RHYMER RAWDAWG'S P.O.V
This is the second time.
For the second time, I say goodbye to my stylist; they haven't done too much this time around, but as normal, traditionally, they send us off to our death.
Hopefully I don't die. I wanna live. Then again, Hydra is my priority. She has to make it home, I don't want her to die.
Never have I put someone else's safety before my own; I've seen it in movies, and now, I know first hand how it really feels, I relate to the emotions the actors show on the screen.
Cynder must hate my guts right now. Our stylists, also brother and sister, have desperately tried to get us to make up, but ending up resorting to ignoring each other because we'd scream at each other otherwise.
It's weird to think that just a week ago, I said that I'd try and make it home to her. That I cared about her.
"60 seconds."
"Rhymer," my stylist whispers. "You've done it before, you can do it again. Believe in yourself."
"I don't wanna make it home. That's Hydra's job," I whine. He just tuts as he adjusts my coat. Why am I wearing a coat?
"Put yourself first for once," he says, walking over to the tube with me. The thirty seconds timer goes off.
He pulls me into a hug; he pats my back. "Thanks for everything." My whisper echoes around the room as he lets go of me.
"No problem. I'm relying on you to come out. You have the strength, the authority. Please, try. For me?"
His eyes, brimming with tears, cause me to weaken. Finally, I tell him that I'll try if Hydra dies. "I promise that I'll put myself after Hydra. Before Kristov or Eunia."
He thanks me and ushers me onto the podium. Ten seconds passed relatively fast; I'm soon concealed inside the glass tube.
My breathing becomes shallow as I start to panic. No, I can't enter again. That place made me lose my mind last time, enter the world of insanity.
But what choice do I have? It's not like my words make a difference. I'm a tribute, no one of importance.
Unless I win. Victors have a say.
But Hydra has to win, and I know she feels the same way as I do about this barbarous situation. If Hydra can make it out alive, then she can tell the world how we felt, how we feel. Or would feel if we didn't die.
The podium begins to rise, subjecting me to the arena. Already, I clog why I've been given the faux coat I'm wearing - through the minute gap in the roof that provides me oxygen for the minute I'm underground, the air is frozen, algid.
If Casio wasn't a tribute, he'd have a lot of money right now, I'm guessing. Because there is no way this arena is going to be sunny, not warm. This has to be a snow biome.
My heart thumps against my chest; I wonder if it would be audible to anyone else who happened to be trapped in this pipe with me, on the verge of suffocating.
It occurs to me that all the others are in pipes like I am, worrying about who the first to die will be, wondering if they'll live to see the sun - or whatever weather we're provided with - when, if, they wake up.
The gap in the roof gets significantly bigger, revealing nothing but a bleak sky accompanied by antarctic winds. My body freezes up, despite the number of layers I've been given.
My head finally pokes out of the hole; there isn't an inch of snow. Maybe Casio would've have won any money...
As my eyes adjust to the outside world after being consumed by the darkness for a minute and a half, I notice the people I can see are dressed in numerous different outfits.
Next to me, I see Auricula, clinging to her coat. I'm not the only one who thinks our temperature is sub-zero.
To my left, the next area, I notice the two are wearing swimsuit-like outfits, accompanied by raincoats and wellington boots. They don't look cod, but nothing about them shows signs that the two of them - Zenobia and Casio - are warm.
What is going on?
To Auricula's right, another area is sectioned off. These two wear right clothing, clothes that they can freely move in. The kind that dancers wear. All black, they look like the wind is biting at them, but not as badly as us two.
Auricula turns to me, her face blue. Through chattering teeth, she mouths "help" and "cold" at me, receiving a nod from me in return. There isn't a thing I can do. In the meantime, I pull my hat over my head.
Water laps at the podiums to my left, leaving Zenobia and Casio's feet drenched already. I notice a similar thing happening to a far off podium, containing Kristov and Annika. Not as intense, but they still look irritated as their feet are wetted.
Thirty seconds left. That silver horn, reflecting whatever sunlight there is in this arena, contains everything we need. The sunlight seems to be directly opposite my area; I can't see through the cornucopia, so I can't tell who's over there.
