Fight 3: Backrooms

[Knuckles]

Some may call it dumb luck that you managed to avoid the worst of potential injuries falling 2 storeys into the concrete jungle below, but you’ll take anything you can get in the Hunger Games. With ease you swipe up a weapon and leave the tangle of tributes, blades and bruises to their own demise in the Main Chamber of the arena. 

“Welcome, tributes,” Harlan Godfrey’s voice echoes as you crinkle your nose and scamper through abandoned hallways “to the 10th Annual Hunger Games.”

The mold and mildew twists and expands, a green and grey path luring you to a quick death. Still, you follow. Do you hunker down beneath an abandoned, overturned castle of furniture? Are you small enough to squeeze into a long-since abandoned locker? Is the weapon now in your hands plucked from drawers and cupboards? 

No matter your strategy: your enemies find you soon enough. 

Or perhaps... you found them? 

OOC
1 PC Death Required
- Max Jones D6 (Kiah k!ah )
- Amber Bosch D7 (Tris eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris )
- Dagger Thane D4 (Celestials revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay )
- Nolan Goode D10 (Kaitlin gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. )
- Peyton Blight D11 (NPC) killed by: Nolan Goode
- Colette Purslane D12 (NPC) killed by: Bacterial Infection



Initiative Order: Max Jones (89.19), Nolan Goode (87.06), Amber Bosch (69.03), Dagger Thane (0)

[k!ah]

m a x .


*   *   *

You were dying, your head pounded as though there was a hundred nails being driven into it in a desperate attempt to rip open your skull. You groan, as you roll onto your side, hugging your knees close to your chest as you fought to breathe through the crippling nausea that threatened to send your guts hurling onto the dirt. Right next to the damp space where you had retched until your throat felt like it was on fire and that it was going to burn you alive.


"Fuuuuuck," you groan your eyes squeezed shut and then the earth falls out from beneath you and you are fall fall falling.

“Welcome, tributes!" A voice echoes through your pounding head as you fight to catch the breath that had been ripped from your lungs the moment your body hit the damp filthy earth. The smell hits you a moment later and suddenly your body is waring with the need for oxygen and his desire to hurl up the last of the contents in your aching stomach.

After what feels like a lifetime you manage to peel open your eyes, and you find yourself wishing that you hadn't bothered as you take in the sewage around you. It should have felt like a breath of home, because, fuck, it was. Only you had traded one shit hole for another and you could have sworn that home smelt better than this fucking dump.

"Home sweet home," you grumble as you force yourself to your feet. Nope, that was a mistake. Your head spins wildly and you stumble towards the wall, your fingers slipping against the slimly surface as you fight to maintain any sort of balance. You knew what was happening. You had seen it happen to more than enough of your clients to know the signs of withdrawal. You swallow hard, closing you eyes against the stench that was causing your eyes to burn. It was only going to go down hill from here.

A sound behind you has you whirling around, your back pressed tightly against the wall as the world begun to spin and the figure before you morphed into two- or was that one?

"You better stay back," you rasp, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You smelt like vomit. Perfect, you should blend in perfectly with your surroundings. "Or I'll cut your throat," your voice cracks, and your legs shake, but you manage to hold a glare as you stared down the person- persons? approaching you. "I mean it, assholes!"

[ max does not attack as her sorry ass is in no condition to hold a weapon- or find one at this point ]

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

"NO ONE GOODE"

The drop is the sort that usually kicks you out of a dream.

The lot of you topple head first into a nightmare instead, the world falling out from underneath your feet. Twenty-four fall, pitched forward through the flickering darkness and tumbling rocks; it feels like you fall for half an eternity, heavy on the downfall as you watch one kid tip head over heel.

A part of you knows to wince before the collision. You almost wish they would've landed a little to the left instead, in slightly deeper water. Maybe it'd make looking at the viscera easier.

