alone inside my soul {GG vs TSS vs Z vs M day 5}

[Knuckles]

It is lonely in here. Everything feels as though it's closing in draining the life from them. Maddox crumbles to the ground unable to think, unable to move. Each breath hurts. Silent tears stream down the side of their face, and all Maddox can do is stay focused on the ground hoping nobody sees them.

They remove their tarp from their backpack and lay it out on the ground before wrapping themself in the tarp. It'll offer some shield against the wind at least. Of course, getting out of the way of someone coming through will be incredibly difficult, but right now, Maddox doesn't even care. Death is welcomed if someone wants to steal their life from them.

Maddox opens their eyes realizing it's a new day and that they slept through the anthem, but that is okay. Knowing the names of the deceased isn't ideal, yet knowing the name of the person they killed is even more soul crushing. He's just a nameless face at the moment. Nothing else.

Rolling up the tarp, Maddox goes on their way wandering aimlessly with no direction in mind until the ground shakes, and this time it is more violent than ever before. Readying the spear, they look around, and that is when they see the giant beasts fighting -

Run!

They start running the opposite direction unsure of where they're going, but they know that everything can quickly come to an end if they wind up under one of those things until they come to a stop resting their hands on their knees trying to catch their breath.

And then they move again. One step after another until they're standing in a place that's familiar. It's like they've been there before just a few days ago. Maddox turns in every direction trying to find a place to hide as they see people moving towards them, and it isn't just one person.

No, it's a few.

Just a day ago the idea of killing someone crushed their spirit, but with it came a truth they weren't prepared for. Killing is part of the game, and if they won't do the killing, someone else will.

Removing the jar of tar from their bag, Maddox slathers it across their spear, and uses the flint to bring the flame to life. Just yesterday Maddox was afraid, but today, they aren't. Death is knocking at the door, and someone will answer.

[ made by kaitlin ]

Maddox attacks Ty with flaming spear
cQT88Unlwrspear
3150 -- Stabbed in Foot -- 8.0 damage + 1 strength

1-50
+2 spear·1-50

[arx!!]

apologies, but fam, wedding and flights do be taking my time

Woody and Bast out here SWERVING round some nasty dino feetsies stomping everyone a little bit mhmm

When the accelerator roars louder, I finally force myself up to look at anything other than the sky. And I'm pretty much—"What the fuck are you doing?"—certain that the reason all these careers keep dying is because they think themselves invincible. Even after all this? After we watched Liza get eaten alive and watched the sky fill with practically nothing but upper districts since this thing started. Nylon scared the shit out of me, but I think maybe I should've been more worried about this fucker driving into the feet of monsters so big they probably think we're just a trail of ants marching amongst their claws.

"Turn around, turn-" I fall awkwardly against the side of the vehicle and my vision goes completely dark for a moment as the gash on my back flares into agony. I grit my teeth as my eyes start to focus again and as I watch the needle of the speedometer go up and up and up, I think about what being in a car wreck must be like.

uhhhhhh probably just some other stuff about home and not wanting to die and suddenly wanting to be NOTHING like the careers he thought he wanted to be bc whOOPS, they keep fucking dying horribly in front of him which oof

I take a deep, steadying breath, line up my shot, and pull the trigger. Just in case Fray decides to turn around and off me himself for the kill count or something.

_{[ by griffin ]}

woody 10m attacks zane 9m with his rifle [8/12]
PcAaymX6VBthrowing knife
[ miss ]

throwing knife

throwing knives·throwing knife

[mat]

TY HOPE-LESS

no power in his bones
and faith beyond return.
his glass house shattered by stones
leaving a soul exposed to burn.

It took him a few more minutes, but Tyrone finally climbs down the ladder of the outpost. He tries to keep his composure, but it's mostly in shambles. He opens the door and looks to Cedric ready to drive off. He's shocked that his only living ally didn't abandon him. If Ty could drive the jeep, he probably would have. It's not that he doesn't appreciate what Cedric has done for him in the past four days, but the next four days are what he's concerned about. Will he kill him? Will they be forced to kill one another? And between the two, why kill a menacing boy from Twelve when the weaker one is right by his side?

"What you said earlier.. What was that about?"

With the shrug of his shoulders, Ty looks out the window, keeping eye contact away from Cedric. "I don't know. I just feel like we can't win." Two days of their allies' deaths proved that.

"Well, if one of us wins the Games, we get a shit ton of money."

He laughs, rolling his eyes against the wind. "You think money will buy our happiness, Cedric?" It can't, but Tyrone knows that Cedric feels otherwise. He's just built differently.