Scoping the areas for my other allies, I notice Hydra in an area three away from me. Her and Septimus wear glasses and traditional arena wear; they sheiks their eyes from something I can't make out.
The last ten seconds tuck away; I realise Eunia must be extremely far away. Maybe in the sunny areas of the arena. Ten turns to five, five turns to three.
Three. Two. One.
And we're off.
Darting from the podium, I force my frozen limbs to work. It requires more effort than it ever should, leaving me fatigued long before I hoped.
Nevertheless, I reach the horn before anyone. Inside, there are four entrances and very few weapons; normally, there's three times what people require.
No hesitation, I pick up the first mace I can see and run out, picking up a bag on the way. The number of bags remains relatively similar to what there usually is, it's just the weapons that are different, I notice.
Eunia, sweating up a storm, comes up to me, panting. "Shurikens, now," she barks, destroying a corner of the horn to find her throwing stars.
As she finds the only box she can in the entire place, the rest of the tributes are collecting their weapons. Yet no one is killing. Not even Alix.
Phoxus yells out, clutching his spear. "You have no reason to live," he yells, throwing it at a screaming Annika. Annika's body becomes limp around the large weapon as the blood drains from her torso.
No one screams as Phoxus yanks the spear from her body, seeing as there are very few of the weapons this year. Alix swings his axe at Zenobia, cutting her head off clean.
Panic surges through my brain. As we all swiftly back away from Alix, he raises his axe and chases after Domitia.
The look on Septimus' face stiffens as he watches the blade slice through his cousin, but he doesn't try and attack the psychopath. Alix is already broken, unable to control himself.
Anise struggles to move as she falls over one of the spokes. Instantly, her face changes from red and sweating to frozen and pale. No idea what the weather is in those two areas, but I'm guessing the sudden change had a great impact on her movement.
Wham! As a knife whizzes past my head, it settles in Anise's back, leaving nothing but a bloody corpse on the floor. Chester retrieves his knife and takes off with Phoxus and Septimus.
Before the boys leave, Septimus drives his sword onto Sagitaria's neck. Ivory, in pieces on the floor, retrieves her box of throwing axes or something and takes off into whatever terrain sits behind her.
The Berry twins catch up to us, leaded with their weapons. "Should we run or stay here?" Kristov asks. "We have the power to overtake this place."
"You're right," I breathe out, focusing on the damage made. Then, as if in slow motion, I watch the arrow of Persei's crossbow fly.
Time almost stops as the arrow rips through Cynder's throat. Part of me wants to scream, yet, at the same time, a wave of relief sweeps over me. She's gone now.
I wonder if our parents have even noticed.
Oregano tries to grip onto Persei, but before he has the opportunity, Auricula's harpoon is through his throat. He falls out of Persei's tensed arms and onto the ground, dead.
Auricula sorts out her gun and takes off with Arlu and Cosmo. Persei runs in the other direction, heading where she came from.
All that leaves is Thyme.
"Thyme," Eunia calls out. He emerges from behind an empty rack, shaking. "You can't stay here. Go or we'll kill you."
"Good," he spits. "Let me die, you twisted, heartless as-"
Before we let him finish, I drive my mace into his head. Dented and covered in blood, we remove his body from outside of the horn.
"Now what?" Hydra questions, holding onto my arm. "We're all from different segments, we can't all go into Rhymer's segment."
Segments, that's what they're called. "More lies beyond the trees and bushes surrounding us. Nature isn't right," I say.
"This is a disaster," Eunia mutters. Kristov nods, Hydra sighs. "All just one big disaster."
"No," I say. That's it! "These are all just twelve big disasters."
"Natural disasters." Hydra clicks her fingers, proud that she partially worked it out.
And no one is safe in any segment.
ALIX VIPOINTE'S P.O.V
Wiping my forehead, I let out another huge sigh. This place is blazing hot.
Back in the bloodbath, I was responsible for two of the murders. If only I was responsible for every single one.
