RENEGADE [THE HUNGER GAMES - FINNICK ODAIR] - DISCONTINUED

CHAPTER 13

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from The Hunger Games trilogy all rights go to Suzanne Collins. I do however own Quinn and her story.

The bright white light was blinding as it burned her ice blue irises, robbing her of vision and orientation. She was almost suffocated by the pungent smell of disinfectant as it hung thickly in the air, coating her lungs as her dry mouth gasped for clean breath. As her eyes adjusted, she viewed her wired prison as cables connected to every viable vein. Panic set in as she tried to stand, only to find her right arm had been anchored to the bed with a thick metal cuff.

Heavy footsteps approached; two marching in perfect synchronisation, one lagging behind. As instinct kicked in, she scanned the room and her eyes landed on the surgical table that sat just out of reach to her left – but that would never stop her. Her cuffed wrist burned against the metal as she stretched as far as she could, racing against the steady beat of the approaching footsteps. Her hand felt as though it might rip from her arm as her fingertips grazed the handle of a scalpel. Gritting her teeth in pain and blinking back the involuntary tears that glistened in her eyes, she lurched forward once more, ignoring the thick warm blood that trickled down her arm from its metal cage as she obtained her weapon and the door slid open.

Without stopping to think, the scalpel left her hand and soared through the thick disinfectant fumed air. A flash of dirty blonde hair whipped round as the blade embedded itself deep into the doorframe.

"Holy Hell, Quinn!" The man yelled in fright as he turned towards her, widened blue eyes meeting her own. Haymitch. "What is it with women trying to kill me with medical equipment, today?" He huffed as he strutted further into the room, followed by two other men that held themselves like soldiers. "Get that off her. She isn't a prisoner."

"Sorry, sir. It was the President's orders."

The dark-haired boy – who appeared to be younger than her – rushed over and removed the restraint whilst muttering numerous apologises that fell on deaf ears. Her reddened wrist fell from the metal cuff and she rubbed it gently before attempting to stand. A soft hiss escaped her lips as she applied her weight to the leg that had been covered in soft white bandages – completely forgetting the explosion that she would later find out had shattered it. As a sharp pain shot through her bones, she tumbled forward only to be caught by the man in front of her.

"You stink of liquor." Quinn mumbled as she gritted her teeth and stood once more.

"I believe the words you were looking for were 'thank you, Haymitch, you are my hero'." The older man retorted, his tone thick with sarcasm. "Be careful on that leg, as miraculous as Capitol medicine is, it's not completely healed."

The stone hallways of the infamous District 13 were dark and felt cold. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and her fingers twitched in anticipation. The new surroundings felt odd to her and despite the familiar face, she wanted to run. She wanted to fight her way out with every ounce of energy that she could muster.

Growling in frustration whenever Haymitch grabbed her arm to aid her in her hobble, she slowly made her way towards the meeting room: "Who else made it out?" She asked trying to mask the concern that shone through her tone.

"Yes, your boyfriend made it out." Haymitch nodded as he slowed down to allow her to catch up once more. "He's not completely himself but he's okay. Refused to leave your bedside until the doctor forced him to sleep." If Quinn had allowed herself to, she would have smiled. She might have even blushed under the man's knowing stare. "The Capitol were going crazy for you during the Games...turns out that the story of the Golden Boy who refused to give up on the cold-hearted girl was a real tear-jerker among the fancy folk." His hair brushed his shoulders as he shook his head with a chuckle whilst the girl scoffed and rolled her eyes, adamant that there was no story.