"You've never been to Twelve, have you?" Fair enough. "Money absolutely buys happiness."

He does not want to start a fight with the boy who rammed the jeep into Gavin a few days ago. Picking his words carefully, he continues, "Maybe for a little while. Everything that you buy will eventually go away and just be nothing again."

"Not if you're rich. You can just replace old shit and buy new shit. Look at the Capitol."

"Do you want to be them? The Capitol?" He supposes that if Cedric can't withstand the Capitol's oppression, he might just want to become the oppressor.

"Uh, yeah! Do you not?"

Ty waits, letting his fingers ride the wave of wind, trying not to get too aggravated. "It's the last thing I want to be. Envious you have the guts, though."

"Everyone in Twelve is either starving, on drugs, or both. I'll take anything at this point. Even went to the Detention Center for fun once."

Tyrone turns to Cedric, looking at his teeth firm up to a grin. Maybe if Cedric does win, he'll turn a new leaf.

"Can you promise me something if you win, Cedric?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Will you be better than the Capitol? Not just be rich like them, but be better?" Can he? Ty hopes so.

"Hmm, that's a fun challenge. I can try, but I'm pretty known for being a scumbag."

"I know," it slips out, but he figures Cedric won't take any mind to it. After all, he seems to have embraced the role. "It's worth a shot."

"What're you gonna do if you win?"

His shoulders gently toss up again. "Don't know. I volunteered to run away from District Eight. I haven't thought about being the face of it."

"You might wanna think about it. Just sayin."

Tyrone can't survive. He thought it possible one or two days ago, but not now. And if he does win, what for? For nothing? Victory isn't the type of thing he wants to live with. "I'll think about it tomorrow." His eyes shut and his hair spins in the intense wind.

-=+=-

They journey to a place of lush and green. Aside from the grass patches in the Cornucopia and surrounding the research center, Ty hasn't seen any of this over the past few days. The dunes and crater basin were filled with neutral colors and reds, while the garage held a bit more diversity with the orange rust at every turn. But here, there felt peace.

At least momentarily. Peace in the Hunger Games is always momentarily.

As if out of nowhere, two dinosaurs dozens of times larger than the ones he'd slayed in the beginning come to fruition, slashing their feet and tails violently throughout. One of their tales crashes onto Tyrone and Cedric's jeep, knocking the vehicle upwards. Ty's head crashes up onto the roof, sending him left and right in his seat.

And there are tributes on the horizon. More fighting. Tyrone grabs for his machete and gun, but the dinosaur's stomping sends him flying out of the jeep before he can grab anything. One of the tributes, who he recognized from District Ten, takes the opportunity to strike first. With a lit spear, they stab downward toward Tyrone, landing directly in his foot. The stab stings and he pulls back, trying to get the flaming weapon out of him as soon as possible. He stumbles backward towards his weapons in the jeep before they can get another shot off.

How can he contest their flaming spear? A flaming machete, perhaps?

Tyrone wraps his rifle around the back of his neck and thumbs through his bad rapidly, trying to find the tar he'd found in the outpost, along with his flint, all while balancing on the one foot without a stab wound lodged inside.

"There, there it is," he says, grabbing the supplies. Hoping he remembers how to light the tar correctly, Tyrone buries his machete in the stuff and ignites it with his flint.

Tyrone's machete rises lit with fire. He's ready to fight back. But the battlefield has changed now, at least two or three more have joined the confrontation.

Unsure about who to attack, Ty hastily limps to the closest tribute. Huh, the other one from Ten. Both of their tributes represented in one fight, how great for his odds.

Tyrone swings the machete at him, trying not to feel bad. Luya and Ginny are dead. Cedric can handle himself. The only person that Ty has to fight for is himself.

elegant

tyrone uses his flint to light the tar onto his machete

ty 8m attacks woody 10m; flaming machete (sword)
8LD5rW|Jpxsword
3.5

1-50
2sword·1-50

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

The dude's name was Arthur. And he was the fifth person I've seen die right in front of me over the past week.

I had always wondered why the bloodbath wasn't sitting heavily on me. Hell, I'd killed Iden Averill with my own two hands, maimed Bastian Fray and his district partner (Nylon, as I learned through the anthem), watched both Sixes die right in front of me and Anarchy Mer from Four fall to their hands as well. Yet at the end of the day the carnage was more of an afterthought - so lost was I in the heat of the battle, the rush of flirting with death and avoiding her, that the death and carnage was an afterthought in comparison. And sure, I'd butchered two mutts of my own but even though it was horrible they were still easy to forget about - nameless, faceless beasts created in a test tube or something like that with a lifespan that would have lasted days with or without me. It was easy to justify that.

