DISTRICT1 MALE - DANELIEUX LEON

   Upon his return to his allies, Danelieux reflected upon many things. One, Whyder is still alive. Guilt is etched in his soul; he tried to kill her before, but only because she had planned to ditch both Amani and Corradhin – something Danelieux didn't agree on when allowing her into the alliance. Two, Amani and Corradhin did not get split up because of the earthquake. Dan had, but they didn't. He traveled east and they went west. Nothing eccentric, to his thought.

And three, if anything Amani and Corradhin are closer. Something happened yesterday, but Danelieux can't figure it out. He wants to come out as this stronger guy, completely apathetic and indifferent to the little romance that may be growing. But on the inside he knows that he's weak. Danelieux is assuming it's because he saw earlier signs: light touches, friendly bumps, casual glances. He hopes it's because Corra and Amani are showing more affection; he hopes it's only that, and not some other feeling.

Amani approaches him first. Like the first time she saw him in the arena, she slowly walks towards him. Those steps turn into strides until she's almost running at him, Corradhin at her feet. She throws her thin arms over him, hugging him tightly. And then she begins punching his back with her bony knuckles. She sure is capricious, Danelieux thinks. Corradhin throws his heavy body over them sends them all rolling.

"Where in this arena were you yesterday? We had, have, a meeting place, and you didn't show up. We were worried sick," she gets cut off by an obvious cough from Corradhin.

He steps up, "No. You were worried sick. I was just standing there and contemplating the thought of your intimate death," he says smugly.

Danelieux replies, "Thanks, I love you too." He doesn't know why he flusters as he says it, and even more so he doesn't comprehend the rosy tinge on Corradhin's cheeks.

Corra lightly pushes Danelieux, and he pushes back. He grabs the scruff off Corra's neck, and the other boy places Danelieux's head between his arm and side, rubbing his knuckles on his head. They playfully fight, but they're laughing at each other's presence. Amani's pensive face is full of lamentation, as if she wants to be part of the rough housing or just reflecting over her being ignored. Danelieux casually stops and throws an arm over her.

"Thanks for worrying so much, mother," and so far, it's the truth. Amani has scolded him before, sick with worry. And she continues to do so, letting her emotions get the best of her. If that doesn't make the ideal mother, what will?Mother, deary, how I miss you.

She hugs him back gently, "Well, you're a little rascal to deal with." True as it may be, he thinks, but I'm still older than you.

"Hey, I'm a big fan of affection, really, but we have to move on. Happy you're here and all, Daniel, but we must get to killing." Corradhin says.

Shock, but a bit of a smile, plays at Danelieux's face, "Did you just call me Daniel? Are you mocking me, Corrosion Cole? Because if you are, we could get down and dirty right here, right now. We can have Amairani Allure to play as our referee."

Amani snaps back, "Don't you dare bring me into this, Daniel Lux Delion! And you, Corrosion Cole, I am ashamed of you. You said let's go, so let's go."

Way to pour rain on my parade, he mentally scolds. But she does have a point, the arena is still full of many tributes to kill. He doesn't like thinking like that, but his mindset has changed with his surroundings. At any moment now, some tribute can come out and try to kill him or his allies. Key word: try.

He begins to count how many people are left, but the assortment is so random, he has to count them down through their names. And then he realizes that there are too many to count – there are too many left. But who are the threats? I'll start backwards.

Eros, he's definitely one to watch out.

Corradhin and Amani, of course my allies will be threats... later on. It's too early to think about going our own ways.

Electra and Jack, the pair from Three have been suspiciously quiet and reserved.

Amelia and Venenius, the other Careers have been distinct threats from the beginning. That's a fact to live by.

And Allium, my own partner. I haven't seen here yet...

"What are you looking at, Daniel?" Corradhin, asks. My name isn't Daniel, or Daniel Lux Delion. It's Danelieux de Leon, and you can call me that or call me nothing.

"Nothing, I was just thinking. I think I've made a hit list of sorts. I don't know what it is, really, just that there are people here that worry more than others. That's all," Danelieux explains. But is this a hit list, and why is he capable of having one? Danelieux shouldn't be thinking like this is, he shouldn't be pondering about deaths to come. Yet, here he is, about to share his worries.

Amani pipes up, "Really? Like who? I have a few I could go for, with your help of course."

"As do I, but a few are those we won't expect. So don't call me a wuss for it, alright?" The two just nod their heads, promising not to make fun of Corra. "Alright, but ladies first."

A huff of breath escapes Amani's lips as she sighs. "Let's see... Allium. You're partner, Danel, not the other one from Ten. The pair from Two, definitely. They're both bigger than I am, so I doubt I can take them alone. Aeren and Whyder can be on my list too," she nods over at Corradhin to announce his, but she takes a sharp intake of breathe, "Wait, no. This isn't a hit list right? We're just saying who to watch out for. Right?'

"Right you are. I don't want to kill these people, but I will if they one want to start something with me, or us," Corradhin replies. "As for me, just that brute from Two. Venom, is it? And that little boy from Seven, Reed. A little boy won last time, who's to say it won't happen again."

Danelieux nods along. "I have Eros, the pairs from Two and Three, and my Allium. Well, not my Allium, but you get the picture." Amani and Corradhin look back at him as they continue walking into the jungle. He notices a small welt rise above Amani's eyebrow, but Corradhin's neck is covered in them. Some type of bite, he guesses. He strides a bit to catch up, and unsubtly, he makes a gap between the two, forcing his way in.

Corradhin glances up at him, smiling a bit. His hand brushes Danelieux's, but it is quickly removed. A hip bumpmakes Danelieux stumble a bit. Oh, the signs.

Yes, the signs of necessary precaution. This is unsmart, for sure. They should be walking in a triangle, or a line, not side by side.

"This isn't safe," Amani voices. "I'll take the rear. Corra, you can take – "

Danelieux cuts her off, "He can take the front. Good thinking, he has very sharp eyes. I'll take the middle." He doesn't know why he wants to be between the both, but he does. I don't want them to get distracted, that's all. Danelieux thought he would never lie to himself.

"Okay, mother Amani," Corradhin says as he makes his way forward. Again, who is the father of the group?

Who's the father?

If she is the mother.

Corradhin –

He's more like the brother.

Danelieux –

Let's place him under "other."

In reality, it should be a mix of both boys. Danelieux is more uptight, but with good reasoning. Corradhin can be a candidate too, especially since he has something in play with Amani already, but the role can also come with his strict and mature aura. Either one can work; but the lack of one makes a gap in the other.

What does that mean,

Under "other"?

Is he less significant

Than the lover?

"You are so annoyingly – "