Even right now, blood still drips from my axe. I guess that as it began to solidify, it then ended up melting because of the sudden heat change. Originally, I was the victim of some heavy winds and nippy weather, but now, I couldn't be hotter.
That's it. Removing my shirt, I tie it around my head like a bandanna. Why has the weather changed all so suddenly? Now, I walk in way too hot trousers and my boots, boots that I don't dare to remove. I have a cut on my foot and this ground guarantees infection.
Slowing, I hear noises of rustling leaves, swaying trees. Trees. Something registers the landscape in my head as 'home', but then again, most places with greenery look like Seven. The entirety of outside the fence looks like Seven.
Stepping through the trees, I begin to slow. My body cannot take the intensity of the heat combined with my pace. Slumping against a tree, I pull off my backpack and throw the items out.
Jackpot: two full bottles of water sit on the top of the pile. Instantly, I reach out for one and chug as much of the clear, cool liquid as my body can hold. Quenched, I continue to rummage through the pile.
Matches sit on the top, not that anyone needs added heat to the harsh temperatures I face right now. Multiple packs of meat and dried fruit loiter in the pile, leaving me with a supply that could last me the entire games. In fact, I don't think this bag could be better.
A sleeping bag of some sort? If I'm sleeping, it'll be in the open at this rate - to have physical droplets of sweat pour from every part of your body isn't normal. This feeling is similar to having a fever. That can sit at the bottom of the bag. So can the wind protecting coat - my body is producing buckets of sweat.
In some silver container, there is some gooey cream; medicine. My instincts tell me to put it away immediately before the heat liquifies the medicine, making it aqueous, essentially useless.
Picking up some dried meat, some beef like meat, I take a strip and salivate. The anticipation kills me. As I shove it - whole - into my mouth, I let my tongue dissolve the meat, turning it into a mushy pulp. Chugging more of the half empty bottle, I have to stop myself before I'm left with nothing.
Something tells me that any pools in this place are dried up, going to mean nothing to anyone.
My shirt is removed from my head as I discover a sweatband for my head and one for each hand. Placing them on my body, some kind of relief washes over me - most likely a wave of sweat.
Iodine, a small bottle of the stuff, rolls away from the pile. Picking it up, I thank the gamemakers for this bag, for providing their best tribute with the best backpack I could ask for.
Shoving everything in the bag, I discover other things - mainly extra clothing for what I'm guessing is other major changes. Other small essentials - including a flint and steel in case the matches are lost and a pair of night vision goggles for the dark and gloomy times - not around this segment, are included in the backpack.
Spitting on my axe, I rub my sweatband against the now crusty blood. As it disappears, my sweatband turns a slight pink colour were I rubbed it against the large metal blade.
Is it me, or is this place getting hotter? Refusing to get up from the coolest place I've found, I decide to scope the area from where I'm sat.
And that's when I see it.
A fire. Flickering, dancing flames destroying this one tree. Nothing else is affected, just the one tree. It's a little early to start creating disasters, isn't it?
Nevertheless, I back away, walking until the tree is out of sight. Maybe they'll target one tree until every morsel of this segment is destroyed, cremated?
Then it hits me. They're reenacting the wildfire Seven had all those years ago; Grandpa told me the story as a kid and I've never forgotten the way he described the death of his work partner.
It started with one tree and as it went out, everyone thought that was the last of it. Then, another tree started much farther away. The sun, ablaze in the blue sky, targeted the hollow, dense trees of the woods, anything smaller that had the power to spread over to another tree.
That's how a quarter of Seven's trees and population were lost.
Now I realise that I'm stood between denser trees, ones that'll set on fire easier than the other.
Running for my life, the last thing I witness before leaving the dangerous forest is another tree, the one I was slumped against, burst into flames.
I saved my life.
ARLU FENUGREEK'S P.O.V
Mind racing, I clutch Cosmo's wrist as we fight through the battling wind before us. Never have I felt so weak, useless as the breeze we thought was going to be provided almost swept us off of our feet.
Normally, I would be able to leap away, find somewhere safe to climb. That isn't an option with the Colbee's next to me though. The three of us, holding onto each other and whatever we can use to support ourselves on the ground, coerce ourselves through the disastrous winds.