But yesterday, Arthur Rollei from Three had his brains stabbed out right in front of me. Alive one second, dead as a doornail the next, and though I'd had no indication that any of them were aware of me, let alone cared about my presence, I just couldn't get the image of his body, suspended by Ten's spear for a moment, abruptly collapsing to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Cliché metaphor, I know, but that's what it looks like when you kill someone in an instant.

And quite frankly I'm glad that there was nothin' in my stomach and the gale force of the winds were drowning out any semblance of sound from more than three feet away because I'm not ashamed to admit that I nearly retched the water I'd drank right back out of there. And it's stupid, really, cause I'd been surrounded by death and squalor my entire damn life and for whatever reason it was the sudden death of a kid I'd never even met before that tore my walls down into a heap of rubble.

But I managed to keep my liquid lunch down, even as I trekked away from the Cornucopia to parts unknown. And as the third face - Luya, the girl from Eleven - follows Nylon and Arthur onto the sky, I can't help but just think about how fucked up all of this is. Kids like us, forced to go to the very extremes of our physical and mental limits if we want even a slim chance at living past our teenage years, endure torture of both the physical and mental variety to make it another hour, and after having each of those limits pushed day in and day out I'm not even sure if life is even still worth fucking living.

I'd had the epiphany days ago, but not for the first time I understand now, why Avriel looked hollowed out, his eyes trapped in memories from a year ago, why so many victors are never heard from again after their victories. The Games takes anything worth saving from you and beats it out, leaving only the worst parts behind. Compassion, empathy, even happiness - you either get that stamped out of you or you die knowing that your soul remained unbroken by the arena.

Too bad my soul didn't get the memo and shattered to pieces while my body still drew breath.

Luya's face fades into the night, and not for the first time, I'm envious of the fallen. Too cowardly to join them of my own accord, yes, but envious nonetheless. There's a mere fourteen left, counting myself. Half an arena's worth of kids remaining that must die if Aneesa or I are to make it to the end of the line and live out the rest of our lives as half-dead companions to Avriel's haunted psyche. Misery loves company, and all that.

My last thought before I pass out that night comes in the form of a wish, really - one that hopes that whatever has happened, she's taking this a lot better than I am.

One of us deserves to be whole, once all of this is said and done.

---

I wake up to the earth shaking beneath me. But it's no earthquake, as I quickly find, at least not in the traditional sense.

Instead, it's a clash of titans - two enormous reptilian beasts, unlike anything I've ever seen in my life, going at each other with an animalistic fury that, to my half-asleep mind, utterly confounds me. Aren't I in the arena? Aren't the only creatures aside from the tributes programmed beasts whose sole objective is to hunt us down and kill us? Why the fuck are they going for each other instead of us-

A gigantic tail slams feet away from me, and the rest of my brain kicks into gear. Get the fuck out of the danger zone first, ponder the ever fluid nature of the Games second, cause getting crushed to death doesn't sound all that ideal to me.

Yes, yes, I know, I crave death and all that, and that hasn't changed because of one rudely interrupted sleep. (Or two at this rate, I guess.) But a guy's gotta have standards, okay? And getting crushed doesn't quite make the list.

I'm on my feet, sword in one hand, bag on my back, in record time (nothing like a beastly brawl that might actually kill you and a healthy dose of fear-induced adrenaline injected directly into your brain to get you moving), and only when I deem myself a safe distance away from the brawl do I finally allow myself a look at the surroundings.

It's indeed two beasts, and they are indeed reptilian in nature, but that's where the similarities end - one is standing on two huge legs, with a pointed tail and an enormous jaw offset by the most ridiculously tiny arms I have ever seen proportionately on a creature in my life. The other looks more normally reptilian in nature, with its weird addition coming in the form of a huge sail-like thing coming directly out of its spine. I briefly wonder what the deal is, if these were supposed to be my trail today before something went awry with the programming-

-and then there's a bang and a blossom of pain erupting out of my gut that's so wholly unexpected that I gasp and drop to my knees. I look down to find red blossoming on my shirt, too slow to kill me right that second but definitely not slow enough to simply shrug off, and I raise my head and oh.

I wonder why I didn't hear the rumble of the engines, or see the lumbering hunks of metal on wheels approach, but that's not the point - because aside from the mutts, I'm far from alone. My mind races through the facets of the Games, imprinted on my memory due to Gunner's insistent watching of them, and wonder if this was supposed to be a feast or a grand challenge before the beasts decided each other was a greater enemy than we were.