"Handsome? Yes, I know. Thank you for the compliment," replies Corradhin. A laugh escapes both Amani and Danelieux. But when Danelieux looks back, Corradhin is looking back at Amani, probably smirking. But he's not smiling at me.

~~~

"Oh, this is way too easy," and it's the truth. There is no way Jack Darkwood just happens to be sleeping by himself, completely exposed and off guard. No. Absolute. Way. But there he is, cuddled up, his knife a few feet in front of him.

"Do you see that in the corner? Is that fur?" Amani asks. Danelieux squints, only to find a mass of white curls. Another tribute, another boy, resting. Unaware of the little pack that surrounds their camp. Two boys, sleeping. Three tributes, watching, waiting for movement.

"What do we do? They're just there, on the ground. They're inviting us to kill them," thinking that Corradhin's strange smile doesn't scare Danelieux would be the biggest lie.

However easy it will be to kill them, Danel doesn't want to kill the boys in cold blood. Rule one of the Academy: strike at all times possible, even if your enemy is defenseless and on the ground. Rule two of the Academy: strike even harder if their back is turned. Rule one of the Heart of Danelieux de Leon: only strike if provoked. That doesn't necessarily mean I can't provoke them into fighting with us, though.

Amani seems to be the only one making sense, "They haven't done anything to us. We should just leave them and go for someone else." Danelieux inwardly agrees, but he wants to kill them before they even think of going after him and his allies. Outwardly, he has to disagree.

"No, sorry, Amani. We have to get them now, before they have the chance to get to us." Corradhin follows along with a curt nod. That should reassure Danelieux, having the backup should make him feel proud of his actions. But Corradhin's smirk makes Danelieux sink deep into himself. If Corra is agreeing with me like this, it can't be good.Danelieux can't go back on his word, though.

Amani opens her mouth to argue, "They have families, Danel."

"So do we, Amani. So did we. How did it make your parents feel when Anastasia was killed, huh? How do you think it made Beckett's friends feel, when they found out he almost made it? Ask Corra, he experienced it. Do you want the Cole's to experience the same thing if Corradhin dies at these boys' hands? Do you want your own parents, Cal, to feel the same thing again if you were to die?

"No, you don't want to know, and you don't want people to re-experience it. My mother is dead. My father and brother are probably heartbroken. I'm the living image of my mother. If I were to die, they'd lose her all over again. They have families, Amani, but so do we. So do we."

She punches Danelieux; it's too hard for it to be a joke but too light for it to mean anything. "Shut up. You're right, but that doesn't mean you had to go all 'I'm-a-realist' on me. Let's go."

Corradhin mutters a slight, "Thank God," under his breath as he picks up his machete and hands Danelieux another one of his tomahawks. The trio gets up and approaches the pair silently but effectively.

How are we going to do this? Will I take one by myself? Am I going to assist Corradhin? Amani? Will she even kill? All his questions are answered when Corradhin stomps on Eros' chest, one foot on his neck and the other on his abdomen. A good tactic, really. It wakes the boy, but it won't let Eros scream for help. Corra bends down a bit, trying to get close to Eros. From where he stands, Danel can see Eros' beautiful eyes bulge out, his delicate fingers trying to scratch at Corradhin's legs. No use, stop fighting. It's no use.

"Amani, your knives," Corra beckons Amani to hand her weapons over. She twirls one in the air and lightly throws it over. She's watching Jack, gazing intently at his closed eyes. Corra catches it, throws himself over Eros and stabs the boy in the heart, as his left hand grazes a machete across his neck. With a final breathe, with a final pulse of blood, Eros' cannon booms.

Jack jumps up, like a cat does when it's startled. He pays Amani, who scurried away, no attention, but locks eyes with Danelieux and grazes over at Corradhin. "Eros?" Realization spreads across his face and he tackles Danel. Needless to say, he did not expect that. He doesn't have the blood on his hands, Corra does.

Danelieux doesn't even have time to register what happens, all he knows is that he can't breathe. He can't breathe and he is panicking. He can't even untie his tomahawks from his belt because his hands are preoccupied with trying to get Darkwood off his chest.

"You...Eros. You killed Eros!" Corradhin unsheathes his machete, startled as well, and is about to strike the boy on the back until that same boy stiffens. A cough of blood erupts on Danelieux's face as Jack repeats his last words, "Killed...Eros." Amani's heavy breathing wakes Danelieux up, and makes him push the dead body off of himself. A cannon booms as Amani removes her two knives from Jack's cold neck.

"I just...I just..." She doesn't even finish her thoughts as she weeps and pets Jack's bloody hair. "I killed him."

Danelieux continues coughing, his throat sore from the boy's grip. "No, you," more coughing, "saved me. You had to kill him."

"That was Grade A killing, if you ask me," Corradhin adds. Amani looks up at him, thinking Corra is joking. He rethinks what he says and takes it back, "That's not what I meant. I mean, you did a good job. You had to step in, or Iwould have mutilated the boy." He plays it off with a shrug and Amani composes herself.

"I'm a Career. I don't cry. I especially don't cry when I kill people. Not if they try to hurt me or my friends," she mutters to herself.

"That's right, Amani. You're a Career, and you don't cry when you kill. Not when the try to you or us. We stick together and we assist whenever and wherever necessary." Rule three of the Academy: assist allies, until you choose not to.I choose to.

A snap of a twig makes the trio stand up, forming a circle around each other. A very familiar looking circle to the audience of the Capitol. If only they had another girl, one with dark hair and earthly skin. If only they got rid of the blonde boy and made way for a gentle and humane soul. "Wow, wasn't that a tear jerker. 'We stick together, we assist each other' blah blah blah. Just marry each other already, all three of you. It's legal in the Capitol, you know?" Allium Anthromis comes out of the shadows, face to face with the trio, but directly in front of her partner: Danelieux. "What, did I ruin the party? By all means, comfort that sad excuse of a Career. Go on, I won't bother you," Danelieux ceases to move. Amani doesn't breathe; Corradhin tenses up.

"Come on now, you can ignore me, really. Continue crying, Anastasia. Comfort her for once, Beckett. And you Danelieux, I don't know how to compare you to that piece of ham," Allium taunts.

Piece of ham? Anastasia? Beckett? It all comes crashing down on the alliance. This time, Amani tenses up; Corradhin doesn't breath. "Shut your mouth, you don't know anything," Corradhin yells at her.

Surprisingly, Amani doesn't calm him. She doesn't put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Instead, she pushes him back and stands in front of Danelieux. "She probably knows everything, she is a Daddy's Girl after all."

The childish side of Danel wants to yell out "Burn!" But Corradhin beats him with, "Damn that was good."

But Danelieux just pushes Amani behind him. "Who even are you, Allium? Are you some little girl that volunteered to see the father that left her alone fifteen years ago? Are you a vengeful little girl that just seeks attention? You have no right to bring Anastasia or Beckett up. You have no right to bring Bellona up. The only right you have is to shut your mouth and leave is peace before we reunite you with daddy, although you'll be in casket when you see him again."

"Damn, that was good too."

"Ah, so you are what they said you'd be, Daniel Lux Delion." That's not my name. "A Career that uses words over his strength; that uses manipulation over a simple slice of a sword. Who are you? You have no right being with these two. You'd be better off alone. I mean, much better than you are now. Mommy already left you alone, hasn't she?"

Corradhin spits at her faces, and Amani aims her knives in the air. They both look over at Danelieux, waiting for him to confirm their attack. "Yes, she has. Mommy left because she was murdered. Unlike Daddy, who left you bychoice." Choices: to attack, or to leave? No choice has ever looked as clear as this one does.

"And you call me 'little.' You're just trying to delay the inevitable. You will be in a casket, along with those two. I can see it now 'Daniel Lux Delion, Amairani Allure, and Corrosion Cole. All killed by Victor Allium Anthromis.' What a sight!"

"That's not my name," Danelieux says quietly.

"That will hardly matter, Daniel. Such details can be overlooked."

He repeats himself, "That's not my name." Amani and Corradhin look at him with confusion. Their faces readshould we strike, or wait?

"And like I said, such informalities can be overlooked," she twirls her whips tail in her hands, fingering the braided rope.

Danelieux takes a deep breathe. And without warning, he swings his tomahawk in his hands and lets it fly in the air. "My name is Danelieux de Leon."

