DISTRICT ONE - Pyrite Mendelax
Frantic knocking rang throughout the building. Everyone was in the main dining area of the seafood restaurant we had commandeered, either planning attacks or just talking. We all had frozen, though, as our group’s self-appointed leader Iliana loaded her pistol and gingerly crept around a corner to the entrance of the restaurant. I had been talking to Amelia Mae at the time before, who was then only staring at me in shock.
“A citizen?” She mouthed. I nodded in reply as Iliana practically dragged a man in by the ears.
“We need you to medic now!” Iliana ordered, pointing to me and storming through the dining room into the kitchen, where we had set up a first aid room. I quickly followed in.
The kitchen was large and well spaced, and its shiny metallic surfaces fitted in well with the ‘hospital’ feeling the room now had. Along the centre of the room was a long table, half covered in supplies and half empty to act as a surgery table. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Iliana, after seating the man near the table, turned to me at the door.
“He’s ‘injured’,” she whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Please deal with him.” The emphasis on the word ‘deal’ made her point clear.
“Got it,” I nodded, starting to smile.
“Great.” She left and I walked up to the man.
He was a burly man of about thirty. He was tall while he walked in, although he had a limp in his left leg. His shoulders stooped low, like he hadn’t slept in a week. So did his eyes. His hair was wiry and black, short but messy around his crown. Grey dust and dirt caked the creases of his face. His cause for concern, seemingly his arm, was curled up close to his body.
“Eleanor,” I greeted, holding my hand out to his uninjured arm. Lie.
He examined me with narrow eyes before allowing his lips to curl up and eyes to crinkle. “Acanthus Antonius,” he replied in a thick Capitol accent. His grasp was firm and assured.
“Nice to meet you, Acanthus Antonius. Could you show me your arm?” I asked. He gently unfurled his arm, and as he did so deep purple blood started oozing out. The wound itself was long and ran lengthways down his arm, with puckered edges.
“Lengthways. I can’t stitch it, but I can try to stop the bleeding,” I sighed.
“Whatever you can do, Doc,” he answered with a wink, to which I replied with a giggle. I reached for the pads and bandages.
“Oh, I’m no doctor! Certainly not me. My father was the best healer in District 1, so he expected me to follow his footsteps. I never had a penchant for medicine, though,” I insisted. Lie. I pressed the pads to his wound hard and he winced.
“Why not? You’re a smart girl, I can tell,” he said. His Capitol accent was so stupid. I started rolling the bandages around the pads.
“You’re too kind, Acanthus.” He waved his good arm in dismissal.
“So, how did you come about a nasty cut like this?” I asked.
“Bombings. Rebel attacks, I would say. Wiped out my home, and, ah…” He faltered, looking down and rubbing his neck.
“Family?” I asked quietly.
“Not anymore,” he whispered back. There was a moment of silence.
“So,” I interjected, “A bomb, you think?”
“Uh, yes. Shattered glass sliced my arm open. I’m lucky this is all!”
“You certainly are,” I replied. “I would definitely expect more from a bomb.” That question might have been a bit too pointed.
“It was a different bomb than I’ve ever seen in the movies!” He swore, holding his good arm up in front of him. “It was specialised. It only affected a small area.”
“Now that I think of it, it does sound familiar. I think the girl from 3 mentioned it,” I said, looking away from him and down. Lie. He made a funny sound with his throat.
“No mind. I’m sure you had nothing to do with it. Every war has casualties.” Nevertheless, he swallowed hard.
“This is a sturdy base you have here,” he noted.
“Yes. It also used to be a beautiful little seafood place,” I said, perking up again. “One time when I ate here, I ordered mussels and one of them had a baby crab in them!” Lie.
“That’s amazing!” He gawked in return. “Forgive me for asking, but didn’t you say you were from District 1?” He asked.
“I’ve had frequent trips here my whole life. Rich parents, you see.” Lie.
“Of course. Forget I asked.” I secured the end of the last bandage and placed his arm across his chest to sling him up.
“Do you think there might be room for me in here?” he asked slowly and carefully. I started to answer, but he cut me off. “Only if you have some space. I’m sure you know that all the safety bunkers are officially closed, and because of the sudden war, I don’t have a home, or anything.” He choked up at the end, like he might start crying. That would be annoying.
“Well,” I started, “We might.” I tied off the ends of the sling, still standing behind him, and rested my hands delicately on his shoulders. “I’m certainly glad you came though, Acanthus,” I said, dropping my voice and volume by a tone as I started lazily trailing my hands down his back. He stiffened up.
His breathing quickened without him moving or resisting, but rather relaxing into the chair. One of my hands trailed back up and started drawing circles on his shoulder. My other hand quickly slipped into his pocket, pulling out a small handgun.
“I’m glad this was a gun,” I whispered into his ear. I pulled back from him and held the muzzle on his shoulder, both hands holding the grip and a finger on the trigger. He started chuckling.
“No, I’m just glad to see you,” he laughed. He slowly stood up, taking a step away from me and turning around. I let him. After all, I was the one with the gun. We were both smirking.
“So what gave me away?” he asked.
“Several things,” I replied.
“Like?”
“You certainly got over your wife’s death quickly, since you have already thrown out the ring, ‘Acanthus’.”
“Well, I’ve never heard a giggle so fake, ‘Eleanor’,” he replied.
“I’ve never seen a wound so fake.”
“You play the idiot role well, dear. It suits you.”
“Emotional blackmail is too smart for an average Capitol citizen,” I threw in.
“You hurt me with your words and stupid stories!” He gasped.
“And you have a stupid accent,” I sneered back.
“This is my normal accent, idiot.”
“Oh, I know.”
We were at a stand off. I held his weapon up, and he stood still. A chair separated the two of us.
“You wouldn’t be a half bad accomplice,” he said.
I played along. “Neither would yourself.”
“Could I trust you though?” He asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Ahh, but you know what I want. I’m simply in it for fun. That’s what sociopaths do. But you?”
“Don’t pretend you know me,” I warned.