But there's no watching from afar this time, no avoiding the greater number of enemies through stealth and a well-timed kill on one of my rivals. And if the other tributes have decided that this chaos is the perfect time to try and snipe down some competition, well, then who am I to deny that?

After all, this would be a pretty sweet death. As long as I avoid getting on the wrong side of the overgrown lizards, anyway.

It's easy to spot which of the vehicles took the pot shot at me, even if I can't make out the faces of the kids (one blond in an eerily familiar way, one dark-haired and a stranger), and easier to come up with a plan. And as I drop into a runner's crouch, I can practically hear Avriel's voice urgently advising against what I'm about to do.

But though I'm not stupid, I am reckless. And even if I misjudge this and die a horrible death underneath the vehicle's tires, well, then he can focus on bringing Aneesa home then. So really, it's a win-win all around.

I wait until the vehicle slows, as another kid rushes up to the plate, and make my move. Ignoring the pain in my gut (so sharp and fresh compared to the hunger pangs I'd long since tuned out), I break into a jog, then a sprint, before making a leap into the back of the vehicle, right behind driver and passenger.

"I appreciate the thought behind the gift, dude," I say, stabilizing myself as I hang half-on, half-off of the vehicle, machete gripped tightly. "But I didn't really care for it that much, so consider this a lil return to sender, mmmkay?"

elegant

zane decides to hitchhike and attacks woody; machete

0wfgJrcI6qsword

1184 -- Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

having your face hit
having your lip split
by the one who loves you

It wasn’t surprising that a car-crash killed Nylon.

A part of me always expected it, I guess, because that was how we viewed each other: two kinetic forces pretending to move parallel and separately when in fact, we were always destined for a bloody accident, a gruesome collision, and Nylon’s blood waterfalling hot over my eyes as the world went crimson for a second.

Puts a new definition to seeing red. Everything was warm, sticky, metallic and I tasted it all on my tongue. For a second I felt newborn, violently torn out of a womb with a vengeance, reborn into a bloodstained thing as Nylon Gingham gasped and heaved and died straddling my shoulders.

It was a second. It was an eternity. Time trickled from a river to a crawl as the car drifted forward, so painfully slow, and I could feel the edge we would soon be toppling over if I refused to reach for the steering wheel. If I didn’t turn around.

And for a second, I was tempted. This felt right. Dying in a car crash with Nylon on my shoulders, having the entire world colored red by her blood … it felt so right in my gut. We deserved the bad ending, we deserved to be splattered upon the ground all red and chrome. It was then, in that limbo between second and forever, that I learnt that we weren’t good people. We didn’t know what good meant. No, we were volunteers, which went on to say that we were here to dance with death, carouse around the corpses. Six. That was the number of bodies I had seen, but it felt less than it should be, it felt less than the heaping pile of broken bodies I kept falling asleep to. Everyone’s flesh had begun to merge and meld with one another’s.

Now Nylon’s would join the pile.

Another choked gasp of pain made my hands rise. I wrestled control back from the steering wheel, turned it with all my might and—she flew. Out of the window, onto the ground. I could see her in the jeep’s right mirror: her chest a gaping mouth painted red, her eyes a lifeless blue, and dead, dead, dead.

I watched her lay there for a good minute. Everything was quiet, except for the purr of the engine beneath me, except for my heart that should be racing and yet played a steady beat. Nylon was dead. As that realization seeped through me, my hands on the steering wheel moved on their own volition. There was a bump-bump as the jeep backed into a small bump in the ground.

I gave Laurence a look. After he got in the ride, I changed the gears and then began to drive.

I didn’t bother cleaning the blood from my hair.


She’s better dead. I know that. 

But when her face comes in the stars that night, I point the barrel of my gun at it until it disappears.

And then I lower the gun.

I couldn’t bring myself to shoot.

And in my dreams, she has already joined the pile of rotten bodies.


I start to a tremor so powerful it had actually shaken me awake. Hand on the axe quickly, a quick scan of the arena and what the fuck. “Laurence,” I rasp, unable to keep the awe and twisted glee out of my tone at what the morning greets us with. Their scales glistened as if polished, and the shadows they cast tower over acres of greenery. I watched, awestruck as a tail swept across an area and destroyed every tree there in one fell swoop. The power it shows half-frightens, half-enthralls. I stare at the twin monstrosities in the face and accept that certain things are born to maim and destroy.

“Get on,” I jerk my chin to the jeep without looking at Laurence. “We’re gonna’ go on another ride.”