And I just murdered Cadelon Anthromis' daughter.

~

DISTRICT2 MALE - VENENIUS LINGUORE

"I'm so thirsty..."

I don't know the last time Allium had anything to drink - far too long ago, presumably. We've only been here for days, but even two without hydration is enough to kill you. She can hardly get off the ground, and right now it would be easy for me to kill her. But if she sees me with a weapon in my hand, she'll notice there's something wrong and that's a risk which I am not willing to take. Even a small injury at this time might be enough to kill me later on, if I'm not smart; an infection goes a long way.

"Here, Allium. Drink this."

She doesn't know about the hours I spent digging up the exact right roots and berries to make this; she doesn't know how long I blended the mix together so it would look see-through; she doesn't know that a sip of this drink, which looks so much like what she needs at the moment, is more than enough to kill her. I hand her the bottle and she looks at it, suspicious. She doesn't trust me and I don't trust her - but I know she'll cave in eventually. After all, she doesn't have much of a choice.

"What is it?"

"Water. Look."

She checks into the bottle, and I let out a sigh as she raises her head, seemingly satisfied. If she looked at my hands, she would see how raw my fingernails have gone from digging through the ground to find the exact ingredients I need. I bet you in One, they don't bother learning about plants and berries - they don't know that some leaves, like nightshade, can be ground so thin that they don't affect the look of the liquid in which they've been dropped, but will kill her just as fast regardless. That, thankfully, will be her downfall.

"So... thirsty."

"Drink. The pain will stop."

This isn't a lie. Pain ends in death - so does hope, love, happiness, sadness, and just about anything that requires consciousness to acknowledge. I have learned that it is best never to lie, because a lie can be discovered in no time whatsoever. Leaving out truths, however, is something which cannot be disproved. Evidence does not surface to tell you that what you said was wrong; to find out the ultimate truth, you need to dig much further than Allium will ever have the time to do.

She nods. Her throat is swelling and at this point I don't think that she is actually capable of speaking. She has chosen to put her faith in me and she has chosen poorly. I am not the kind of person to hold your hand and watch you die, and this - what I am currently doing - is as honourable as I get: kill you quickly before you realize that your body is getting the best of you. She will not thank me - I don't expect her to - but I have done all that I am obliged to.

She puts the cup to her lips. Allium Anthronis was the greatest threat I had decided I would face within these Games, and I have now dealt with her. From now on, this would be a lot easier, but the battle was not yet won. I watch her gulp down her death drop by drop, smirking as fear goes onto her face, quickly followed by her slumping down to the ground, falling into her demise. A cannon rings and I watch as she joins the ranks of those who will never cause any sort of a worry to me ever again.

She didn't know I'd be the one to kill her.

~

DISTRICT4 MALE - CORRADHIN COLE

As soon as Corradhin entered the freedom of a clearing, and as soon as humidity loosened around him, he wrenched his arm free of Amani's grasp, marching over to the center in which his allies sat. Immediately they barraged him with questions, like where he'd been, primarily what happened to his eyes. But the flush of rage at himself, at Amani, at everything came through in angry huffs, and soon Amelia and Danelieux got the hint that he was not, in any way, okay. By the time he'd made it to the center they were both already taking caution at the fringe of forestry.

He clenched his fists repeatedly, but it did nothing to stop the trembles that overtook his body. The gravity of his situation had finally,finally fell across him. Kissing Amani, going blind, volunteering, all of it. And, along with all those things, the reality of Beckett no longer existing hit him full force for the second time.

And so, he screamed.

He screamed until his throat was raw, and even then he didn't stop, letting his screeches tear themselves free, tear into him. Back in Four, when he'd seen Beckett slit his own throat, he hadn't had the luxury of making such sounds. Instead, he'd calmly left the crowd, headed home, and sat in a chair to let everything sink in.

It had sunk in - but not entirely. It still hadn't fully hit. But the wound was still fresh, and that kiss just ripped open the stitches. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry! "Why the hell did any of this happen?!" His hands found refuge in his hair and he tugged, eager to tear his brain out with it. It all slammed into him: lips on lips - but not Amani's. Volunteering - but not to kill, not to win.

Maybe the only reason he came here was to scream. To truly scream.

And we all know that if I were to scream in the district, everyone would deem me insane and say a bullet to the brain was the best medicine for my sickness. He ripped his fingers free of the tangles in his hair, bringing his fists to rest by his side. His screams ended, but he still fumed, his body practically convulsing from the force of his breaths.

No one uttered a word. Only the uncomfortable shuffling of his allies proved they were still around. Finally, his shoulders relaxed, and he rubbed his face with blood-encrusted hands. Everything about this is just...exhausting. Not even the whole, 'run for your life' thing. I'm just so confused...what is going on with me?

It was beyond frustrating, and his groan expressed that clearly. Who am I? Why am I here, really? I think, no, I'm positive it's not just for Beckett. I'm not here to do what he couldn't do. So why...?

"Corradhin?" Amani spoke for the first time since leaving the confines of the jungle. "Are you okay?"

Corradhin whirled towards her voice, his chest flaring up with prickles of anger. "Does it look like I'm fucking okay?"

"Well...no...but-"

"There's no 'but' about it, Amani." A chuckle. "I'm stuck in a dome where I'm supposed to fight until I die, my eyes have pretty much been scratched out by hooks," he counted off the sources of his hatred on his fingers, "the one person I could tolerate in this sick society slit his own throat, probably hated me while he did it. I did the worst possible thing I could think of and kissed you back. I came here to win, not to give the Capitol a romantic comedy to eat up."

"Hey, Corr, calm down, will ya?" Amelia's nails-on-a-chalkboard voice came back, and Corradhin considered ripping his ears off just so he wouldn't have to hear her. "You're hurting the poor thing's feelings."

"Do not call me Corr." He ground his teeth together. I hate them. I hate them all. "And I don't really care if I'm giving anyone's heart a boo-boo." If only their cannons would just go off...maybe I should speed it up, eh? He took in another breath, sucking in the sickly sweet scent of the flowers that were probably littering the arena. The faster they're gone, the faster I can fuck with Cadelon.

Another voice entered the hubbub, this time masculine. Corradhin had only heard Danelieux speak once, so he was left confused. "Look, you're angry, we get it, but that doesn't mean you hold any right to talk to us the way you are. Anything Amani did probably falls on your shoulders just the same."

Corradhin let this sink in, but, like the death of Beckett, it never fully made it to wherever his logic lay. She triggered it. She knew I was vulnerable, and she jumped in and did...that. A headache was blooming behind his eyes. "Shut up, just shut up."

Heavy footsteps approached him, and he clenched his fists. If any of them want a fight, I'm ready. Won't they feel wonderful getting their ass kicked by a blind man? Annoyance and anger fueled one another. "C'mon," he said, practically bouncing. "You're all fucking cowards." The steps paused right in front of him. The tribute was calm as opposed to Corradhin's jumpy demeanor. "I want nothing to do with any of you. Amelia, go find a hunk to screw. Dan, go hide behind your own shadow. And Amani-"

Pain flared in his cheek, but he forced himself to keep his arms at his side. A sense of shock slithered through him. He cleared his throat, and a temporary fire erupted on his jaw. Any anger flew away. Only frustration remained. And guilt, that suffocating guilt he hadn't yet rid himself of.

That guilt was five years old.

It was Amani who broke the silence. "You deserve more than a punch and a measly bitch slap. You kissed me back, don't forget that."

Corradhin nodded. She's right. I deserve it. "All right. Okay. I get it. I'll...I'll go cool down." God, I'm an idiot.

Silence blanketed the clearing again, but by the time it settled for good, Corradhin was already crashing through the vegetation of the jungle. His thoughts were in havoc, his actions impulsive as he swung at leaves and punched at branches. Get away, don't go back, get away, don't go back.