“You,” he continued, pointing at me, “You lie for lying’s sake. For the thrill. But is that all?”
“You’re wrong.” Lie.
Maybe.
I kicked the chair away from between us, opening the gap. “Turn around,” I ordered. He held has hands up defensively and did as I told. I quickly took a step up, but before I could grab something to tie his hands with, he spun around and directed the gun away from him. We both had our hands on it, staring at each other in shock, but that clearly wasn’t optimal for either. We clutched the different parts and had fought over the handgun, occasionally shoving each other, until he finally overpowered me. With a big yank upwards, not only did I lose the gun, but I also fell forward into him. He was a fair bit taller than me, and he held the gun up out of my reach with a grin. I sighed.
Swiftly, I reached up for his jaw, cupping his face. “We would have made great partners,” I said. I flicked my wrists, flexing certain muscles in my arms to activate the concealed blades hidden beneath my sleaves. Before he could wipe the stupid grin off his face, the blades shot up through his chin and into his skull. They were long enough that they would have just surfaced his brain.
His limbs slumped, sending him crashing to the ground while still holding the gun away from me. His body lay on the floor as I wiped down the blades with some cloth, retracted them and washed my own hands of his blood. I sauntered out of the kitchen to Iliana with my head lifted.
“What happened?” She asked.
“I dealt with him.”
DISTRICT THREE - Eclaire Cyppel
Unlike in District Three, the stars here don't shine through the smog. The night sky holds an unnatural glow and is starless. The fires do nothing to help with that.
My throat burns as I glance at them; of shame for ditching the front line when looking at the rebel bodies, and of guilt for killing living, breathing human beings when looking at the peacekeepers. Before burning them, everyone said their goodbyes to our fellow rebels, but I stood at the back with Auriel and Meri because none of us had any connections to them. A few people cried and layed on a perticular body for hours, while others spend a few seconds on each and then went to get cleaned up. I was one of those people.
After a good amount of rebels left the fire, I took my leave and went to one of the few makeshift changing stations set up. I step inside and slap my shoes off and roll my socks into balls, cringing at the nasty smell they excrete. I replace them both and grab a fresh uniform from a rack behind the curtain while stepping inside myself.
Not a second after I pull the curtain, a bell rings three times, resonating around all of Glory Square. Three means to be on alert, but there appears to be no threat at the moment. Nevertheless I hang the clothes back up and sprint out of the curtain.
My feet pound the damaged tile of Glory Square as I run to where I last saw Auriel and Meri. Sure, the bell just might be signaling a false alarm, but back in District Thirteen during training we were taught to always be ready.
"Eclaire!" The alertness and urgency in Meri's voice scares me. I turn on my heel to face her, wisps of ebony hair floating into my vision.
"What's going on? Where's Auriel?"
Meri's nose perks up when I say Auriel's name. "Auriel told me she went to find you!" She sweeps back her sunstreaked hair and rocks on the balls of her feet.
"Well she didn't. Wait, told?" I tilt my head to the side.
"Yes, she spoke. God no, Eclaire, she wrote it down. I should have went with her."
"Hey. Auriel's a smart girl; she'll be fine. What we really need to worry about right now are the warning rings." I motion to the bell tower in the right corner of Glory Square and Meri nods.
"Okay. Lets go back to our quarters, but we need to keep an eyeout for Auriel." She doesn't wait for me to reply and starts to jog away.
Static blares from the speakers on the buildings in Glory Square. My ears perk up as a voice, Vibius Cretore's, rings out. "All soldiers who scored higher than a 900 on the Applicant Test please report to Headquarters immediantly!"
My chest stops heaving. That's me. Well me and two other people, but still me. I meet eyes with Meri, but she shows no emotion. She just motions for me to go, so I do.
***
Headquarters is a small coffee shop surrounded by security posts and mounds of cords. The moment I step into existence I am mobbed and rushed inside.
At the first table sits our leader, Vibius Cretore, and across from him a peasant man with a bandage running down his right arm.
I pull up a chair and listen to the man speak. He tells me of a possible bombing and we decide to make our way underground for safety. The man, though, somehow disappears and is not seen again.
DISTRICT FOUR - Meri Chenelle
The rebel camp was silent, the aftermath of the previous battle quietly evident. Tents had been set up in the centre of the square, and there were sandbags piled around the perimeter. In the corner a smoking pyre was all too visible, the mark of the eight who had died in the battle. No one who Meri had known lay in the fire. She hadn't bothered to socialise much, though Auriel and a girl called Eclaire had been sticking around her. Meri could remember eating eclairs once back at home. It felt strange to be talking to someone named after confectionary.
"Meri! Hey, Meri!" Meri looked up to see the bun herself. She supposed she shouldn't be calling her a bun, and neither should she be calling Auriel the mute, but it helped differentiate the two from the rest of the mindless, faceless rebels patrolling the camp.
"Hey Eclaire," Meri muttered. She didn't mind Auriel so much, seeing as she couldn't talk or anything, but Eclaire still had a tongue. It seemed she also felt some strange urging to use it.
"I brought you some food," Eclaire tried, holding out a small bit of bread. Rations were already small, Meri noted drily.
Auriel smirked as Meri grunted and started eating. The Avox from Nine seemed to enjoy being around someone who didn't require her to speak, and knew better than to make offerings of friendship, especially when Meri was in a mood.
"I'm going for a walk," Meri muttered, getting up. She needed to do something; all this sitting around meant that there was room in her head for thoughts. Bittersweet ones; the smell of the kitchen when their father had finished baking. The lavender perfume that had always clung to her granny. She shook her head and concentrated on counting the number of steps it took to get from one end of the square to the other.
Meri wished there was something she could plan. A prank, anything. She'd signed up for this whole thing in the hope of having something to do, and now she was even more bored than she had been back in Thirteen. Meri was so lost in scowling at the cobblestones that she didn't notice the man hovering at the edge of the square.
"Who're you?" She grumbled as her shoulder collided with his. It was hard to see in the dim light, but he seemed tall. His features look like any other gaudily dressed Capitol citizen.