The boy obeys. It’s probably because he’s scared of me. I kind of respect the fact that he’s struck around, though. He’ll be another body soon but at least he’s not bad to look at and to travel with. Got a good aim, too. I decide to keep Laurence alive for another day as I hop on the jeep beside him and slam the door shut, feeling the manic grin on my lips like an abscess.

And then I stomp on the accelerator for us to projectile forward in a great rush of speed, the forest surging to us in shades of green and emerald as I race towards the creatures. I am laughing when we spin near a creature’s foot, and even more when the earth shakes beneath us as it takes a massive step forward. “Don’t worry!” I shout at Laurence over the wind. “Death wants me, baby, not you!” Then the car spins again, this time in a dizzying arc around a massive foot, weaving playfully about it.

That’s when I spy them. Figures in the grass, hoping to stay hidden. A boy’s on the foliage, struggling to get back on foot, and I am turning my wheel towards him.

A miracle saves him. He gets up a second before the jeep whizzes over where he once was, trampling every wildflower there to petals and broken stems, and fuck. That’s when another person hops onto our car and when I turn to look, Zane’s face greets me, makes me smell the smoke of a distant pyre, hear the gunshots of an old battle.

I don’t hesitate to flick my gun out and, with my eyes on the road, bang! Fires wide, few feet away from his face.

“That was the warning shot, Holbrook,” I say, hint of an unkind laugh under each word. “Get the fuck off my car.” The wheels are turning as I speak, spinning back towards the boy I saw, a tribute who I don’t remember or care about.

He’ll be another body, he’ll be another road kill.

I step down on the accelerator with all my might, my machete outstretched from the driver's window. 

real love, real love
real love makes your lungs black
real love is a heart attack


Lyrics: Big Thief, Real Love.


( Bastian attacks Ty | Sword )

9aKTXYQjHJsword

1036 -- Severed Right Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage (Sword) + 1.0 (Strength)

sword

[Python]

They skipped the funeral this time, and Cedric was thankful for it. He had nothing to say about Luya, just as he had Ginny. If anything, her ties to the young girl were her own demise; it seemed she had lost her spark, and tributes could smell weakness like bloodhounds. They drowned her in blood and left her like a ruined cadaver at the outpost towers. Cedric had dropped his knife for Whiskey and rushed the fuck out of there, foot smashing the gas pedal as if a bullet would fly past his shoulder at any moment. He wondered why Sinead hadn't followed - maybe it was a sentimentality thing, or she was just tired.

Fighting was tiresome, Cedric had learned.

He caught his breath as they coasted past the towers. The silence was comforting, awkward, and then it was boring. He broke it like he broke everything else: "What you said earlier. What was that about?" He asked, referring to Ty's theatrics about winning nothing, starting from nothing, giving nothing. A harmless bet had churned Ty's frustration, and now it was a perfect topic of conversation to pass the time.

"I don't know. I just feel like we can't win."

Well, if he sought to lose, then he would certainly lose. Self-fulfilling prophecy.

Cedric always pranced in the ever-green grass on the other side. "Well, if one of us wins the Games, we get a shit ton of money."

"You think money will buy our happiness, Cedric?"

This was where their differences lied, he realized. People who thought money couldn't buy happiness didn't know what a hungry stomach was. Real hunger. Worse than the dull gnawing Cedric felt now. He knew he could easily last another night without his food, and so he would continue to ration. It didn't bother him one bit.

"You've never been to Twelve, have you?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow. A severe tone seeped its way through the cracks, failing to disguise his truth as a mere joke. "Money absolutely buys happiness."

"Maybe for a little while. Everything that you buy will eventually go away and just be nothing again."

Ty's bleak outlook on the wealthy world did not fit Cedric's fantasy. "Not if you're rich. You can just replace old shit and buy new shit. Look at the Capitol."

"Do you want to be them? The Capitol?"

Cedric didn't feel shame. There was no reason to hate who he was or what he wanted. Anybody who said they didn't want to be rich was lying to themselves, or they were stupid. Cedric had always been watching the Capitol, and finally lived among them for a week. Golden fountains, silk-sewn beds, mountains of desserts, oceans of freshwater in their pipes - he considered it insanity to not desire these things. "Uh, yeah! Do you not?"

"It's the last thing I want to be. Envious you have the guts, though."

In another world - in Twelve, perhaps - Cedric would've called him a loser.

"Everyone in Twelve is either starving, on drugs, or both. I'll take anything at this point. Even went to the Detention Center for fun once."

He thought of Anarchy, how his life ended much sooner than he wanted. They never had the chance to chat about their fucked up destiny. Meeting in the Detention Center only for Anarchy to die in the Bloodbath. What a messy bastard.