He saw not where he was going, but heard every little tweet, every threatening growl, every snap of a twig. Sounds assaulted his ears to the point of deafening him. Crickets, buzzes, swishes. Flies slammed into his face and he smashed them, feeling their insides gush and mix with the sweat rolling down his forehead. His own body odor found his nose. His senses rotated in intensity, a cycle aimed to destroy him. Leaves gave off the impression of fur when they trailed his skin, and fear rose within him in the form of bile. He forced it back down, only for the stink of animal feces to come at him.

Every sense, they all hated him. Except his sight. His sight had been ripped from the equation. Thus, why he slammed face-first into a wall of bark. With a groan, he backed away. I hate this, I hate this... If his headache was bad before, it was beyond comprehension now. He couldn't help but step towards the tree again for support. He dug his fingers under the bark, pulling them up like layers of skin. The skin of a giant, of a beast. He pretended the beast was his eyes, and he was pulling back the dried blood. If he dug deep enough, he'd get his sight back. Right?

He almost fell victim to his own nonsensical thoughts.

He rested his forearm on the trunk of the tree, and used it to pillow his forehead as he nestled it into the crook of his arm. His stomach had rose and dropped dozens of times in the past minute, and he thought he was on the verge of passing out. I screamed. I did what I came here to do. Can't I leave now?

He would've told himself that there was no way out, to take a look around, but that would only be an indulgence of his sick sense of humor. And, frankly, he didn't really feel like laughing. Sounds and smells and the feeling of bark scratching his face came in the waves of an army, all equipped with machine guns so he had no time to recover before the next onslaught.

That's when he became conscious of a particular weight in his pocket.

"Holy hell," he breathed. Jamming his fist in his pocket, he came out with a smooth cylinder: a vial. The vial he'd been sent back when the plant mutt had taken the light from his life. Well, one of the lights.

He felt whatever liquid inside sloshing around against the sleek glass. It had been warmed from being in his pockets so long - he hoped that was the case. He also hoped this wasn't a poison, something sent to end him before he got too far. I am a Cole, after all. And because of my dumbass grandfather, everyone is out to get me, it seems. I hate him sometimes. He ran his thumb over the lid of the vial.But what if this can give me my sight back?

He was filled with uncertainty. On the one hand, he could swallow this and croak right on the spot. On the other, he'd be able to see again. Hell, he'd even take looking at the repulsive browns of the swamps for the rest of his life if he could just see. Another twenty seconds. That's all he gave himself.

I'm desperate.

When he popped the lid off he felt steam blast him in the face, a hiss emanating from the opening. The smell that came with it was all too familiar, but he couldn't pinpoint it. He sniffed once more. Like a flower... I wonder.

His hand shook as he brought it to his lips - and stopped. What good will it do for my eyes if I'm ingesting it? Hesitation tried to mug him of the vial, but he broke free of its hold and managed to throw the serum onto each of his eyes.

One second passed, and nothing happened. Two seconds, still nothing. Three, doubt bit into his heart and tried wiggling its way in. Four, a tickling sensation hovered just under his lids. Five, it reached up and latched onto his eyelashes. Six, it lugged itself up, ripping a few lashes free in the process. Seven, it was climbing up like a rock climber, settling firm on the dried blood. Eight, it ate through the blood like an animal digging a home. Nine, it placed its tiny claws on his eyeballs.

Ten, he was fire, fire was him.

And, for the second time that day, he screamed like never before.

It was a pain as fresh as it had been when he was first caught by the hooks. It felt like hundreds of flesh-eating insects had landed on his eyes and were taking chunks out, digesting them in microscopic bits. Spiked tendrils wormed across the surface, licking at him, and then they submerged into his eye, going straight to the core and setting it ablaze. No words could describe how he felt, he just knew that he felt.

"Fuck it all to hell!" he screamed, finding no other place for the rest of the remedy than the back of his throat. It's poison, gotta be. Kill me now, damn it!

And then, like a weight had been lifted, the pain vanished, and he was able to separate his lids. He still couldn't see, of course. A sting remained, but it was nothing compared to what he'd just experienced. Well put me on a stick and call me a marshmallow because I feel like I just survived a roasting.

He tightened his hold on the vial. He wanted to crush it for the damage it had done, he wanted to lodge the shards in whoever created it. Briefly, he waved it under his nose.

His heart just about stopped when he pinpointed what the smell had been. "I'm so fucked..." It's henbane. They put henbane in it. The vial slipped from his fingers with a roar, and he heard it shatter against a tree. They probably mixed it in with the remedy, or whatever it was.Who knows what else they put in there? "You think you're all clever, huh?" he directed at the sky. "Cadelon, Odysseus, Tender, all you fuckers think you're such sneaky things, eh? Well, a nice big-" he flipped the sky the bird, "-to you too!"

He immediately shoved two fingers in his mouth, dropping to his knees. I need to get this out of my system. I need to get this out before-

"Corradhin."

He let his eyes fly open, and some of the darkness had left in exchange for a blurred screen of colors. But that's not what sent a shiver scampering down his spine. That's not what made him break into a cold sweat. What made him do all these things was the voice that said his name. He completely stopped breathing altogether, froze.

He's supposed to be dead.

"Corradhin."

His voice is so clear. He sounds so...at ease. Slowly, he let his gaze rise, still just a never-ending shift of colors. His heart was pounding, he could feel it trying to break free of his chest.

"Answer me, Corradhin."

He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but no words came forth. "I...you..." His palms met the moist earth and he dug his nails into the ground, struck with a coughing fit. "You..." His heart pumped too wildly, too rapidly for his breaths to catch up. He's not real, he's not real...it's just a hallucination. From the henbane.

When a hand landed on his back, he wanted to explode. He flinched under the touch, scrambling away like a wild animal. His shoulder hit a tree and he used the bark to pull himself up. He stumbled as he moved for the next tree, pressing his forehead to it. If I can't see him, he doesn't exist.

"I didn't realize you were so sickened by the sight of me."

Corradhin wanted desperately to tell him he was wrong, that he was more terrified than sickened, but the words just wouldn't come.

"That's fine. I'll just go back to slitting throats, nothing too dramatic-"

"You do that and I'll follow you to hell so I can drag you right back up." Corradhin was gripping the tree with every inch of strength he had. It was fleshing out before him, everything growing less blurry by the second. "Don't you dare say something like that again."

Risking his sanity, he glanced at the other boy. Like everything, he was a blur, but little things could be picked out. His lanky build, his light brown hair. But there's one thing I need to see to make sure it's him... Against his will, his legs moved, and soon he was running to close the distance between them. His palms met the boy's shoulders for the first time in two years. "Look at me."

The guy closed his eyes just to spite Corradhin.

Frustration didn't find him, nor did annoyance, or anger. Instead, Corradhin's voice grew soft - a softness he couldn't recall using. "Just...let me see. Let me see if its you."

One by one the boy opened his eyes. Corradhin had to squint to see the color of them, but the two blots of amber identified this boy as none other than Beckett Malen. A breath hitched in Corradhin's throat, and he found himself latching onto Beckett in order to stand - he was a new tree, if you will. "Oh god, oh god..." he muttered. He's alive. He's alive. Any thoughts of the arena vanished, everything replaced by this moment, this realization, this phrase which refused to go away.

His hands were exploring Beckett's face, running over his cheeks, his nose, every little bit of it, and all the while he kept muttering, "You're alive, oh my god, you're alive..." Meanwhile, the boy just stood there, his face frozen in the same stony expression. This is unlike him..."What's wrong?"

"You hate me. I know you do. This..." Beckett spread his arms. "It's all an act you're putting up to mess with me, isn't it?"

Corradhin's insides plummeted. "No, no, I don't hate you...why would you even think-"

"The notes. Ratting me out, getting my leg shot. Again, more recently, the notes." Beckett narrowed his eyes - Corradhin had never seen him narrow his eyes, not once. "You opened old stitches."