"Julius Justinius, at your service," he bowed, almost mockingly. Meri's scowl attempted to deepen.
"What're you doing here? They'll shoot you on site, y'know."
"I know, and I'm so sorry, honestly. I just wanted to have a look at the camp, I'm so sorry."
Meri crossed her arms, "Look, what do you want, honestly? I'm not going to give you information, or anything."
Julius laughed, "Oh no, nothing like that I can assure you. I just wanted to have a look around, like I said. My grandson's seven, and he loves all the warfare and fighting kind of stuff. I wanted to be able to tell him I'd just had a quick look!"
"Seriously, mister, you expect me to let you in on that?"
"Just a quick minute! Doesn't it get boring around here anyway?"
Meri thought about it. On the one hand, they weren't supposed to let anyone in, but on the other...at least if he was a spy something interesting would happen. She sighed.
"Fine. Two minutes, that's all," she glared at him.
Julius's smile was enough to convince her that he was genuine, and Meri stepped aside. Eclaire and Auriel were looking curiously at her from afar. She shrugged. It was none of their business anyway.
DISTRICT FIVE - Amelia Watton
The bodies of our dead friends and comrades lie unmoved in the Square, the dark uniforms contrasting with the countless waves of white that lay too in the Square. People suggested we bring them in as a sign of respect, and I couldn’t help but think how silly that would be- I’m lucky Vibbius thought so too. What’s dead is dead- move forward and don’t look back. If these people here are already feeling so much remorse for someone they didn’t know- for someone who knew their actions and the consequences- then we will never make it out alive, much less win the war. No, we can’t bring the bodies in because countless more will be added- especially if we let our guard down by mourning deaths we knew would come. However, it was finally agreed to burn them into ashes, and so the flames grow tall in the two piles of dead bodies. Perhaps the ashes of the dead will be reborn again, though I was never one for strange philosophies.
It’s nightfall, just before eight in the evening and the twenty of us are huddled in the basement of one of the stores, the actual store itself ravaged in the wake of the rebellion,, hangers and mannequins flung every which way across the floor. Inconspicuous enough to not be investigated, yet the majority of us were weary of the fact that there was no doubt there were people watching our every move.
The basement was a decent size, the twenty of us huddled in two circles passing around maps and canned food. The dim light casts strange shadows against the walls and a sense of fear is etched into everyone’s mind, even if they cast it off as nerves. The silence electrifies the air, keeping everyone weary of intruders.
A shout emanates from upstairs- the store, and everyone jumps, fearful eyes glance about as Vibbius and Peter stand to investigate. They load their guns as the rest of us watch in stunned silence. Vibbius tells us that we ought to keep quiet- if we don’t hear from them in two minutes to assemble and investigate. They leave in a rush, their footsteps echoing on the stairs as the rest of us are left with an unknown sense of danger. I see a couple people stand up, but I can’t be bothered with their names. I take the cue and stand up myself, moving towards the corner that the stairs are situated in, able to see the people come down the stairs but them not able to see me. Better to be safe than sorry, I guess. No one paid me any mind anyways.
There was the sound of shouts and clanging and wails upstairs, and I counted down on the watch on my wrist the two minutes. One minute before we went up there. At the thirty second mark, the sound of banging grew distant, and we could hear the sound of footsteps above us. The basement door was flung open, Vibbius and Peter hauling another man behind them. Vibbius pushed him to the middle, his hands tied behind his back, his clothes tattered and his arm cut.
Vibbius shouted to everyone to take a step to the wall, and within a minute everyone was pushed against the wall with the unknown man in the center with Vibbius. “Now,” his voice came out cold and laced with authority, “state your name and why you are out here in the midst of a war.”
The man, wearing a frayed and torn white shirt and jeans that were dirty and ripped at the knee, looked down and murmured quietly, his voice laced with a twang only found in District Ten. “I’m sorry sir, y’see I was out back in Ten and y’know this whole fighting started to happen and so I told my fam’ly, ‘Fam’ly, we gotta get outta here’. We came to the Capitol and they all died. No one would take me in, y’see. I was trying t’find a place t’stay an’ I wandered into this Square. I got shot and need some help. The name’s Julius, no last name.”
I stared at him, his strange green eyes staring at Vibbius. Something was off about him- I was sure something was up with his story about District Ten, but there was no way to tell, since the people from Ten are dead. We had no sources to rely on.
Vibbius squinted at him. “You said you came here by train?” I watched the man’s reaction, weighing in my own thoughts. The man never said anything about a train, so the question was obviously formed by Vibbius to test if the man was lying.
“No sir, I never said that. My fam’ly an’ I travelled to Two, since that’s the closest one an’ all to us, an’ we caught a truck and hid in there ‘til we got to the Capitol. My fam’ly died before we made it though- a bomb caught our truck and sent ‘em flying to heav’n. You guys seem like nice folk, though- I beg you to help me.”
My eyes widen. I knew it! I try to walk over to Vibbius as collected as I can, though I end up shaking with a mix of fear and giddiness- I knew there was something up with him, and I just found it. I whispered into Vibbius’ ear. As I walk back to my place in the corner, I see everyone else murmuring amongst themselves, and I feel like a show-off.
Vibbius’ eyes darken, and he coughs into his sleeve, staring at the man. “So Julius, it’s come to my attention you didn’t reside in Ten. Care to explain who the hell you are?”
The man’s eyes flash with fear for a moment, his green eys glint in the light, but as soon as I spot it, it’s gone- replaced with a smile that seems almost real. “I don’t know what you guys are talkin’ about. I tell ya, my fam’ly and I, we came here- I just need a place t’stay! Please sir!” Vibbius nods, a smile forming on his lips. He gives a slight nod to Peter, who before that was standing with the others, watching the man carefully- no one believes he is who he says he is, it’s obvious, yet no one knows who he really is. Peter shakes his head, motioning to Enoch, the shady one from four, to load his gun, and he walks up behind Julius, his expression hard.