"Can you promise me something if you win, Cedric?"

No.

"Depends on what it is."

He was a promise breaker through and through.

"Will you be better than the Capitol? Not just be rich like them, but be better?"

Asking the devil to shed his horns, eh? "Hmm, that's a fun challenge. I can try, but I'm pretty known for being a scumbag."

They both know his words are genuine.

"What're you gonna do if you win?"

"Don't know. I volunteered to run away from District Eight. I haven't thought about being the face of it."

Cedric grinned, "You might wanna think about it. Just sayin'"

He wanted to speak survival into reality. There was no reason for Ty to send his soul to the stars just yet. They had lost Luya and Ginny, but this was merely the beginning. The days would get longer, blood-stained, grueling, and Cedric didn't want to be left to his own devices just yet.

---

In hindsight, driving blindly into a lush marshland wasn't the brightest idea. Footsteps that shook the earth vibrated through their leather seats. Before Cedric could determine whether it was an earthquake or another dinosaur, a clawed foot bashed into the side of their vehicle. Cedric felt his shoulder crash into the door and glass swiping at his cheeks. Cuts and bruises, nothing new. He squeezed the steering wheel until the vehicle was back on the ground, and he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He scrambled out of the jeep to stare at the anomaly before them: two large dinosaurs tearing each other apart. It was possibly one of the best things he had ever fucking seen in person, and he couldn't move his gaze away. He was transfixed, mesmerized -

And of course, the tributes had to ruin it.

For once, Cedric didn't want to fight. He sighed as he pulled out his machete and approached the tribute with the flaming spear. "Seriously, there are two monsters fighting and this is what you want to do?"

He rolled his eyes. "You guys are boring!"

[attacks Maddox - machete]
OeBS4E7Sh6sword
Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage

sword

[Knuckles]

For a brief moment Maddox turns to the sky watching the giant creatures fight one another. Its fascinating, and they want to sit back and enjoy the show, but with a battle happening, it's impossible to stop. Yet a glimmer of hope sinks in seeing their district partner and knowing he's still alive only for those thoughts to go away.

"Seriously, there are two monsters fighting and this is what you want to do?" The words meet their ears before the edge of a blade drives deep into their stomach. "You guys are boring!"

Maddox takes a step back pressing their hand against the hole as blood gushes between their fingers. All it takes is one wrong movement for everything to come crashing down.

"Yes." Their reply is firm despite the lingering thoughts racing through their mind.

No, I don't want to.

"This is what I want."

They take another step back, and for the first time they lock their eyes on the flame flickering on the edge of the spear. It offers hope, and as long as the flame is burning inside, Maddox knows there's a chance to making it home alive.

"I would rather be alive and boring than dead and not boring."

A quick turn, and they face the district eight male once more. It would be easy to attack the guy who tried to gut them, but Maddox knows it wouldn't do any good.

This is what I have to do. I killed once before, and I'm not afraid to do it again.

All it takes is strength and courage to overcome the obstacles in life, and this is one that is even harder to succeed in. Strength and courage mean nothing in a game where life is thrown away, but at least it may offer them a chance to keep the will to survive alive for as long as they possibly can.

"You could always, you know, sit back and enjoy the show if you wanted."

Which show they choose is up to them because right now the only show that matters is staying alive and winning.

[ made by kaitlin ]

Maddox attacks Ty with flaming spear
f1zwTsXl8Fspear
3003 -- Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage + 1 strength

1-50
+4

spear·1-50

[arx!!]

I've never been afraid of fire. In fact, it reminds me of cold, rainy mornings when Mom would make hot chocolate—"For breakfast?"—and I'd insist two cups was exactly the right amount to make my 'tummy full of yummy.' She'd curl up next to me and she'd tell me stories about old games. Games where the only fire they had were works and no one was swinging anything but a bat. They didn't even allow weapons inside those stadiums.

"Sounds boring."

And I can always remember the flash of fear in her eyes, the way she sighed so defeatedly when she said:

"It was."

He's talking to me, the guy I nearly missed earlier. He's got a machete and all I can think to do is force myself out of the other side of the vehicle before he can get close enough. But I've got this ringing going on in my ears now, fire licking the edges of the jeep's upholstery as my hands shake over fresh, free-flowing wounds. My body is falling apart. They're tearing it apart, all of them, for days now. And I think it's trapping me.

Desperation makes you lose your mind, makes you look as if you might be a monster—we're all just like these damn creatures, swatting at each other in a glorified, rich asshole version of a fish bowl.

"How come no one plays anymore, Mom?"

I was never sure of what she actually said.

Because we lost or because we're lost.

