𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 - finnick odair

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐫

It wasn't every day that a lower district tribute stuck out among the masses, and Neo knew that Ares was an interesting case. Interesting enough that, after the interviews, he and his mentor, Beetee, quickly put together the pieces of how this year's games would go.

Ares would make it to the end. And with him, Neo would too.

So, when he asked Ares what he was doing, it was genuine. Ares wasn't following the prediction that was carefully calculated for him. He was straying from the designated role as the Angel with the saviour complex; not good enough not to kill when necessary, but not bad enough to kill on sight.

"I'm playing the game," Ares told him nonchalantly in response, twirling his sword with the flick of his wrist as he began to close the distance with purpose.

"We can work together. I know what the next trial is going to be. I worked it out, and I'll be able to work out the next one after it as well. It's all predictable. There are clues everywhere." Neo's eyebrows pulled together. He was becoming nervous and Ares' blank expression wasn't helping.

With every step Ares took forward, Neo found himself taking one back. This was not in any of his calculations. Ares was different. He was changed.

"You're not supposed to be like this. You were supposed to be reasonable!"

"You mean merciful?" Ares tilted his head with an amused quirk to his lips. He gestured to the body of Blaze behind him with a flourish. "Maybe he's dead now, but he helped me realize something that I'm sure all you Careers already know. If I want to win, I can't keep letting people get away. It's counterproductive. Surely, you of all people understand."

"How many have you killed?" Neo questioned, realization dawning. That was the one variable he couldn't account for. He had to assume that Ares would come out on the other side as the golden boy, still as sweet as the angel the Capital coined him as. But he wasn't golden anymore. He was dripping in blood with wounds far deeper than what met the eye. His clothes were drenched a darker shade and his skin was smeared with the vibrant colour from Blaze and Madeva. His entire demeanour screamed of careful restraint on the verge of losing it, guilt and forced numbness creating the mask of indifference he wore now.

"Six," Ares revealed, swinging down his sword in one long arch that Neo didn't quite manage to dodge. The blade grazed his shoulder and he let out a loud cry of pain. "You're from District Three, you're smart. That's twenty-five percent."

"But it was all self-defence, right?" Neo gasped as he sidestepped another strike.

He just needed to push the right buttons to dismantle the ticking bomb that was Ares about to explode. Ares was right; he did manage to kill twenty-five percent of all the tributes. However, Neo was all too aware that they were also now among the top twenty-five percent remaining. Anyone who made it this far would be strong, especially compared to him considering he wasn't exactly the best fighter, relying more on his intelligence. If he wanted to survive, he needed Ares as his pawn.

Always a pawn, never a king.

Beetee warned him that if he waited too long he'd lose Ares. But neither of them could have predicted the games to go this quick.

"Everything is self-defence here," Ares gritted out, taking a step back to try and find a better way. It was hard when Neo was agile and fast; he evaded every strike somehow with a prowess that Ares hadn't encountered with anyone before considering most of the other tributes were larger and offence-oriented in their fighting. But Neo didn't have a weapon to wield, having dropped it after killing Osiris, and that wouldn't do.

Ares could already feel the weight of the camera on him and the millions of eyes watching his every move. Maybe it took a while for him to understand that he needed to let go of his prior inhibitions stopping him from putting his all into the Games, but he at least was already well-versed in how to play things up the way he knew people wanted.