“You see, Julius,” Vibbius begins, his capitol accent drawing out the ‘s’, “I can’t seem to believe you. I mean, last I heard, people from Ten never say ‘you guys’. I mysel have spent time in Ten, and I know for sure they don’t say that. Wanna know what they say? ‘Y’all’. Now, for the last time before Enoch over here blows your brains out, who in the bloody hell are you?”
Julius’ face turns into a dark stare. He speaks, his voice low and his jaw jutting out. “I’m telling you, sir. I’m from Ten, if you won’t believe me, fine. But if ya blow my brains out, jus’ let me tell ya- you’re gonna regret it.”
Vibbius cocks his head to the side, his eyebrow raising. “Is that so? Enoch, I don’t think we appreciate intruders in here, do we? Nor do we approve of Capitol intruders. Take him out.”
Julius glowers at Vibbius, and he spits at his feet. His voice is raised in a shout, his accent gone. “You fool! I am Julius! You can’t kill me! I am Julius Justinius- I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted- I can give you riches or infiltrate whatever you want. Are you that dim to not know who I am! I can help you all. You all will pay for this. Someday, you will pay for what you shall do to me! I swear it!”
The gunshot rings in the silent air.
DISTRICT SEVEN - Canary Thicket
It's not easy being a rebel. Before I signed up I thought it simply consisted of fighting for what you believe in and being rewarded. I didn't think about all the blood, sweat and tears that went into being a rebel. You have to fight for everything, and never look back on your previous mistakes.
Clearly the man before me has never heard the tales of the nightmares soldiers experience after their first mission. Mine still plague my dreams every night, the tortured screams of those I have witnessed die sounding over and over, until they cannot scream anymore. Why else would you be insane enough to approach a misfit group of rebels in the middle of a popular destination in the place we're opposing?
"So why do you want to join us?" I ask again, eyeing the man narrowly. He is reasonably tall, and his stature suggests that he is suspiciously proud of himself. He keeps his face emotionless and refuses to meet my eyes.
"I can help you," he replies. "There are things I know about the Capitol that would make your beady little eyes pop right out of your head, little girl."
I roll my eyes. "First of all, my eyes are not beady and I'm also not a little girl so unless you'd like me to kick you in the gut I suggest you quit it with the snarky comments."
He shrugs, "Your wish is my command."
An unsettling silence hangs in the air. I glance backwards to where a group of my fellow rebels had headed to scout out the area for supplies. The man sighs in front of me, and holds out a trembling wrist coated with blood.
"What'd you do?"
He lets out some sort of gasp, as if the injury is deadly and killing him from the inside as we speak. "They're after me," he pants, "I'm trying to help you, but they found out and so they came after me. You have to let me come with you." "Why should we trust you?" I say, "You're Capitol."
"You have Capitol's with you," he retorts, "I've seen them. Plus, you never leave a man behind in battle, it's the first rule a rebel learns."
He's wrong, the first rule is to always be prepared, but I'm too tired to correct him. I shrug, "Well it's not my decision anyway. Go talk to someone else if you're that desperate to trail us."
He raises an eyebrow, "Oh, is that so?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," he shrugs off the question. "You just seem like the ringleader type, I suppose. I just guessed that you called the shots around here - literally."
Trying not to smile at his mildly amusing joke, I turn my back on him and begin to walk back to the rebels. "Sorry, like I said it's not my decision."
"Please," he begs, grabbing my shoulders. I wince and turn around to face him, watching as his eyes water and he clutches at his wrist, once again showing off the deep cut. "You have to help me."
"I don't help the Capitol," I state.
The man persists, "I'm not Capitol, I'm on your side I promise. Please, you can't just leave me out here! I'll die and that's exactly what they want! Don't you need all the help you can get? You're fighting a war here, surely the more people you have on your side, the better your chances of winning are. Just let me come with you, I won't cause any trouble."
"We don't know anything about you," I reply, remembering all the stories I've heard of spies who have tried to infiltrate the rebels. The endings...well I don't like to remember those, I just store them away with the rest of my nightmares.
He looks desperate. "My name is Julius, Julius Justinius and I am a Capitol rebel. I have worked in the inner circle for years, and I am willing to trade my knowledge in return for some medical attention. Surely there is no way you can turn down my offer."
I watch his body language carefully, the way his feet shuffle show how nervous he is, as if he has something to hide, but the look of sheer desperation plastered across his face suggests that this man truly does need our help, not to mention the sparkle in his eye that states he knows something we don't. And we need to know it.
"Alright," I say, pulling my axe out from my belt. He flinches, and clenches his fists together as he watches me circle him. I don't know what I'm doing, but I've seen people of importance train the soldiers this way so I figured I would give it a try.
"What's with the axe?" he dares to ask.
"Just my protection," I reply. "Listen, I suppose you can tag along with us, just stay in the back and if I hear anything bad about you I will not hesitate to slice you right in half with my axe. Do we understand each other Julius?"
He nods meekly, "Crystal."
"I don't trust the Capitol," I tell him, "Prove me wrong."
He scampers off to have someone look at his wound as I slot my axe back into my belt and take a seat on the water fountain. I shouldn't have let him join us, I wasn't lying when I said it wasn't my decision and I truly do not trust the Capitol. If they are willing to kill children, who knows what their rebels are capable of doing. I don't enjoy threatening people, I'm not some monster from the Capitol who needs to be caged. I'm just trying to figure out what's right.
The others have begin to set up base for the night, as they discuss between them who will take watch at several points through the night. Sleeping has become an ordeal, as you never know who you can trust within your own organisation. Normally I don't sleep much, kept awake by nightmares of my own team turning against me. It doesn't end after the fighting, it stays with you long after that. It's not easy being a rebel. Being a rebel will never be easy.
DISTRICT EIGHT - Taffeta Awl
Taffeta was one of the few members of the rebel group who didn't have a friend that had died. Sure, there had been the boy from her own district, and the girl she had trained beside a few times back in Thirteen, but that was it. Nobody who she had trusted with her deepest secrets, or laughed with.