It felt like the tip of a dagger was resting on his chest, and everything he'd ever done wrong pushed it in, slowly. Those notes... A fresh anger filled him, and any focus he held was lost, instead spreading images over his eyes, images he'd rather keep hidden. Cadelon's smug grin ended up in there, as did Wisteria's, and all he found himself wanting was to destroy them - no, he wanted them to feel pain. He wanted them to feel the pain he felt when he lost Beckett - he flicked his eyes back to the boy. He's here. "They made me." Stings of some indiscernible feeling rose to his throat, and his next words came out as a choke. "I didn't mean anything, Beck, you know I didn't."

Finally, finally Beckett showed signs of being him, and a frown crossed his face. His eyes weren't as cold. Corradhin just noticed how much his eyesight was improving. The one good thing that came out of that serum. The Capitol magic, everybody. Come one, come all! He also noticed how he was breathing heavily again - just like when he was fuming in the clearing with his allies. I don't need them.

"I have a solution," he whispered. His frown morphed into a smirk. "You want those Gamemakers to pay, don't you?" Corradhin nodded, suddenly uncertain. There was a glint in Beckett's eyes that he didn't like. A hint of something mad. "Allium. You will kill Allium Anthromis."

A strong urge to do just that caught Corradhin in the chest. He paid no mind to the misdemeanors of Beckett, ignored how unlike him this all was. He hates killing. So why would he tell me to kill her? He shoved the question away. Doesn't matter. I need to kill her. That's all I can do to get back at Cadelon.

"You know where she is." It wasn't a question, but Beckett answered it anyway.

"In the jungle."

Before another word could be uttered, Beckett had vanished. Corradhin blinked, making sure his eyes weren't failing him. What...what the hell? Where did he go? Where is he? "Beckett!" Panic swirled within him. With no answer, he was forced to gather up his trident and head into the jungle. But, as he traversed the jungle, he couldn't help but feel that everything about this was...off. Beckett didn't seem like Beckett. There was something stirring in his brain that told him to do everything the boy said. He would listen, or there would be nothing left. Impulse, that's what it was. An uncontrollable impulse.

A crack came from a few feet ahead, and Corradhin flicked his attention on. A veil of tangled black crossed his vision, and a pale face snapped back to see him. She was crouched over her shoe, probably caught in the middle of tying it. She was a deer in the headlights. Corradhin lowered his head, narrowing his eyes at her as he took a few cautious steps forward.

Beckett's voice broke through the silence, with no body to claim it. "She seems smart enough. Let's play a little game."

This isn't right.

Still, he parted his lips, and let a single word slip through like mist. "Run."

Allium Anthromis abandoned her mission to lace her boot up and darted off. She moved like someone who knew the land well, who'd spent years practicing the best ways to navigate any environment.

He took off after her. They ran at about the same speed, moved in the same ways, took the most unexpected routes in order to escape and chase. No gaining, no slowing. She ducked under a fallen tree, which Corradhin vaulted over. Despite his limp, Beckett reappeared and was able to keep the same pace. A few feet closer. Small, but still progress. Expectation fluttered the distance was closed. C'mon, Cadelon. You really are heartless enough to let your daughter be killed, aren't you? Corradhin growled. Watch your flower wilt.

"Your trident, Corradhin!" Beckett hollered. When Corradhin glanced at his dear old friend, he thought he saw something he wasn't supposed to see. It's the serum. It's doing things to me.

He swung his trident out and the handle struck Allium in back of the head. She stumbled forward, crashing to the ground. Corradhin stalked towards her, trident poised for her face. The middle point, the sharpest and longest, pressed up against her cheekbone. No emotion showed through on his face, but whirlwinds of it tossed his insides around. His organs skipped on a lake of blood, like a kid skipping rocks back in the district.

He was all too prepared to shove it into her face, forgetting Beckett was there for a moment. But at the boy's cheer of encouragement, his real bloodlust failed him, and the fake one replaced it. It wasn't as strong as it had been, and now he could let Beckett's existence take over. "Why the hell are you cheering?"

Beckett, who had been balancing on a fallen tree, paused. His amber eyes were clear at this point, sparkling with...something that wasn't him. "Why, because I'm a tribute, just like you, and we tributes are all for killing one person to get home, yeah?" He hopped down, stalking towards Corradhin. "Look at her..." he said. "So...helpless. Like I was."

For the hundredth time, Corradhin's stomach dropped, and his disappointment was nearly palpable. He trailed the tip of his trident over Allium's cheekbone so that it rested just beneath her bottom lashes, pursing his lips in concentration. "You're not Beckett."

"Beckett" placed a hand on his heart as if offended. "Of course I am."

Corradhin looked at him. Every little detail was falling into place. Beck reeked of henbane. "No...I know who Beckett is. He doesn't talk like whoever you are. He doesn't act this way. He doesn't cheer for death, he runs from it." He isn't real. Nothing about today has been real. His next words hurt him more than any wound he'd received of late.

"The Beckett I know is dead."

Giving the Beckett of his hallucinations one last, apologetic glance, he swung his trident up, slamming it into his chin.

I'm killing him. What am I doing? I'm fucking killing him!

Corradhin hopped back, but forced himself forward again, closing his eyes as he sent the points tearing into Beckett's cheek.

He was back and forth, criticizing himself, lying to himself, and forcing himself to do something that broke him. I'm back and forth, I think I'm going crazy. I'm back and forth, I can't make up my mind.

The next time he opened his eyes, Beckett was gone, and he was freed of the impulse that drove him to Allium.

Corradhin wasn't Corradhin anymore. Pulses of adrenaline, pumps of rage, they both intertwined in his veins like the ropes of the bracelet he wore, slithered through like snakes. Their teeth sunk into his vessels, his arteries, sending flushes of venom crashing through his system like tsunami's on the shore. His breaths came out raspy, quick, sharp. Allium watched him contentedly, awaiting more of a reaction.Squirm, her eyes said, get angry.

That only gave him the resolve to slamming his trident into her eyeball. "I am the boy who sheds blood."

Mush exploded around the point, a clear liquid spilling down her cheek. The other two points wriggled their way through her skin, ripping it open and replacing it with shining gashes. "I have always been the boy who sheds blood." Twisting the handle, he worsened her condition; the cuts grew to curved, bleeding scars, half-moons.

"And I will always be the boy who sheds blood." He stopped twirling it inside her face, instead pulling forward gently. It slid from the eyeball, bringing it out of her socket further. Ew. Get back in there.

His next trick ended with the trident going entirely through the back of her skull, all three points digging a home in the ground. Better.

Tilting his head back, he stared up through a canopy of leaves, watching as the faces in the sky began to materialize. But he did it more so to make sure the cameras could see him clearly. He took a deep breath, relishing the smell of blood and the piss-water he stood in.

Blood is thicker than water, we know,
It falls by the blade, taints the snow.
The one to shed it can do all of two things:
They can break one's skin, or break their own.

Inject my heart, control my blood,
My veins convulse against the flood.
Patch the broken, send us out,
For I am dirt, and blood makes mud against the drought.

A single tear managed to squeeze free of his tear ducts, but when he saw his reflection in the water, he could only smile.

Because, instead of a clear tear, a streak of red fell from the corner of his eye down his cheek. At least come up with a believable hallucination next time. That was nothing to a boy who sheds blood.

~

DISTRICT7 MALE - REED QUILLEAROY

Only a few things were for certain to anyone wandering the cave system: it was dark, it was wet, and it was cold. And Reed wasn't having any of it. He stomped as he followed close behind Steve, sending the little puddles sprawling for purchase on the walls. His arms wrapped themselves around his small form, but it did close to nothing to preserve his body heat. These are not the conditions a king would accept.When his stomach rumbled for the fortieth time since waking on the cold, hard ground, he groaned loudly. Maybe I should switch it up today. We leave the kingdom in exchange for an exploration of the sea, for mermaids and sirens. And I am the curious man who sees something fishy squirming about in the nets for catch... He glanced at Steve. He's the idiot that falls overboard because he was leaning too far over the edge of the boat.