This isn't natural. These have to be a set up. Since when has it been this difficult to walk? I almost feel like a child, trying to take my first steps, support myself with whatever can come in handy.
"There!" I scream, my voice almost carried away by the forceful winds instantly. Choking on the air that happened to make its way into my throat as I cried out, I drag my girlfriend and her brother over to the area I'd seen.
You could tell by the way the trees of that segment gently swayed in the breeze, whereas the roots were sticking out of the ground in this one. Between the two, a tiny cavern, unoccupied and unaffected by the weather, sat there, waiting for us to protect ourselves.
Squealing, Auricula grips hold of my arm harder than she did before. I'm sure the blend of the pressure and the temperature will leave finger marks on my skin, but as long as she's happy, than I'm okay too.
We near the shelter ad immediately the wind drops down. The spokes dividing the arena into however many segments - I think it was twelve - are visible now... Well, one is.
It runs right the way up, through the middle of the shelter, continuing as far as it can travel: the edge of the dome. Dragging the two of them into it, we fall over each other, stopping up against the shelter in a massive heap.
"A note," Cosmo says, excitement in his voice. The three of us take it from the spoke and move to one side, wanting to be as close as possible. Cosmo hands it to me to read out.
"Dear lucky finder(s) of this note,
This is the safe area. Thirteen of these, including under the horn, are located in the arena. These are here to provide shelter, and obviously, safety, to you glorious tributes from seven in the evening.
At half nine, every night, a klaxon will sound throughout the arena. You'll have half an hour to find one of these thirteen shelters.
At ten, the doors will close, concealing you from the dangers - apologies to all of you claustrophobics out there. You will be sheltered safely until seven the next morning; the doors will open again, and a klaxon will soung, giving you half an hour to leave.
At seven thirty, these doors - other than the horn of the cornucopia - will close again, and for twelve hours, will provide you with nothing but death if you refuse to leave. Good luck to all of you who find one of these, and may the odds be ever in your favour.
~Jarrett and Kipper Cannery."
"Wow," Cosmo breathes out. "We found a safe zone?"
"That's also a good indicated of the time - it's between seven and nine thirty," Auricula points out. "With the sky this dark, it's hard to be accurate, but I'm guessing it's about eight."
Nodding, I fold the note up and repin it to the wall. The three of us rummage through our bags and find the matches. "I'll venture for sticks in the other section," I call out. "Less danger."
What was the note implying? That outside of the shelter, you'll die? Or will it just be twice as hard to sleep, live?
Breaking twigs from the moist trees, I take no time to gander. Already, I know this area is known for its waters - Auricula recognised it as we ran away; it was next to her and Rhymer when they stood on their podiums.
After I have an armful of twigs and branches, I grab as many drier leaves as I can find - not that many, actually. As I re-enter the shelter, I see Auricula holding up a match, ready to strike it against the box.
Piling up the wood with Cosmo, the stroke breaks the silence. Cosmo arranges it so it'll set fire in the quickest way possible, yet also provide the tiniest amount of flame.
"Why?" Auricula asks. "Why make a fire and then almost put it out again?"
Cosmo rolls his eyes. He's too smart for his age; Auricula isn't the most intelligent woman I know. "First, it'll attract others, duh," Cosmo replied. "Second, we'll suffocate, having carbon monoxide seeping into our throats faster than the blood pours out of a wound."
His points are valid, but Auricula still looks slightly rattled. We're all tired, upset, fighting for our lives in this tremendously dangerous arena.
We look up into the sky as the anthem blares around the arena, revealing the illuminated faces of today's fallen. No other cannons were heard - by anyone in this arena with these weather conditions - earlier today, so I'm guessing all of the deaths occurred during the bloodbath.
Domitia. Anise. Thyme. Annika. Zenobia. Sagitaria. Oregano. Cynder.
"Eight faces," Auricula sighs. "It sounds vicious, but I hoped for more."
"I understand," I reply. I really do: the less people, the more chance of one of us making it out alive. Turning to Cosmo, I pat him on the back. "One of four non Victors to survive," I congratulate him. "Well done buddy."