She had stood by watching the flames of the funeral pyre burn with a down turned head for just long enough to be polite, then offered to take watch in the place of a grieving man. Now, she stood watching the deepening darkness for any signs of movement, her bow slack in her hands and her bo leaning against the wall beside her.
From the corner of her eye she saw a figure pull itself from the, without a pause she notched an arrow and swung it around towards the staggering man, her mind taking a moment to register that it wasn't a Peacekeeper and in fact a Capitol citizen. She swung her bow over her shoulder, grabbing a hold of her bo and walking forward. The man held his arm across his chest, keeping his head bowed and almost falling to either side as he walked.
"Identify yourself," Taffeta called, stopping a few metres away from the man. At the sound of her voice, he looked up, confusion etching his features, until his eyes focused on her and he took a step forward before being stopped by the end of her bo.
"Mademoiselle, thank god, I was beginning to think I would never find the blessed rebelles!" He spoke in a thick accent from one of the old languages, switching back and forth between it and the English most of Panem spoke. "I have been injured, mademoiselle, by the Peacekeepers." He presented his trembling cut open arm and Taffeta lowered her weapon, knowing that anyone that was injured by a Peacekeepers wouldn't dare take that side. "Do you need medical help sir?" she asked turning slightly, "It is late but I'm sure one of our numbers can patch you up." However, before she could turn completely, the man launched forward, grabbing her arm just beneath the wound she had recently acquired, sending a shot of pain through her. Grinding her teeth to not show the man, she turned back.
Light spilled over his features, illuminating his pale hair and rich purple eyes. His face was remarkably familiar to Taffeta, surfacing from her life in Eight, yet she could not place the arch of his eyebrows, or the curve of his jaw. She glanced down at his hand, still wrapped around her upper arm, and shrugged it off, tightening her grip on her bo.
"I just need to speak with your supervisors, I have information on the Peacekeepers that they should know about," slowly she nodded, gesturing to the building they would go to. Turning, Taffeta took a step, then launched herself to the side as she heard the click of a gun being loaded, a second after she hit the ground the gunshot rang out, alerting the other rebels.
"He has a gun!" she screamed, fumbling to notch an arrow from her spot on the ground as around her the awoken rebels began taking up positions, many rising from where they had fallen asleep to be prepared for an attack just like this. The man, ignoring Taffeta on the ground, fired with accurate shots, taking out or wounding the closest rebels before turning and darting back into the shadows, the stagger replaced by limber speed.
Half a dozen rebels poured after him, yet returned after a few moments, shaking their heads about finding him. Taffeta remained on the ground, staring at the spot the man had disappeared. Thoughts ran through her mind, of how close she had been from bringing him to their leaders, to how close she had been to dying. Yet most of all what she realized, was that the government knew they were there, and just like the final two tributes in their precious Hunger Games, only one of the two groups could survive.
DISTRICT NINE - Auriel DeFarro
I've never been so paranoid.
As what remains of our group of rebels sits around the funeral pyre, I keep find myself looking backwards into the darkness. The light from the pyre doesn't even come close to filling the entire square. Something in the back of my mind is convincing me that someone's there, that somehow we're being watched.
"You okay? You look kind of jumpy," whispers Eclaire from beside me, resting her small hand on my shoulder. I nod slowly as I watch her face carefully, smiling as the firelight from the pyre turns her white face a flickering shade of pale orange. She doesn't look like she believes me, but as she turns back in the direction of the pyre she says nothing else.
I keep to myself as I watch the sparks fly up into the dark sky above, my mind everywhere but on the fire before me. What if someone's waiting out there with a gun, aiming it at my head at this very moment? What if more peacekeepers are circling the square, waiting until we're asleep to make their attack and kill us all?
There's so many 'what ifs' that it makes my head hurt.
Eventually, I can't take the what ifs anymore. I silently rise to my feet and begin to walk into the darkness, hearing nothing but my pounding heart and the sizzling of the flames.
Without even thinking about it I look down and press the button on my wrist, the arm band glowing a bright green as it activates. I hate using the thing, but I can regretfully remember that I agreed to trial it. Why I don't know, but I can say that hopefully this glitchy piece of crap will be useful to talk to anyone who happens to be out there.
"Is this thing on?" The voice sounds oddly proper, with a Capitol-type accent. They claim it detects my brain waves with a little machine they put in my head and turns them into words or whatever, but yet they can't create a voice that might sounds more real.
How they can collect my thoughts and put them into words but not make a voice that sounds less like a stuck-up snob is so stupid that it's almost funny.
"May the odds be ever in your favour!" I say, a large smile growing on my face as the sing-song accent fills my ears. "Auriel, go get me another glass of wine!"
"Help! Someone help!"
The voice sends chills down my spine as I stop in my tracks, my eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the noise. The voice is obviously not one of the rebels, but it's easy to tell that whoever it belongs to is in great pain.
"Hello? Who's there?" I'm not sure how far the Capitol-lady voice travels, but it's far enough for the source of the voice to cry back. I can't make out any words, but as the wail begins to fade I can tell that the source is somewhere to my right.
"Over here! Help!"
A few steps forward and I can see the man in the eerie green light of the wristband, blood dripping down his arm. He winces in pain as he runs his fingers through the blood that has stained the pavement, his face growing pale as he sees it on his fingers.
"Are you okay sir?" The voice seems to sounds happy with the familiar bounce, even when I'm concerned. I kneel down beside him and help him sit up, examining the wound on his arm carefully. "What happened."
"The rebels," he gasps, struggling not to cry out in pain as he speaks. "They attacked my neighbourhood, killed my family. We tried to run for one of the bunkers but they were all shot and killed. I almost got hit but I fell and scraped up my arm."
"This doesn't look like you just fell," I comment, examining the gash on his arm. "It looks like you were cut with something, like a knife or a piece of glass. Almost seems self inflicted."
His face pales a bit, but I don't say anything. "You don't possibly think I'm lying, do you?"
