hope | c. snow

6

"Gahel Moon was alive?" Fetus Creed muttered, his dark eyes flickering over to calculate what this would mean. Gahel could tell his head going around to analyze the situation—crippled Gahel Moon, who looked terrible and injured, who wasn't able to prepare his tribute—

"Yes, I'm alive, Creed," Gahel sneered, cutting off the boy's thoughts. He limped over to the shorter boy and looked him down. "Why? Did you want me dead? You look awfully surprised to see me here."

Fetus retreated quickly. "No. Of course not."

Gahel's black eyes scanned him. "Good. I didn't expect anything less."

"Gahel," Coriolanus greeted pleasantly, and he turned to see Coriolanus coming down the stairs, looking perfect as always, his curly blond hair all settled down nicely and his uniform perfectly fitted.

Gahel wanted to clear up his appearance, but he couldn't right now because of the cane in his hand. He knew he probably looked like a mess, with his hair not combed correctly and wounds everywhere.

"Coriolanus," Gahel answered. "Feeling ready?"

Coriolanus shrugged. "Same as always."

Gahel glanced at the blond boy's blue eyes, which were wandering toward others, and swallowed whatever he was about to say. "Sit down. You don't want to be lookin' like an idiot when it starts."

Coriolanus looked at the tall boy in confusion, his brows furrowing when a cameraman interrupted them.

"Over here, please."

Gahel grabbed Coriolanus' arm and flashed a perfect smile at the camera while Coriolanus just blinked, and with a flash of the light, the photo was taken.

Coriolanus looked at Gahel for an explanation, but he was already seated in his seat before Coriolanus could ask him anything.

Coriolanus pursed his lips in distaste but knew that Gahel wouldn't move from his seat, especially with his new ... inconvenience.

A pity, really. But Coriolanus doubted that it would be a negative aspect of his future plans. No. This was a chance given by God that landed right in front of him to kick out one of the most threatening competitions in his way.

Coriolanus sat down and ignored what Lucky Flickerman was saying as he scanned the room to look at what everyone else was doing.

A good portion of them were gone to begin with since their tributes died before the actual Games, and among those who remained, most kept sweating profusely or praying, while some just stoically looked ahead at the screen.

"Five, four, three, two," said Lucky.

"One," Coriolanus whispered.

The anthem came on, and Lucky tentatively turned back to the camera.

"Good morning, I'm Lucretius 'Lucky' Flickerman," said Lucky, suddenly becoming very serious. "A man who needs no introduction. Weatherman, amateur magician, and today, I'm honored to say... first-ever host of the Hunger Games."

Robotic applause came from the audience, and Coriolanus also clapped just to be polite.

"Thank you, thank you. In my hand, an envelope, sealed. My prediction, the winner to be opened by me upon the big show's end," Lucky was about to continue when a loud banging sound echoed, and he became very flustered. "Well, well... They're here. We're getting word... All right, we're about to start."

He tucked his envelope back in his jacket pocket and ran to the back, muttering some things on the way that Coriolanus didn't hear, too fixated on the screen.

The tributes all began to file in, all in their now-messy fancy clothes, except for Lamina, who had received her gift of clean clothes from Gahel.

Coriolanus could see Gahel nervously tapping his fingers against his desk, not looking like his usual calm self as his bloodshot eyes stared at the screen as if glaring at it would change the situation.

On the screen, the tributes were all being forced into their spots by the Peacekeepers, with the Peacekeepers standing behind them with their hands on their guns.

The tributes all began to scan the arena and seemed to realize that a lot changed in the arena with the bombing.

Coriolanus could tell that Lucy Gray was trying to pretend like she was surprised as if he hadn't told her what to do, but let go.

Coriolanus frowned in disgust as a tribute looked straight ahead and looked like she was about to puke until the camera closed up on what, rather, who she was looking at—Marcus.

He was in a terrible condition, his face beaten and bruised, and hanging by his tied arms in the middle of the arena as a display.

While Coriolanus did think that he deserved it—after all, he tried to run away—it wasn't a pleasure to see, especially on national TV.

Coriolanus crinkled his nose slightly.

"Ooh, Marcus," said Lucky. "Guess we can all sleep better now knowing he's off the streets."

Coriolanus half-expected the outburst that followed.

Sejanus threw his chair to the front and stalked forward to look at everyone in the room.

"You're monsters!" he yelled. "All of you!"

Everyone seemed surprised by the outburst, and Coriolanus now realized what Highbottom meant when he told him to get Sejanus a seat by the exit.

Lucky ignored the outburst and went on as if nothing happened. "Four, three, two, one."

"Run," Coriolanus whispered.

"Hide," Gahel muttered.

[p.s. I usually don't write author's notes because I think it's obnoxious, but I must write a short apology for the long wait. I don't even know if there are people still reading this, but sorry for the long wait/short chapter. I tried to write it quickly, but damn do mental illnesses hit hard. Let me know if there's any mistakes. I can't guarantee that I'll be back soon, but I'll try. Feel free to DM me for any questions or inquires related to this story.
-HAIL.]