Reed couldn't stifle his giggle, and Steve turned to face him, not stopping, but walking backwards. "What's so funny back there?" he asked, his brow turning up in question.

Reed brought his arms to rest behind his back. "Nooothing," he drawled, rocking on his heels. He held a mischievous smirk on his face. "Don't worry 'bout it, spider monkey. You do you." Steve rolled his eyes and walked forward again. Reed couldn't help but be disappointed that his peasant didn't want to keep the conversation going. He seems pretty annoyed... He narrowed his eyes. So be it. Let's annoy him further. He glanced down at his beast of a stomach, growling as if prepared for an attack. I'm starving anyway.

So, with an unbreakable resolve, Reed froze in place, huffing. "I'm not moving. I'm hungry and tired."

Steve paused. His shoulders tensed as he slowly turned back around. He was biting his lip, as if trying to hold in as much of an argument as possible. "We need to keep moving."

"Not until I'm fed. I am your king, and you, my peasant, are a loyal spider monkey that mustn't let your highness die of starvation." Reed tsked, raising his nose in the air. "Unless you'd rather head off to the guillotine for your head to be removed, hm?"

"Where the hell are you gonna get a guillotine...?" Steve muttered. He shook his head. "Nevermind that. We need to get as far as possible, and then we can look for food and make camp for the night."

Their stomachs rumbled simultaneously, echoing off the cave walls. It really was like a beast, coming to feast on them if they didn't feast themselves. Still, it didn't do much to faze Steve, and Reed was left drop his gaze to the ground, staring at his ragged shoes. I have something he can't resist. He sighed, sticking out his lower lip. He then flicked his eyes up without moving his head, widening them with the most piteous of looks.

"Oh, no, nope, no." Steve shook his head. "Don't you dare start using the puppy dog face on me. Because it's not gonna work."

For good measure, Reed sniffled a bit.

Steve dropped his head. "I'll be back." Yes! I am the best actor out there. I guess it comes with years of talent. Reed beamed up at his ally with hope, practically bouncing. Steve seemed to know he was faking, the smile he returned being only pretend, but he left anyway. "Don't run off in search of butterflies or anything." A silence hovered above them for a moment before he broke it again. "Be safe," he whispered. Then, at the snap of a finger, he was gone, and Reed was left to his own devices for the time being.

He had to admit, Steve had been acting pretty strange lately. A sense of flickering comfort radiated off of him at times, and at others he seemed untrusting, just as cold as the caves they roamed. He's a weird little spider monkey. But, he's the best person I've met in this arena so far, so I want to stay with him. The only things that could really go were the terrible jokes, but even those offered some solace when there was nothing but the drip of water falling on their heads and the repetitive steps they'd been taking for two days straight. With a sigh, Reed thought, the jokes can stay. In variation. If he makes another Sir Cumference joke I'm gonna lose it.

He kicked aside a rock sitting by his foot. It skidded across the ground, coming at a stop at the corner of the corridor they'd recently rounded. Finding nothing better to do, he kicked another rock, harder this time. It bounced off the wall, coming to rest by the other. I'm a golem, crawling along through my hobbit hole. He made little chipmunk noises, holding his arms close to his body as he pretended to nibble on an acorn, or whatever chipmunks ate. Acorns don't sound too bad, actually. Maybe some walnuts. His stomach growled once more at the thought of shoving his face with peanuts, all sorts of nuts. But I don't think there's any nut trees growing down here.

Out of pure frustration, he kicked another rock, harder than the other times. Gosh, why do the Gamemakers have to be such selfish pricks? Can't send down a trail mix or something? Even I would share with the spider monkey. Primates gotta eat. Another swift kick to a rock.

Except this time it didn't strike the wall.

It struck a very angry, very scary girl in the forehead.

Reed jumped, immediately reaching out for a weapon he didn't have. No, no, crap. How am I supposed to defend myself?! Steve, you idiot, you took the knife! He locked his sights on none other than Allium, a Career at that. A shiver ran through his small body at the sight of the rock still implanted in her forehead - but what made him grow terrified of her existence was her lack of expression. She didn't scream, didn't cry in pain. She was a carving of stone, lips turned down and eyes turned to slits. On her shoulder, she wore a bow, but she made no move to grab at it. That's mine, Reed realized, eyes widening in a growing fear, but what happened to the wench that stole it?

As if on cue, Allium brought an arm out from behind her back. Entangled in her fingers were webs of brown hair, and attached to that hair was the head of Wynder Douglas - only the head. Reed let his eyes run over Allium wildly. Her uniform was doused in red, and her hair clung to her forehead in sticky clumps, probably wet down by the blood of orphan children, or something. I'm pretty much an orphan child right now, Reed thought with horror, she's gonna drink the blood of the innocents! I'm - as far as she's concerned - an innocent! He moved to start running, to go find Steve and let him take care of this feathered harpy. He would've, had an arrow not been trained on his every move.

"Don't move an inch, or this goes right through that fragile skull of yours, you hear?" Allium had dropped the head in exchange for the bow, and it was steadily rolling towards Reed. He froze, raising his hands in surrender. Then, he remembered who he was.

I am Reed Quillearoy. And I am King. Who does this wench think she is? He dropped his arms, glaring with the force of a thousand archers. He was an archer, and all he needed was that bow. His bow. "That's mine, you know," he said, pointing at the weapon in her hands.

"I don't think so," Allium snarled, taking a few quick steps towards him, still crouched. Hell, she looks more like a golem than I do right now. He couldn't help it: he giggled. And, apparently offended by him seeing the situation as a laughing matter, she dropped her bow, throwing it to the side, and charged.

Aw, shit.

Reed only had time to take a few trembling steps back before Allium was upon him, slamming him against the wall. Air flew from his lungs, and along with it, a scream, a scream for the only person he could trust. "Steve!"

Allium's fist connected with his jaw and his head snapped to the side, his face flaring with pain. It's happening again, it's happening.

The rocks walls conformed to the nightmares which haunted him each night, transforming into peeling wallpaper. Reed was against a wall, and across from him, a mother. If he managed to peer around her shoulder, he could see a father sitting with his legs crossed, his attention directed solely at the morning paper - a rarity even for them. Reed remembered this moment clearly.

The mother's arm was pressed to his throat, squeezing the air out of him as he clawed weakly at her, begging to be released with only his eyes. She's the queen. The queen decided she doesn't want a heir: me.

I'm heading straight for the castle,
Every secret begins to unravel,
The inhabitants are dainty, fragile,
And I'm a prisoner locked in the shackles.

In a rush, his air came back as the mother's arm fell and she darted off to the kitchen. Reed collapsed, gasping. He wanted to cry, he wanted so much to cry, but he didn't. He would never cry. Ever. Soldiers don't cry. Soldiers don't cry. He knew he should be moving, he had to get out of there before the mother came back - she would be standing on a stool to reach the top of the highest cupboard, reaching for something that'd leave him bedridden for a few weeks. But he couldn't make himself move. Soldiers stand their ground.

The smack of sticky, bare feet was fast approaching, and he found himself unable to breathe for entirely different reasons. Move, move - stay. Show her she doesn't scare you. Act. Pretend. Play pretend. Yellowed nails and peeling skin came into view, the mother's feet. He refused to look her in the eye, and remained crouched, giving her toes the death glare.

"Up," the woman demanded. Her voice made his ears rattle. "Up!"

Reed let her words go in one ear and out the other.

And that's when the crack of thunder filled the air, and pain sliced down his back, beginning a very slow, agonized process.

Soldiers stand their ground. Soldiers don't cry. Another crack; the whip snapped onto his shoulder and leapt off.

They steal and they take,
They care not for my sake,
At first glance they're angels, fake,
Behind closed doors, they want me to break.

Throughout it all, the mother spat insults at him, cursed him, disowned him but housed him, shouted profanities at him, and all the while the father sat in the background, sipping his coffee and skimming the paper. His sister appeared for a split second - she was the only one that tolerated him, offering him apologetic glances here and there. But she did nothing. She grabbed her keys and her cap off the dining table, mouth an apology to him, and left.