The impact hits you like a spiral, radiating from the point of impact at your hip through to the tips of your fingers. Loose lips let out a long string of curse words that you know the cameras aren't going to like, but that's what they have all those pretty machines in their glass towers for, isn't it? So you let yourself groan as you try and un-splatter yourself from the slippery concrete, pain deepening into disgust as realization hits. You've spent enough time shoveling horse shit to recognize where they've dumped you.

That gets you scrambling to your feet pretty quickly, your boots sloshing in the inch-deep water you landed in. You blanch looking out at some of the other tributes, some already picking up loose rubble, ready to fight, most trying to slink down the adjoining tunnels to try and hide. You only spend a second grappling with the choice to stay and claim the space or to hunt down the one's who would run. Blake was right when she said to go for the weakest link, even if those hadn't been her exact words. You got the gist.

You miss the direct Ekta goes and consider a mission marked for later, and decide to go hunting instead. Your boot squelches through the viscera of the girls crushed skull as you go; there was a time when you didn't know what the inside of a human skull looked like. Some animals, sure, usually long-dead ones you'd stumbled across while wandering the fields. Deer skulls, foxes, even a bear or two. You leave behind ugly, blood and water-logged boot marks in your wake.

You'll find a way to live with this knowledge too. What other choice is there?

The only kindness you offer to the boy from Eleven is a quick death. There's mercy in that death, you'll tell yourself that over and over and over if you have too. He hobbles away from you on an ugly, twisted ankle; he doesn't offer you the kindness of an easy death, but you won't hold that against him, wouldn't want someone to hold it against you. Relentless acceptance. The world will keep moving even if you don't.

So you don't ignore the knife when you see it sitting there on a table, all shiny and clean, as if waiting for you to reach out and claim it. You don't walk away when he hides in what you think is an old locker, tinny and rusted on the hinges. The thing makes an ugly tearing noise as you yank it open, pulling it free of its hinges. Elbow pressing against his chest, he begs please, please, please, please until you bury the knife in his voice box. You've seen more blood before, but it's still a lot, to see something die at the end of your blade.

It's the closest to God you've felt in years.

That feeling could go to your head, you think, and you instinctively pull away from it. There's a rushing in your ears that has nothing to do with the pumps creating a constant echo down here, like a warbling splash that ripples on into everything. Hands turning to habit, you reach in your pocket for the rosary you pretend to hate only to find the bottom hem. Empty, something in you hollows out.

You're following the source of wherever that splashing is coming from a second later, needing to move, needing to scratch some unscratchable itch. Home sweet home bounces down the hallway, ricocheting across the water like a skipped stone. You follow it home to its source.

The deer who skipped it spins, eyes like a does in the dark. Even the hollows under her eyes can't hide the brights of their blue.

"Who's supposed to stop me, Shaky?" You slink forward, the water parting around your boots. At first, you thought the stench of it might get even you, but the burning in your eyes stopped when Blight stopped breathing. Lifting your knife-wielding hand, you wipe it clean across your chest, letting the silver side flash in the low light. "You don't look too good... Maybe I should come give you a hand."

nolan attack max, knife

UBjzu1v489knife

roll

knife

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

district seven female
☢︎  Amber Bosch  ☢︎

You have come to learn that life seems to move in this way.

The earth crumbling beneath your feet, the world tilting on its axis. Wherever there is peace, there is a calamity waiting to upend it. Be that a girl wanting more than her family can afford, or a name called out in the Reaping, or a zoo enclosure full of misfortune children eroding into a sinkhole. There's a lesson in all this. Things can always get worse.

To think, a span of days separates a time when all you yearned for was to feel pretty and wanted — and now you only yearn for the chance to survive. All thoughts of Fraser Birk are knocked out of your head when you go tumbling into the depths, and the beautiful girls who kept you company are nowhere to be seen. You are alone, left only with your racing thoughts and the darkness that rushes to consume you.