"Thanks, it's because of your help," Cosmo smiles back. "You helped me."
"Not a single Victor is down yet," Auricula points out. "What do you make of that?"
Sighing, I shrug. "No idea, but I'm sure that won't be the result tomorrow." All I can do is frown. "We won't last forever, someone has to fall soon."
"I don't wanna be the first to go," Auricula whines. Holding her in my arms, she weeps, making my shoulder sodden.
"Then it's settled," I say. "Tomorrow, we'll kill someone. Go after a weaker tribute, someone who wasn't meant to make it. Then you won't be first."
Cosmo's face loses all colour at the thought of murder. "Are you sure we should?" He asks.
"We have to, Cosmo," I reply. "How else will these games end?"
CHESTER LITTLETON'S P.O.V
Some kind of klaxon sounded throughout the arena, causing the threw of us to look up. What was it? Had they changed the cannon sound? They wouldn't without notifying us.
"It's too early in the games for a feast to be held," Phoxus points out. "It means something is being released, it happened in Shadow's games."
Thinking back to Phoxus' brother's games, I try and remember the horn indicating something for Shadow. Normally, the tributes are on borrowed time when something goes off.
In Shadow's games, they released gas masks to protect him from the poison that was being released. They were located at the land marks around the arena.
"Let's go and find a spoke," I suggest. "If anything's waiting for us, it'll be there. The cornucopia is out, Rhymer's group most likely have that - if not, Arlu's group will."
The three of us wade through the boggy mud, rain crashing down on us heavier than rain should do. Puddles and tiny holes in the floor overflow as tiny droplets try and fill the saturated hole even more.
"How do we know where they are?" I ask, suddenly seeing flaws in my idea. This surprise could be anywhere and it may not be a good one...
"Look up at the sky. As it changed in colour and intensity, you can tell that something is different. Over here, all I see is grey cloud, yet to the left, I see no cloud at all. To the right, I see black smoke, so it's hard to decipher where the spoke would be," Septimus points out.
I'm so grateful to have his intelligence with us. As we set off to the left, I feel hopeful. This better be a good surprise. Or else the three of us may be at a major disadvantage, not something we want when fighting a group of four.
Wondering, it seems like forever since I've eaten. In actual fact, I haven't sat down for food since breakfast - only half a day since I've had anything.
Still, I pull an apple out f my bag and munch on it as we walk along. A red apple, I know without even looking as I bite into the sweet bliss. The crunchy core, the smooth skin, all coating my tongue in a sweetness I can't describe. Heavenly.
Almost choking, I notice something that looks like a bomb shelter I read about in a textbook. Swallowing my mouthful, I tug on Septimus' sleeve.
"What's up, Chester?"
"Dude, over there!" I yell, pointing out the grey concrete structure to the pair. Instantly, they charge off, leaving me and my apple behind.
Phoxus yells out as some dragging noise occurs. Staring at our destination, I notice a door sliding down - we have no time. It's too late.
Septimus manages to dive under the closing door. Leaving Phoxus and I to get in ourselves, I push the redhead to the floor. "Go," I scream, pushing him under just before the door separates me from the pair.
"Chester!" It isn't soundproof then. "Can you hear me?"
"Yeah, loud and clear," I say back, trying not to make out location too obvious. Not that anyone can hurt them, but they could camp, wait until the door opens.
What of the door doesn't open? What if this is just a trap, trying to kill a bunch of us off? "Okay," Phoxus says through the door. "These open in the morning, so we'll be out then and not a moment later, as they become death traps in the day."
Death traps? "What do I do?" I ask. "I'm gonna die overnight, aren't I?" Panic fills my body; I begin to shake with fear.
"Do what you did last time," Phoxus yells. "You hid in a hollowed out tree. Hide in the rainy area, you'll wake up if the water touches you."
"See you at seven then. I'll sleep in the palm tree about twenty metres north of this bunker," I tell them. "Goodnight."
Setting off with my knives and backpack, I march up to the hollowed out tree, trying to find a way inside of it. The only one I see involves climbing too high - there isn't an escape.