He hated the sister. He hated the mother. He hated the father. He hated them all. But he stood his ground, because a good captain always goes down with his ship. He remained in body and mind. His mind never wandered, his body never attempted escape. Because, in that moment, he vowed his Vengeance. I'll go on the biggest adventure of them all. And then I'll come back, and you'll all be dead.

I'll be patient, because I know I'll get it eventually.

Something was off about this recollection. Every time he stayed there, and he'd wake up that way, holding himself, broken into a cold sweat. But this time, he had an urge to stand. So he did. Simple as that. The mother's face flushed in outrage, then settled. "You're up, finally." She discarded the whip as if it were a child's drawing of stick figures and lollipop trees. "Why didn't ya get up when I told ya, you ignorant dog?" She offered a kick, trying to rile him up, but Reed stared on with dead eyes.

Never had he been so silent.

"What's the matter? Don't wanna talk to your dear mama?"

"You are not my mom. You're a mom, but not mine." Reed's voice shook, but he hid it as best he could. Well, this is new.

His body ached, he was battered, bleeding, and bruised. But the mother's threatening gaze didn't make him flinch, like it normally would. When her fist came for his jaw, his fingers wrapped around her wrist, keeping her rooted to his face.

"Let go, brat!" She tugged, but Reed's grip was unfaltering.

"Hit me. Hit me one more time. It will be your last," Reed said.

"No it won't! I'll hit you, all right, I'll knock you right into next month! You won't be able to stand when I'm done with you."

Her fist was flying at him, like an animal come to latch onto his face. He was terrified, absolutely terrified. All soldiers are scared in the battlefield. But sometimes, that fear wins the war.

His eye erupted in pain, and the walls fell in on themselves, becoming rock once more. The father faded into the background, the paper became slimy things slinking along the wall. The mother remained, a malicious grin on her face. But something was off. Her face was smoothed, hair flushing from grey to black. This woman was returned to her former glory, a woman only seen in pictures. She's one of the monsters.

With a gasp, he kicked his leg up, slamming the tip of his shoe into the beasts leg. Her grip on him loosened ever so-slightly, but it was enough for him to lean forward and bite her nose. She was screaming, and copper spilled over Reed's tongue as he dug his teeth in. He was a leech, and he would be pretty damn hard to get off.

A set of knuckles slammed into his shoulder but he shrugged them off. I've been through much worse than that, wench.

"Reed!" a voice from afar shouted. Relief flooded him - Steve. "Reed, hold on, I'll get her off!" It's not her you need to get off, it's me.Steve was running, his hollers mixing in with his heavy steps. Reed opened his mouth, jerking his teeth out of Allium's nose. In seconds, she was off of him, thrown to the ground by none other than Steve. "God, the hell did you do to her?" When Steve looked at Reed, he lifted a hand to cover his mouth. "I'm so sorry I left you, I'm so sorry."

Reed was too consumed by his fury to listen to a word of what he said. He became a panther, and launched himself onto Allium, straddling her as he grabbed fistfuls of her hair and pulled with every fiber of his being. "You will not dictate what I do any more!"

He slammed her skull against the ground, once, then twice, and she began to writhe beneath him. He couldn't take her down with just his fists, he was smart enough to know that much, of course. There. The glint of a silver arrow, resting close. What an idiot. Who just throws their weapon away like that? I mean, my weapon. He ignored the bow for now, only taking up the sturdy arrow in his hands.

Steve's voice shook. "R-Reed? What are you-"

"Shut it, spider monkey!" he growled. He tightened his hold on the arrow, his arms shaking from the tension in his muscles. Break the strings, break the hold, break the hold you have on me! He raised the arrow above his head, like he was preparing to plunge a sword into the heart of a dragon. Where are your flames now?

He gave a fierce cry, forcing the arrow to cut through the air. Your flames have consumed me. They're mine now. His eyes were open, and he saw everything in high resolution. Allium's skin sort of caved in on itself when it entered her windpipe, and then conformed around the metal as it pierced her. Blood sprayed up like a sprinkler, speckling his face and arms, staining his clothes. Vermillion ran down her throat as she choked on herself. Screaming again, Reed twisted the arrow in her throat, before ripping it free and slamming it into her open mouth. She convulsed beneath him for a moment, gurgling and gagging on crimson.

He jerked it free again. "You-" Down. "Will-" Up. "Not-" Down. "Break-" Up. "Me!" One last stab lodged the arrow in her eye. He screamed at her, moved to pull at it again, but a set of strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him away. Reed kicked and thrashed against the mass, yelled at it to let him go, to let him tear the monster to pieces. Let me kill it!

Steve turned so that he could block Allium's lifeless form with his body, and set Reed down. He kept his hands rooted firmly to Reed's shoulders, who was freaking out, struggling, pleading to be released. "Calm down," he said.

"I need to- I need to make sure she can't do it again, she can't do it again, I need to just-"

"Calm down!" Steve's voice hiked in intensity, and it silenced Reed immediately.

For a moment they just stared at one another, Steve with concern, Reed with a mixture of hatred, confusion, and helplessness. And then, like a dam had just been torn down, a sob broke free of Reed's throat and the tears came. Everything hurt. His face, his body, his heart.Everything. And the only thing he could possibly do in that moment was cry. Wails wracked his body, shook him to the core, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Steve looked uncomfortable, but after a few seconds of watching the boy in ruins, he leaned closer and, as if on instinct, wrapped his arms around the boy. "It's okay, shh, it's okay, Reed..."

Reed, against his own will, pressed his face into Steve's shoulder and let himself go. He felt an insurmountable amount of shame at himself, at how weak and vulnerable he was acting. "Soldiers don't cry," he whispered. Soldiers stay strong for everyone else.

"Reed, even soldiers have to cry sometimes. It's okay, no one thinks you're a baby for doing it." Steve perked up. "Hey, what's something that's red and bad for your teeth?"

Reed shrugged, mumbling against Steve's shirt. "How the hell should I know?"

Steve chuckled. "A brick." Against all odds, Reed managed to chuckle. Okay, that one was pretty funny. Steve nudged him. "What did the pirate say on his eightieth birthday?" His manipulated his voice so that it was scratchy. "Aye matey."

It took Reed a second to get it, but when he did, he let out a tinkle of a laugh. He pulled away from Steve's shoulder, which was now soaked down to his armpit from tears, giving he impression of a very sweaty guy. Reed laughed at that, too, and looked up at Steve. "You're not too bad, spider monkey."

"What's grey and can't fly?" He paused for emphasis. "A parking lot."

Reed nearly smacked him upside the head. "Well no duh, Sherlock. Now you're just trying too hard." They shared a laugh. Reed's stomach joined in the fun, too, growling.

Steve stood, offering Reed a hand. "We should probably go find something to eat."

Reed smiled, taking it, and they began their trek in search of food. "Sounds good, spider monkey."

"What, no peasant?" Steve joked.

"Nope," Reed said, "I'd say you're up to soldier standards. We're soldiers. And if we have to, we're gonna kick major ass."

We march until morning,
We offer no warning,
Our arrival is a surprise,
We're prepared for the scorning.

If the others hate us, so be it,
They can scream and punch and spit.
We won't care, not one bit.
Because we are fighters, we don't quit. 

~

DISTRICT 9 MALE - STEVE YOUNG

Try different spacing in order to keep italics.

The caves grew worse the further the two boys went. Steve was tired of walking and running from the things that went bump in the night. Legs sore, shoulders sore, and his head aching, he was plain tired from the Games. In the Districts he'd grown used to long hours of labor and little to eat...but the tiny amounts of food and nourishment they'd gotten from seaweed--which Reed complained about for over an hour before finally eating--wasn't enough to satisfy him. It probably would have if I didn't have to give so much of it to that damn kid.

"I'm tired," Reed stated. Not again. He stopped moving and stood next to the wall with his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face. "We rest now."

Steve sighed, "Kid, we gotta keep movin'. Otherwise things will get worse and worse."

"No, Peasant! Do not address me as such. I am your King and you are a lowly spider-monkey. We stop here to rest. Go--go fetch some food or somethin'," he said with the casual wave of the hand. Reed sat down criss-crossed and began playing with some rocks--banging them against the wall and watching the white sparks that fell.