"Well, maybe you fell on a piece of glass. I can't say," the light on the machine flickers, causing us to fade into darkness for a brief second. "I'm just not exactly one that tends to to trust outsiders."
"But-"
"That's it. This conversation's over."
I begin to walk away slowly, not turning back. The man growls behind me, and almost instantly he runs up behind me and grabs my wrist. I can feel the cold metal of a gun pressed against my head,
"Okay, so tricking you to bring me back didn't work so well." He hisses. His voice is deeper then it was before, with a slightly different accent. "So you're going to tell me everything you know or get a bullet in the head."
"Well someone's a bit of a loose cannon, isn't he?" I find myself smiling as the voice bounces around happily, sounding utterly ridiculous. "You know, loose cannons can only work to a certain extent. They'll work for a while, but eventually the aim will get too far off."
He just laughs, pushing me forward a bit as he begins to walk. There's a bit of space between us now, enough that if I wanted to I could quickly grab my katana and stab him. He would react quickly though, I can tell. This guy's a spy, he needs to have some sort of combat training.
I don't let the moment pass without any action however. I use the small space to escape from his grasp, quickly pulling out my gun. He knocks it out of my hand and throws it off into the darkness, the smile on his face revealing that he believes he has won.
As he opens his mouth to speak I quickly grab my katana, pulling it out of it's case and stabbing him with one quick motion. He tries to react, but one more stab and a quick shot from his own gun and the words he had meant to speak never make it out.
Loose cannons are always fun. You never know what's going to happen next.
DISTRICT ELEVEN - Saffron Brunner-Oak
When Saffron first saw the mysterious man, she almost shot him in the head. After all, taking part in a violent battle and seeing the bodies of 8 allies and friends have to be cremated generally set people on edge. She was sitting on the corner of what was once a glittering gold boutique which was now blood splattered and slightly glittering from the still burning pyre, when the sound of scuffling feet and a whimpering sob. Slowly getting to her feet, unsheathing her sickle and holding it in a battle stance, Saffron slowly moved around the corner, scared of what she would see. Instead of a hideous muttation or a group of Peacekeepers, Saffron saw a bloodied, bashed and beaten man. He was a plain man, straight brown hair (not too long or too short), with tear filled hazel brown eyes. His skin was pale and blood splattered and he had a terrible, seeping wound on his arm, he was wearing a grubby dress-shirt and trousers, which were a pale blue with light cotton embellishments. Overall, this man wasn't obviously a Capitol citizen or obviously a member of the districts. When she would look back Saffron would realise how strange this is but in the heat of the moment her motherly instincts took over.
After rushing over to the stumbling man and half carrying him to the central area of the rebel area, trying to cradle the bleeding arm at the same time, the injured man finally got the medical attention he needed. However, not everyone was pleased about the strangers arrival. Peter Steel (who was definitely considered a leader of the rebels) and Vibbius Cretore (a man who despite being on the team was still victim to distrust from many members) approached Saffron after the pair had a rather rushed and heated discussion. The duo had asked Saffron to join them in the shadows of the square, where the pyres light couldn't reach them. Vibbius' fading purple eyes were flashing with concern and Peter's mouth was in a stiff line as always. "It's about that man." Said Vibbius, "I know him."
"What?" Said Saffron incredulously.
"Vibbius thinks-" Started Peter.
"Knows," interrupted Vibbius, glaring at Peter.
"Vibbius knows this man from his days at the Capitol. He says he never quite knew what he did but he was important. You need to find out who this man is." Finished Peter, to be frank this was one of the most long winded sentences Saffron had ever heard Peter say.
[GAMEMAKER'S NOTE: Entry is believed to be incomplete. It was handed in just after the deadline and as such is being treated as not being handed in. The entry has been put up for the benefit of the voters under Gamemaker discretion - A.W.]
DISTRICT TWELVE - Alana Grey
“Hey, Alana. Alana, you there?” my district partner, Daniel, snaps his fingers in front of my face a few times. I must’ve lost focus. I was thinking about Twelve again.
“Sorry. What’s up?”I ask, my facial expression remaining blank.
“Well, there’s this guy over there. He looks injured, but everyone else is busy with, you know... other things.”
“On it,” I get the hint. They want me to check it out, because I’m otherwise useless. I know that Daniel’s lying about everyone having things to do; I can see Canary leant against a pile of rubble, obviously flirting with Alexander. Pyrite’s in the corner, wrapping a bandage around the leg of the girl from Three’s leg – Eclaire – with Meri and Auriel hovering a few feet away, chatting and laughing. They don’t seem to be doing anything, so I don’t see why Daniel’s treating me any differently.
I march over – hopping over small piles of rubble, caused by numerous bullets and grenades – to where the man is lying on the floor, in obvious pain. He looks like he’s from the Capitol, with his dyed yellow hair, in an elaborately-gelled swirl across his forehead. His large build, although slightly muscular, suggests that he has lived the lavish life of an upper-class Capitol citizen. As I draw nearer, he notices me, and reaches out his uninjured arm, a pleading gesture.
“Please, help. I think I’m going to die here,” his small, orange eyes stare up at me meekly. He may look like he’s from the Capitol, but his accent is strongly District Five. Strange.
“Where are you injured?” I ask, unpacking my medical kit. I always carry one, in case of emergencies. I hope he doesn’t try to talk to me while I heal him. That would be unbearable.
“Just my arm here, but I think that it might be infected,” I sigh deeply as I find my sterilising cloth. He made me think that he had some sort of mortal injury; not just a mere scratch, “my name’s Julius. What’s yours?”
I squint at him, trying to figure out if he’s lying or not. When he said his name, his left eye twitched upwards a little – almost too little for me to see. I can’t risk telling him my real name; he could be a Capitol spy, “I’m Natrician. Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve never heard that name before. It’s not on the Capitol database,” he says, an innocent tone in his voice.
“I just got here when the rebellion started,” I reply coolly as I apply a bandage to Julius’ arm, “it’s a shame, really. I was looking forward to travelling around the Capitol, and seeing all of the great sights,” this conversation is killing me. I haven’t talked with someone for this long since... well, since before, and that’s the way I like it.