So I go back to the bunker, on the way, spotting a pine tree with an entrance high up enough to protect me, low enough to let me leave in the morning.
"Change of plan," I yell. "I'll be in the pine tree about thirty metres to the side of this bunker, still in the rainy section."
"Phoxus is already asleep," Septimus says, as hushed as he can. "Meet you in the morning. A klaxon sounds at seven, so meet us back here if you hear it."
"Will do." I set off again, reaching my tree within a minute. Pulling out the dagger I retrieved, I bury it inside if the tree, gripping onto it as I pull myself up - I use it as a pick.
As I reach the hole, I'm about my height off of the ground. Peering into the hole, my muscles tense as they hold my weight. Noticing that it slopes downwards, I know that it'll be easier to get out than go in.
Slipping inside, I immediately feel claustrophobic. All I see is darkness, nothing. Matches will just set this thing alight, kill me, so that's out of the question. Now I have to become reliant on my hands and hearing.
Hopefully, no bugs are in here. That'd destroy me. Still gripping onto the dagger I received in my pack, I shiver. Phoxus and Septimus are safe; there's no guarantee that I'm making it through the night.
Like last time, I'm certain a camera is in here. "Dusk, Harley, stay safe," I whisper. Not that anyone will hear me outside, but it'd be stupid not to play safe. "I love you."
Pulling my sleeping bag from my backpack, I unzip it; I don't fully slide inside of it. My heat is already bouncing of of the tree walls, there's no new to make myself sweat the way Oregano and Eunia did earlier when they were waiting for the bloodbath to start.
Sipping some water, I finish the apple I absentmindedly shoved in my pocket. Little bits of fluff and string stick to the apple, but I pick them off as I digest it. Food could be a lot worse than this.
Even though I'm not as safe as I can be, I almost feel relaxed. The Hunger Games, taking place right now, with me as a tribute, should scare me more than it does.
But no, I feel at peace. Nothing is bothering me as I prop myself up. Shoving my dry coat from my bag behind my head, I let sleep take me and wait for tomorrow to come around.
That's if I survive the night.
PHILLIPE HONEYMAN'S P.O.V
"Good evening Panem!" I yell, trying to show some excitement. The citizens won't be impressed with the little action provided today. All in good time; this is just the introduction.
They think it's hard? Just wait until tomorrow.
"So, the bloodbath eliminated a third of the competition," I say. "Low numbers, but hey, more is to come. Let's go through the deaths."
"Annika Spens was the first to go, after the tributes made a slow trek up to the horn. Phoxus Golett drew first blood by throwing his spear at the girl from Five."
"Next up was Zenobia Hornblast of District Six. Flux Vipointe's brother, Alix, was her murderer. He then went on to kill Domitia Midgar, District One."
"After Anise Odinshoot's trip, Chester Littleton threw one of his knives into the back of the non Victor from Two. She was the fourth to go, the halfway mark in terms of bloodbath deaths."
"Number five happened to be Sagitaria Allardyce, District Nine. The sweetheart had her throat sliced by Septimus Baker of District One. Ivory was in pieces."
"After that, Persei Chamomile of District Eleven used her crossbow to kill Cynder Rawdawg of Twelve. Oregano Grostle, Persei's district partner, was immediately killed after by Auricula Colbee of Three."
"Lastly, Thyme Greenlaw of District Four was killed by Rhymer Rawdawg of Twelve. That concludes the eight deaths we saw today - all non Victors. So far, District Three, Eight and Ten have all of their tributes left."
Turning to the camera in the middle, I go on to talk about the twist. "You have until tomorrow midday to vote for two you want to come back, for the evil and one normal revival have been selected by myself and the gamemakers."
"That's all for now," I smile, overwhelmed by the amount of effort it's going to take to revive the sixteen tributes. Excitement washes over me; we still have the final day over who comes back - it's obvious who will be back in some games, not so much in others. "Goodnight Panem!"
Short and sweet. Heading up to the gamemaking area, I see Jarrett.
"Ah, Mr Cannery," I tease. "Let's get to work on these revivals then, hey?"