Why does the answer matter so much to me now?

Why is staring down the barrel of a gun at a living breathing person making my hands shake so much? "Back up." Why does it matter what she said, who cares, she died, she's dead, what's it matter, I'm going to fucking die if I don't-

_{[ by griffin ]}


woody 10m aims up at ty 8m

[ -- ]

and hesitates

[mat]

TY HOPE-LESS

no power in his bones
and faith beyond return.
his glass house shattered by stones
leaving a soul exposed to burn.

It's not enough, the blade and flame combined, to bring the boy down. Nothing he can do is enough to survive. Tyrone falls back in pain as his sword retreats from skin. He doesn't like the way that the world feels anymore. Broad daylight transitions into rotations of stars off balance at the height of his vision. Toes are numb and fingers are shaky. Is this what Ginny and Luya felt? Is this what his mother felt when they dragged her away and (probably) executed her?

There's shouting all around him, but Ty can't make out much of what they're saying. The jeeps twist and turn in the marsh and leave his head spinning. A tribute with light hair, Fray, of course, how could he forget that sort of name waves his machete at him, driving full speed toward Ty. He tries to pull his hand back to avoid the hit, but his reactions aren't nearly fast enough. The machete glides through the palm of his hand, right between his thumb and index finger, chopping halfway through and tearing more skin before the car floats past.

"Seriously? There are two monsters fighting and this is what you want to do?"

Cedric is staring out at the tribute who took the first strike towards Ty.

Don't poke the bear. Please- please Cedric.

"Yes," they respond.

"F.." he can barely prepare to curse out at their fiery spear before it is inside him once again. It falls deep into his arm, the sizzling flames on open skin doing the entire right side of his body no favors. The pain only forces him to grip the weapon harder. Tend to his wounds? He'll lose his machete. Try to run away? They'll without a doubt catch up to him.

Volunteering made so much sense back then. Tyrone was okay with dying. Maybe he still is now, but every mechanism, organ, bone, and cell is saying not yet.

Don't die yet.

His balance continues back and forth on the battlefield. Why is the earth so uneasy? Ty's legs feel as if they're suspended in the rapids by a waterfall, and his head is light as if he forgot to blow through his nose when underwater. He's drowning on land.

"Back up."

Tyrone has gotten too close to one of the tributes. Ten, the boy from Ten. Yes, he'd hit him from Fray's jeep just a few moments ago. He'd adhere to the boy's wavering demands if it wasn't for the lack of control over his body. His legs are tired from curling up in a jeep for hours of sleep just to be awoken suddenly. They still tingle from their rest and from the shards of computer screen glass that he'd smashed yesterday evening. Ten's gun is pointed directly at him, but Ty only pushes forward.

"Don't hesitate," Ty doesn't want to die to a career's hand, or to the hand of someone who is resigned to the kill. "For fuck's sake, why'd you hesitate?" His instincts oblige him closer to the boy, and with the machete still attached to his person, Tyrone half-strikes and half-falls onto him. "You're just preventing my inevitable."

His entire body verges upon complete collapse.

Simply exhausted.

elegant

ty attacks laurence; flaming machete (sword)
Ehs5rRGDiisword
Severed Left Ear +8.0 dmg

1-50
Extinguished +0sword·1-50

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

It's a damn wonder how my desire for wanton murder and bloodshed fluctuates from day to day, and sometimes even from swing to swing. Two days ago I had trouble killing a fucking rodent that wouldn't stop headbutting me and squeaking my damn ear off. Today? I nearly cut clean through this random kid's skull, no problem.

Course, the bitch shot me. There might have been a bit more motivation behind it. But the fact that I wasn't able to nearly one-shot that rodent concerns me. Am I really that inconsistent with my fights? Does it take me missing death by pure chance to supercharge my body with murderous intent? Or do I just have a hidden yet deeply personal hatred of humanity that for some reason doesn't translate to annoying artificial creatures?

Who fucking knows. What I do know is that with one swing, I almost add this random boy to my kill list, and a few seconds later he's the last thing on my mind because blondie turns his head towards me and oh.

Figures that Bastian Fray would find himself resilient enough to haunt me five days after I've claimed my pound of flesh from him.

"Trying to blow my brains out in such a public place, Fray?" I say, and I almost hate how laughably easy it is for my self preservation instincts to be shoved aside after going through five days of poorly disguised torture at their whim. "I didn't take you for such a voyeur, darling."