“It must be pretty bad for you, then. I bet that you don’t even have a place to stay. I have a house nearby, just up this alley,” his left eye twitched. Lie, “maybe you could come and stay.”
“Maybe. I might like that. Does anyone live there with you?” I ask, playing along with his game of lies.
“Yes. I live with my wife. She’s expecting a child,” another lie, “do you want to see her? I have a picture right here,” he fishes around in his pockets, then pulls out a black, shiny object, glistening in the Capitol midday sun. A gun.
I react before I can even think. I wrestle him to the floor, knocking the gun out of his hands. I pin his arms by his sides, and pull one of my blades from its holster, “nice try, buddy,” I smirk as I rest the edge of my blade along his neck, “but not good enough.”
“Don’t kill me. I have a family, I swear. I must’ve lost the photo,” he tries to reach into his pockets again, but I ram my knee into his groin, forcing him to drop his hands back down to his sides.
“I can tell you’re lying. Tell me the truth, and I might let you go,” his Adam’s apple bobs furiously as small beads of blood swell at the side of my knife; he’s nervous.
“Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m a spy for District 13. I was sent here on a secret rebel mission. Now, will you let me go?” he lets out a sigh, as if his true identity has been discovered, but he’s so wrong, I can’t help but laugh. I let out a syllable of noise, before righting myself. I grip the knife with more confidence, and look him right in his murky, brown eyes.
“You’re lying,” I say, as I slide the cool surface of my knife across the rough skin of his throat.
DISTRICT THIRTEEN - Laurence Soye
I closed my eyes, and slowly the door that let the pain in does the same.
Some talked, but most of use just stared into the fire, watching our friends and fellow rebels being consumed by heat and slowly roasted to ash. At least they will know true freedom, dancing in the arms of wind and weather.
My ear caught a sound to my side, and I turned around to see what produced it.
It was a boy. A gorgeous boy, but still a boy.
The drops of sweat mixed together with the salt of the few tears that hadn’t left his pale face, and blood streamed out of a wound on his arm. The red liquor triggered something inside me, like it always has and it always will. I walked up to him, just as Peter did.
“Cloth, water.” The man simply said. He isn’t a man of many words, and that’s what I appreciate in him.
I caught the towel the girl from 3 tossed towards us with my most-capable hand. Wiping it across his still bleeding wound, sticky, cold blood gushed across my fingers. I groaned softly and spit on the ground as I continued cleaning the cut. My eyes met his for a brief moment, and I saw something I had witnessed my entire life. Desperation. Forty-one long minutes had passed, and only now the conversation between my fellow rebels and the Capitol-guy started to get interesting.
I sat at the edge of the circle we’d made around a smaller fire, leaning against a concrete wall, who’d become my best friends on Glory Square. My hand played with a ribbon, and sometimes I’d spend my time observing our newbie, who had announced himself by the name of Julius Something.
His hair was dark and had a resemblance to my own. The only actual difference was length.
His hair was longer. And braided. Well, at least everything they said about Capitol citizens was true.
Speaking of them, next to me sat Vibbius. I had finally found out his name, and remembered that he was the one who had painted the red lines on my face.
“How have you planned your great revolution so far?” Julius asked to everyone in general, batting his silver eyelashes.
I frowned when Eclaire opened her mouth. “I-”
I didn’t even let her finish her sentence.
“So, Mister Fancy Pants, what’s your story?” I asked, with an extravagant and loud voice.
Vibbius whispered something in my ear. Luckily my grin didn’t show.
“Subtle.”
My eyes stared daggers at Eclaire, the girl looking back at me with a few shades of anger and confusion blending on her face.
My head turned to the pile of dead men. Peter and Thorn hadn’t moved an inch since the fire started. I watched them for a moment, then returned to the conversation, realising Julius had started talking.
I fell into his story mid-sentence, and decided to remain silent instead of asking him to start over. “, I believe he was drunk, and as soon as I had offered my help he attacked me with a shard of glass. I was able to get away, and now I’m here, without any idea where my family might be, or what he might’ve done to them…” Julius’ lip started shaking, and in this state, with a pale and thin face which was about to be covered in silent tears, he looked more like a helpless dog than an actual 20-year old man.
To be honest, there wasn’t really anyone who knew what to do. All of us had dealt with serious emotional damage, of course, but that was a different environment; a different time. Now, all we should be focusing on is our next attack, and instead we were listening to an extravagantly dressed boy who was standing on the cliff of despair, and none of us succeeded in comforting him.
“Can someone help the kid? Bring him to a tent and give him something to eat?” Enoch said. I nodded and rose, observing the group from the corners of my eyes. “Get some sleep everyone, you fought like warriors today.” I managed to say, and I noticed some smiling in surprise. I turned around to say something to Vibbius, and behind me Julius left his place as well.
“It’s just a rebel’s ransom, but you look like you don’t need much more.” I commented, slightly grinning at my own joke. I didn’t expect the kid to appreciate it, and he didn’t, reflected by the look on his face. My most-capable hand tossed him two in oiled cloth wrapped sandwiches and a jar with some stew. He started drinking the stew, and I sat down next to him. The ribbon I carried flew through my fingers like a liquid, as I watched my companions slowly making their ways to the tents, to catch some sleep before dawn was able to paint the sky in bright reds and yellow once again. My blood froze when I saw it.
There was a gun. It had been shoved down the back of his trousers, held by his belt. A semi-automatic, small hand weapon, good for the assassination of four to five men before you had to change bullets. It was a gun murderers use.
That kid? An assassin? A cold-bloody killer? Sure, his skin looked like it had been covered in ice three minutes ago, but a killer?
My body reacted quicker than my mind could catch up. By the time I did I was already sitting on top of him, jamming my iron fist into his throat, and watching him almost choke on the leftovers of stew still in his throat.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now, ‘helpless’ mug-victim.” I said, my voice and eyes showing no emotion.