Being an adult wasn't Steve's favorite thing but he seemed to be getting used to it. The kid was almost fun in a weird sort of way, as if he was much, much younger instead of twelve. Dammit, why'd he have to be a kid? I like little ones too much. The scrawny boy was adorable despite the scars that were visible on him. Someone messed him up bad, or maybe he did it to himself. Must be a lot of adventures. His hair had messed itself entirely up and his outfit was much too big, which only made Steve's heart melt faster than ice on a hot stove. Reed would have to die in order for Steve to win but for some reason...it was bothering him more than it should. I shouldn't be helpin' him anymore. I gotta win. I gotta go home. He's a kid, he ain't got nothing to live for.

"But doesn't that give him somethin' more to live for?" he asked in a whisper. Steve didn't want anyone to accidentally hear him talking to himself. It was bad enough that he was walking alone in the dim caves for food, leaving the vulnerable kid out in the open, but he had no weapons. Nothing at all. Even if he did find something other than that god-awful seaweed, how would he catch it? Cook it? Dammit! I'm tired of this. I want to go home.

A shuffle.

Damn bugs. Steve squinted, trying to see in the darkness. It shuffled again, soft and nearly human like. Maybe they'd cook good? On a whim, he walked closer to the sides. A blur scuttled away into the dark again, leaving behind only a tall shell coated in a sticky gray substance.

"Huh?"

Bending in to get a better look, Steve recoiled. A foul smell hit him as he recognized a pair of light green eyes staring blankly up at him. Though she wasn't beautiful, Wynder had been pretty in a weird sort of way. Her brown hair framed her stark white face. Everything stood out so suddenly. The scar on her nose. The bruising around her lips and neck. Those green, green eyes stood out the most.

"Oh fucking hell," he whispered, "that thing--it was eating her."

Can they get her body out of here?! Fuck! She must've been here for days. She stinks. Steve fell back against the wall behind him and breathed in the cleaner air. Her smell was lingering and overbearing, making him wonder how he hadn't noticed it earlier.

They were eating a tribute. Not just any tribute but the girl from twelve who wasn't shy but sensible and who hadn't done anything to deserve it. So many people deserved that death and yet it was given to her. Bile burnt his throat and suddenly he could smell acid instead of death.

"Reed can't see this."

It was the only thing in that dammed arena that got him to stand up and go back to her dead body. Steve held the thought and carried it in his mind as he drug her through the maze to where he knew the boiling water was. There he threw her in and spit in the water as she boiled. The smell only grew worse.

Steve hated that smell worse than anything. It lingered for what felt like hours as he scavenged for food. His search only ended up at the mouth of the caves were a pool of water lay coated with the seaweed. As he grew weak and faint Steve knew he had to get back soon, so he quickly picked up several handfuls of the seaweed and began to go back. It was almost worse than Wynder.

"Why aren't musicians like dead bodies? Because one composes while the other decomposes!" Steve laughed, a sick, bubbling sound that rose and stuck in the air. It died off slowly, slinking back into the darkness it originated from. "God, I've lost it now. Real slick."

The jokes were getting worse. Worse, worse, worse. "Carl, a law firm worker, lay on his deathbed. Beside him sat his partner of forty years, Jack," Steve began. His chest hurt and the seaweed was slippery in his arms, soaking his clothes. "Carl knew he was dying and confessed to his friend, 'I have to tell you...I've been sleeping with your wife for years now, I'm the father of your son, and I stole thirty thousand from you last year.' Jack only nodded his head and patted his friends arm."

A pause. Steve was getting closer to where he'd left Reed. The boy had probably fallen asleep waiting on him, which made Steve smile to think about. Cute kid. I bet he snores like a damn bear.

"Finally, Jack spoke and said, 'I know. That's why I poured the arsenic in your drink two nights ago.'" His laugh came out again, so cold and near hysterical. "God, I miss home. I need home. A bed. Something warm. Shelia."

In the distance he could hear people yelling. Fighting. Some little girl crying out in--Reed! The seaweed fell to the ground and he bolted, tiredness forgotten. The yelling grew louder the closer he got, his heart pounding fast. Thudthudthudthud. One continuous sound.

"Steve!" Reed was crying out his name. Struggling. The boy had already lost people who were supposed to help him--Steve wasn't going to let himself become one of them.

The second he got back to the opening Steve froze. That crazy chick was there. His thoughts clouded. She was red in the face and just barely held back by Reed's thin arms as she tried to bash his skull in with a blood-coated rock. Everything about her screamed insane. Fuck.

"Steve!" Reed could see him now. His poor little eyes were teary and lost. "Steve!" Shoulders shook. Every inch of the boy's body shook. He was going to die. "Steve!"

A jolt.

Clouds shifted. Sunlight in a mind of gray. Wheels twisting. The smallest trickle of red fell from Reed's nose. Reed. Steve couldn't hear. He couldn't think. A name filled him. Hatred brought him forward. His feet moved without telling him and within seconds his entire body swung into action.

He flung himself into the skinnier girl and tossed her against the wall. A grunt. Then she turned and bashed his side with the rock. Pain exploded in bright whites and harsh yellows but he ignored it. Reed. Steve was on autopilot. All he heard was that name. Reed.

His voice was screaming. Allium was punching with that rock like it was a gold medal and she won every time she got a hit. Blood dripped from his shirt but he wasn't in the mood to care. There was no pain, only colors and faint memories of it. Just like how soon there would be no Allium...only memories of a terrifying girl.

He managed to land a hit to her face and watched as she cried out, hands flying up to touch the sore spot as he hoisted himself on top of her. Allium was ready to kill and easily kicked up, sliding in her elbows, but Steve was strong enough to pin her down and slam his fist into her windpipe. She choked on air as her hands fluttered in the air. The dying beats of butterfly wings.

Reed. She was saying something. His name. Spitting it. "I'll fucking kill you both!" she taunted, "but first I'll torture that little bit of yours."

It wasn't right. The girl couldn't have truly wanted to kill, Steve could see it in her eyes that she didn't, yet still her words rolled out. She cursed and struggled. The pain was there suddenly, biting at him, stinging. His side was cut deep and her legs grated against it as she fought to escape.

"I have to win," she was saying. "I have to win."

Words were cheap and Steve knew hers were nothing. His first drove into her windpipe again before he wrapped his fingers around her neck and held firm. Her heartbeat was the same as his--fast, unceasing. Thudthudthud. Then, like paper, it did cease. A boom in the distance sounded right after, letting him know it was done.

She was done. Her face stared up at him like that of Wynder's. Lifeless. I...killed her. She had my heartbeat and I killed her.

Steve breathed heavily as he let go and rolled off her. I killed her. He needed a distraction. Something. Anything would do. Whatever it took to get the images of death out of his head. Deep inside he knew those images would haunt him until the day he died, never allowing for him to see the light of day without hearing those gasps Allium had made as her final seconds of life were stolen.

Reed moved over close to Steve, his eyes wide and his body still shaking slightly. "You--you better dispose of that," he said, trying to be as imposing as always. It didn't work. "Steve, you-"

"I will. Later."

A pause. Wheels continued to shift in Steve's head as the weight of what he'd done began to fall on him. He'd taken a life...but not for me, for Reed. I saved him. Oh god, what's wrong with me? His side was burning and icy all at once, his shirt dripping down red easily. With blurry eyes Steve looked at it and dismissed it, as if hoping it wouldn't exist.

"Thank you," Reed whispered. The shadows on his face were deep and darker than before, amplified by the now dark bruises that covered his nose and right cheek. The two sat there, uncertain, scared. Fat drops rolled down Reed's cheeks and he rubbed at them angrily. As the seconds ticked by he sniffed and rubbed again, more falling despite his every intention to stop them.

With a sigh, Steve wrapped an arm around the kid and pulled him close. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. Sleep was overtaking him quickly and his eyes shut tight together, as if glued. Reed was held against his good side and Steve used the younger boy's head as a pillow. For once, Reed didn't fight back.

~

DISTRICT12 MALE - KALE EMRYS

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