But the message is clear enough even for my thick skull and it is so laughably easy to decipher that the reason my heart is hammering against my ribcage is only partially from the rush of the near death and while I may be reckless, I'm not stupid, and maybe I'm not quite as suicidal as I might think because while self preservation has given up the job, raw, animalistic survival has not. But for one brief moment they work in beautiful tandem, and I can't help but play with the fire even as I rush to escape its deadly heat.

"And don't you worry that pretty little head of yours, I know not to overstay a welcome," I say with an overexaggerated wink, and this time there's no almost in the disgust that washes over me.

To think that a month ago I considered doing this to live life to the fullest and die a quick, painless death, And now I can't even emulate the Zane of what used to be, much less the Zane of my wildest dreams.

And I decide it's tiring to keep up the act. The smirk drops, as does my voice, deadly serious where seconds ago it had been full of playful mirth. "'Sides, I'm sure you'll have your hand full with what's left of your boy toy in a sec anyway." When I chuckle, there's no humor in the sound. "Promise it's nothin' personal."

Though maybe it is. Maybe right then and there I decide that I hate Bastian Fray for finding it somewhere in his heart to not send a clip's worth of lead into my brain instead of thin air. Like seriously, I've maimed the guy, nearly shortened his friend or fuckbuddy or whatever by half a foot with a single blow, humiliated his family name and eighteen years of honorable Career values or whatever shit they indoctrinate kids in the wealthy districts and still he finds something in his heart to spare me.

So maybe simply playing with the fire isn't dangerous enough. Maybe I have to fully bathe in it before I feel something familiar.

So I salute mockingly towards the boys, right before I drop. And if I swing my blade towards Bastian's partner on the way out, then, well, I'll leave it up to the observer's interpretation as to whether that was intentional or not.

And if it hurts when my body hits solid ground and the vehicle drives away, then maybe just this once I damn well welcome it.

elegant

zane decides to unhitchhike and attacks woody on the way out; machete

ZhnlUOFzndsword

1121 -- Deep Gash on Back -- 8.5 damage

sword

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

having your face hit
having your lip split
by the one who loves you

It doesn’t feel wrong to hack the boy away anymore. Blood spills in a slash of red on the foliage and I don’t bat a lash, opting instead for another spin that makes the world become a hopscotch of greens and blues and then resettle into the same battlefield, the same trench.

We’re a bunch of children playing war and there’s no ceasefire in this game. Maybe I felt something back then, back at the beginning where everything wasn’t so ugly and grotesque, but now I feel nothing. Worse. I feel at home here. I feel right to be around corpses and I feel right to wield a blade in my hand. Does a hound weaned on blood know it can eat other things? Does a blade made to cut know that it has other uses?

No. The hound only hungers for blood and the blade knows only to maim. Animal nature is real, baby doll, and I’m the apex predator here. There are two types of animals: ones that eat and ones that get eaten. I know which one I am and I know which one they are. That’s the extent of my humanity, it seems: a narrow scrap of animalistic instinct. I am not a boy. I am not a career. I am something that has teeth all over my body and I am something that causes the wildfire and I am something that’s willing to burn to death in it with all my teeth gnashed.

I am desolation, fire and blood.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Zane’s words are wind and so is everyone else’s. They are living corpses speaking and every sentence is garbled in my head, incoherent.

What am I supposed to feel?

Anger? Yes, that’s right. I am supposed to feel angry at Zane for letting Aurora die, for scarring my left hand that hurts when I move it, and for being a little pest in general. But I don’t. I don’t feel anything at all. My chest is hollowed out, a cavern where a heart and feelings used to be, and I don’t fucking feel. Anything. It’s like white noise as a state of being. It’s like emptiness made flesh. There’s only a silence in my head and nothing else.

Words sway in the air: “Back up,” Laurence’s.

“Don’t hesitate. For fuck’s sake, why’d you hesit—”

“—inevitable—darling, overstay a welcome—”

And the roar of the engine drowns everything out as I wake it again. I cast a sidelong glance at Laurence and sees it: the gun in his shaking hand. Hesitant. He looks at his prey and cannot shoot and that makes him the other kind of animal out of the two previously mentioned.

Not me, though.

They say it’s bad luck to get bitten by a dog.

I am that dog.

I am that bout of bad luck.

What’ll you do?

Put me down?

Well, good luck.

I take my pistol out and disengage the safety.

And as the world slows, wind and heartbeats and everything else, I almost can hear Nylon’s giggle, a playful sound, seconds before the—

real love, real love
real love makes your lungs black
real love is a heart attack


Lyrics: Big Thief, Real Love.


( Bastian shoots Ty | Pistol )

OHD|5J1Ggtthrowing knife

9013  -- 8.0 damage (Bullet)

throwing knife