I witnessed the biggest change since the human evolution. In a matter of seconds his face changed from an innocence, on-the-edge-of-breaking-down boy, to a sassy, cunning know-it-all.
My whole body started trembling when he answered, using another voice than his own. Peter’s voice. A perfect replica of Peter Steele’s rather unique voice.
“What do you think will happen to us when you break through the Capitol’s defence?”
I did not expect that reply at all. His annoying little smile grew, and when I looked him in the eyes, a devil stared back at me. “Do you really think that the leaders of District 13 won’t take control as soon as they get their hands on it? Did you really just assume that you would all live happy and peacefully, with unicorns and rainbows dancing on glitter streets?!” His voice rose with anger.
“Well, darling, let me tell you a secret. You are no hair better than any of us. Accept that.”
I didn’t know what was scarier. His perfect mimicking of Peter’s voice with slight accents of Vibbius’, or the fact that his words sounded legit.
I raised my metal hand, and Julius, or whatever his name might have been, closed his eyes. His body shrunk when he heard the impact, and he clearly was surprised when he saw I had bashed my prosthesis into the ground.
“Next time I won’t be so compassionate towards you, clown.”
He grinned once again before disappearing into the night.
“I’m counting on it, Laure.”
CAPITOL - Iliana Noble
It’s been a long and sleepless night, the sticky air not letting me sleep for more than minutes at a time. That’s why I’m up at half past two in the morning. That’s why I hear the whispers outside my door before they make up their mind.
“Shall we wake her?”
“We’ve got no choice.”
“None at all? It might not be too dangerous to wait until morning.”
“It has to be now. Any danger is too much.”
By the time they finally decide to open the door, letting the light trickle in before opening the floodgates and flicking the switch, I’m already out of bed and standing to attention. The only flaw to my military posture is my squint, which is almost total. But that can’t be helped.
“Miss Noble?” asks the man standing before me. He looks taken aback at my alertness, but soon recovers. “I’m Sergeant Davies. We need you to come with us.”
One doesn’t say no to a sergeant, so I fling a woolly jumper over my pyjamas before trotting off after him into the night. We walk for a good five minutes past the majority of the camp, winding round crackling fires and soldiers up late drinking and joking, until the noise fades into the background once more. He leads me to a corrugated iron hut standing on its own. The door is locked shut by thick chains, which Sergeant Davies goes to remove. But he stops and remembers to brief me.
“We have a man in here claiming to be a defected Capitol citizen. Naturally we’re a little suspicious, so we need you to case him out. Ask him everything. Who he is, what he does, that sort of stuff. He’s likely to be well versed in it if he is a spy, and even more so if he’s not lying, but if you persist he might trip up.”
“And if he isn’t who he says he is?”
The stare he gives me is cold and commanding. “Get out of there as soon as you can. We’ll deal with him after that.”
Deal with him. Those three words make me shudder, but what has to be done has to be done. We are at war, and we must win at all costs.
Sergeant Davies unlocks the door and swings it open past the rattling chains. He also slams it shut behind me once I am inside, cutting off almost all the light. I can see a silhouette of a man standing in the corner, tall and dark. As my eyes adjust, making use of the abundant light slipping through the cracks between the floor and walls, the walls and the roof, he begins to form properly, and I take not of his features. A wiry man, with short, spikey black hair and a gaunt face sporting a permanently wry smile.
“Hey,” he drawls.
“Hi,” I say, approaching him and shaking his outstretched hand. “I’m Iliana.”
“Name’s Julius. Julius Justinius. Nice to meet you.”
He slurs his words slightly, as if he can’t be bothered to wrap his tongue round the consonants. “I hear you’re from the Capitol too?”
“Born and bred. It’s good to talk to one of my own again.”
I laugh. “Yes it is. Whereabouts are you from?”
“East side. You know Broadmouth?”
“My grandma used to live round there, yeah!”
“Hardly a nice area, is it?” He grimaces a little. “I got by though. How about you?”
I’m glad there’s no light in here, because if it weren’t this dark he’d see how red my face has gone. Compared to Broadmouth, my house must seem a place. Compared to most places, really. “Near here, actually. Portland road?”
“Oooooh, fancy!” Julius winks at me.
“You know the area?”
“I used to go to Glory Square whenever I got my pay slip and I could afford to pretend I was rich. Some of those houses were like mansions!”
“Yeah, they were. Were? Are.”
“Were. I passed it on my way here. Whole street is reduced to rubble.”
The news shocks me. On the one hand, it means nothing, as the chances of going back were slim. But on the other, the thought of my childhood home gone, razed to the ground, hits me hard. “You’re sure?”
“Sure.”
“Every house?”
“All of them. Every last one.”
We stand in silence for a while. “What did you do to your arm?”
Fingering the wound, he flashes me a brave smile. “Oh this? It’s nothing. Got it sneaking out here when I met a Peacekeeper. You should have seen the other guy… What about yours?”
“Glory Square. We flanked them and took out their commanders, but got pinned in a café. They hit me while we dashed to safety.”
Julius’s eyes light up. “That was you?”
“Uh huh.” For a moment, I don’t really register what he’s said, but then I properly process it. “How do you know what happened? You weren’t there, were you?”
“Oh no!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Thank God. I’ve heard it was brutal. From your commander, you know. He told me all about it.”
I nod. As I start to back away, making for the door, I see him size me up. He’s considering attacking me. It’s in his flashing eyes. Fortunately, he thinks better of it; I make it across the room and knock on the door. Seconds later it swings open to let me out.
“Well?” asks the sergeant, as soon as he’s closed the door again.
“I don’t know. He said you’d told him all about how we took Glory Square?”
Sergeant Davies frowns. “He what?”
“Yeah, he said that was how he knew about my squad flanking the Peacekeepers. It sounded dodgy to me.”
There’s a pause, and he fingers his walkie talkie. “That will be all for tonight, soldier. Get back to bed.”
As I return to my dorm and climb back under the sheets, I wonder what they’ll do with him. I don’t think it’s those thoughts that stop me from sleeping, but they certainly don’t help. It’s going to be a long night.