None of it mattered. Not even worth acknowledging.
"Me, I wouldn't want to go back if I was in your shoes. I wouldn't like relieving my failure."
Crack.
Damn. The shot went wide. Militia's hands were freezing and it was going to take multiple hits to catch back up. And Catha was laughing at Militia
"Get to the point. Why did you invite me here?"
Catha pouted in mock hurt. "I just wanted to-"
No, Militia's last nerve was about to fray. "Spit it out, or I walk," she growled.
"You're no fun." Catha pouted. For a moment, before eagerness to spill whatever she was hiding. "I learned the quell twist."
She launched into a story involving a custom order of marble statues to a Gamemaker, and the grand game she played in coaxing the information out. Meanwhile, all of Militia's nerves were tensed,her senses were on overdrive. If she knew the quell twist, and invited Militia to discuss it…
Say it…
"And it turns out, they're going to be sending the ones who aged out back in for another go around! The Second Chance Quell, they're calling it!"
There it was.
Catha was grinning ear to ear, almost dancing in excitement. "So, I wanted to tell you that you're looking at the tribute for the next Quell!"
Militia's heart was beating almost too fast for her to keep up."Really? The Academy picked you? Officially?" she asked, attempting to feign casual interest
"Well, they will, of course." Was there a strain underneath her smugness? Or was that wishful thinking on Militia's part? "Two is just lucky I'm still here. I'm their best chance for success, and unlike some people, I've kept up with my training." She waggled her mallet, similar enough to her hammer.
Militia found her voice. "And me? Am I supposed to just stand aside? I beat you all throughout-"
Catha waved her off. "Oh, that's not going to be a problem," she replied dismissively.
Damnit, Miltia wanted to punch her in her smug face so badly. "You can't buy me off or blackmail me. I don't have anything to hide." That wasn't quite true, but if Catha knew about any of that, it would already be too late. "And if you could buy off the Academy, you would have done it last year."
Catha's smile was suddenly cold and brittle. Like an icicle about to fall. "Don't worry. I've got a more… permanent way to fix that little problem" She flipped her mallet up in her hands. Holding it not like a toy, but like the weapon it was.
Militia stiffened. No, even Catha wouldn't think-
Clang.
Pain exploded over the back of Militia's head. Behind her, she felt an opponent grab her, shove her to the ground. Distantly, she heard Catha crow. "You remember all the times I said you were dead in training? Now you're going to actually be dead!" Laughter cut through Militia's head.
Careless. Fucking careless, not noticing someone sneaking up on her. "Still getting others to fight your battles for you? How's that going to work with you as a tribute?" Militia muttered.
"That's what the alliance is for." Militia heard the crunch of snow as Catha approached. Militia felt the blood pumping through her head, the adrenaline rushing but with nowhere to release it. At her eye level, Militia saw Catha's mallet swinging. Ready to do more damage.
No. Militia was not going to die here. Not to her. Not so a rich girl could play at tribute. Militia had to be tribute, and Victor. Her story was not going to end now.
Militia closed her eyes, trying to focus. Whoever was holding her had a strong grip, but it wasn't a trained hold keeping her down and immobile, just extra weight. Whoever it was probably wasn't a trained assassin any more than the mugger from earlier was. A servant Catha had bribed or bullied into helping?
In any case, if Militia had enough room to move…
"So killing me makes you tribute? That's what you think?" she forced out.
That damn haughty laugh. "I'm a Legion. And they need the best female tribute for the Quell. They'll overlook all sorts of things if it means Two get its first consecutive win." She stopped right in front of her. Milita swore she could smell her fancy boots. Catha spoke again. "Pull her face up. I want to see her eyes as I kill her."
The weight on Militia shifted. Militia went slack for a moment, then threw her weight and the weight of the servant forward into Catha. Freed from the man's grip Her hands found the mallet Catha'd dropped. Not her favored weapon, but it would do.
Clambering to her feet, Militia took a second to assess the situation. The two were tangled in a pile now, with Catha swearing up a storm. On top of her was the butler, groping for something in his coat. Militia felt a little thrill as she saw a familiar flash of steel. A knife. Perfect.
The man barely had time to turn before Militia brought the mallet down on his head. A clean hit. He fell like a sack of potatoes, his lingers loosening on the weapon. Militia scooped it up before it had time to settle.
A few agonizing seconds passed. The man clearly wasn't a good person if he was willing to help Catha kill her, but that didn't mean Militia wanted him dead…
His chest began to move. He was still alive, just unconscious. And nearby, Catha was struggling to get to her feet. Militia couldn't let that happen. A quick flip of the knife, and she charged.
It was over almost too quickly. But real fights, not just the showy sparring Catha practiced, usually were. Catha barely had time to swing before Militia had her tackled and pinned.
The blade of Militia's knife pressed into Catha's neck,. A small dribble of blood rolled down it. Not a fatal wound. Not yet.
"Well?" Catha strained to add a mocking tone to her voice, but Militia could still hear the terror underneath. "You think you can kill me and get away with it? I'm a Legion, you're a nobody."
"I'm not nobody."
Catha actually laughed."Really? Who are you, then? You're not a killer, we both know that. That's why I-"
She was cut off as Militia's knife drew blood for the second time. Again, superficial. But it didn't have to be.
Miltia had been a lot of things. Intern, cadet, student. Daughter, sister, friend, enemy. Fighter, opera lover. Once she'd hoped to add mayor to that list. But there was one title that mattered most here.
She licked her lips, then whispered. "I'm the female Tribute for the Third Quarter Quell. I've been their choice for months."
"What?"
Catha froze, unable to smiled. "You're right. Two desperately wants its first consecutive win, and the quell's a bonus. So they made extra sure they'd be ready. They already knew and decided I'm their best hope of getting it, so they'll protect me. Even the Legions bow to the Victors."
Silence. The cold wind bit into Militia's cheeks even as Catha's warm blood flowed over her hand.
She'd practiced the kill on dummies dozens of times. Slaughtered animals for meals as a part of training. As a tribute, she'd need to kill, and Catha probably deserved to die more than any of the Tributes she might have to finish off.
But did she need to die?
So many people died each year from Two. Needless, wasteful deaths. In quarries, at the Academy, in the Hunger Games themselves. Militia's gut twisted at the thought of adding another, even if it was someone who tried to kill her first.
But did Militia have to kill her?
"Well?" Catha's voice was quieter, but there was still a hint of defiance. "Are you going to kill me, or sing me a song like in one of your pathetic operas?"
Like in an opera…
Oh.
Everything clicked into place.
It was pointless dithering. Militia needed to act. Asha, Esperanza, Odysseus…none of them would hold back against their enemies. They would kill if they had to.
But Catha didn't know much about operas if she thought those were her only options.
Militia drew the knife back, and punched Catha right in the throat before jumping off. As expected, Catha curled up in pain.
The issue wasn't that Catha's family would take revenge on her for killing or hurting Catha. It was that they would keep trying to make Catha tribute, throwing more assassins at Militia. As long as they thought they could buy a Victor for their family, they'd keep trying.
But Catha didn't need to die, just no longer be qualified as tribute.
Militia found Catha's mallet. As expected, it was heavier, weighted more to be a weapon than a tool for a game. Perfect for Militia's purpose's here.
Distantly, Militia saw Catha's eyes widen. Heard her beg for Militia to stop, to not do this. But Militia wasn't listening now.
She raised the hammer, and brought it down.
Crack.
A broken leg wouldn't kill her. With her family's money, might not even leave permanent damage. But it would be enough to keep her away from the Games.
Militia dropped the mallet and the knife. "I'll call an ambulance for the both of you. You'll live." She turned and saw Catha curled up on the ground. One hand reaching down to her leg, the other at her neck trying to hold her blood back. Distantly, she heard Catha groaning and crying. But it was nearly drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat rushing through her ears.
She survived. Made it through without dying, and without killing.
But you had to be a killer to win the Hunger Games. So no matter how much she hated it, Militia would be a killer.
Militia would volunteer in the Third Quarter Quell. She would be the perfect loyal tribute, and do whatever it took to come home. She'd become a Victor, with all the power, influence, and money that implied.
And then with that power she would lead a Rebellion and burn the Capitol down. She'd be the monster that won the Games, and then end those games so nobody else would have to be one. She would never have to hide who she was again, never have to pretend like this system was anything but monstrous. She'd help build a new society from the ashes.
After that…
Who knew? Maybe they'd write an opera about her.