That, and the searing pain that rips through your abdomen. When you gasp, it tastes like rust. You wait for the world to stop spinning around you, spreading your palms out against the cold floor and thanking your lucky stars that you're on solid ground again. A younger you used to watch the birds flying outside your window with envy — the same way you would watch everything else that was out of your reach — and you remember wishing you could join them in the sky.

Now, you never want to feel weightless again. Turning on your side, the first thing your eyes go to is the steadily closing circle of light that seems miles above your head. In seconds, it is sealed shut, and you are left only with the overwhelming smell of rot — and the stabbing ache that continues to move through you like a tidal wave. A glance down at your stomach reveals the culprit, your hands instantly starting to shake and a whimper leaving your lips.

Pierced through the side of your torso is a metal rod, haloed by a blossom of blood now staining your jumpsuit. You allow yourself a brief moment of panic, instinctively looking around for help but knowing there is no one to offer it. Any tributes you can still see are sprinting off into the distance, in search of shelter or supplies. Every bit of rationality in your body tells you that you should join them, that you need to get up and move if you plan on surviving. But that's easier said than done.

At the very least, there's no one to ambush you while you're down. This gives you time to access your wound, to let the adrenaline move through your veins before you rush to do something you might regret. As badly as your impulse tells you to remove the pipe, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you that loss of blood can be just as deadly as anything else. Swallowing a breath, you choose to deal with the agony just a little longer, willing yourself to your feet and crying out as the injury is stretched. One arm is cradled around your torso, the other holding onto the wall for support.

You stare down a nearby tunnel as the voice of Harlan Godfrey echoes overhead, signaling the true start of the 10th Annual Hunger Games. Whispering a silent prayer that you will find something useful waiting for you in the dark, you begin to stumble in that direction, terribly aware that more danger could be lurking around the corner.

^{{ Amber gathers her sponsored supplies & does some quick medical shenanigans! }}

With one arm exposed to the elements, a strip of fabric tied tightly around your waist, you clutch tightly to the knife you found and continue traveling through the labyrinth. Nothing you see offers any hope, or comfort, and each new space you enter only offers some new revolting stench. When you finally hear what seems to be human speech nearby, you're not sure whether to be grateful or terrified that there's more than just rats down here with you. Your morbid curiosity wills you to glance into a nearby room, mold covered and rancid with a sickly green carpet that squelches beneath your boots.

Too late do you realize the sound has alerted the two tributes inside to your presence, an unarmed girl shivering and demanding the boy across from her stand back — but he only presses forward, his blade striking fast like lightning and slicing her skin. You try to turn and bolt before he can move his attention to you, but spinning on your heels only reveals a third tribute you missed, not entangled in the conflict but standing far too close for comfort. "Let me pass!" you declare boldly, not sure if he's even trying to block your way or if he has any clue what's happening just behind you.

As bad as you feel for the other girl, now is not the time to play hero. You push forward with your shoulder, squeezing through the doorway, and you swipe your blade in a wide arc hoping to scare this new boy away from you. It's cruel irony that you risk harming him with this movement, but your fear and selfishness seem to be moving in unity. "If you want to kill someone, there's easier pickings just through this door. Another guy's already got the jump on her."

If you make it out of this alive, you will find some way to forgive yourself for the terrible things you have done — and will continue to do.

amber attacks dagger ; knife
|NSlx5d3e2knife
8.0

knife

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

T H A N E

He sees double.
               double.

It starts the moment he opens his eyes, a double-vision kaleidoscope of depth and color. Must've hit his head on the way down—along with every other part of his body that groans and aches as Dagger pulls himself upright, grinding on his teeth as though that'll somehow alleviate the pain ricocheting through his enfeebled bones. 

Dazed, he swipes out a hand to find something, anything. The tunnel wall is damp and slick, but he props himself against it anyway, taking the first few moments to re-spool his knotted mind. His skin, a canvas for deep-set purple and blue watercolor bruises spiderwebbing across his ribs and forearms.  He inhales—and urgh, the stench hits him harder than the fall. He blinks away the sudden rush of burning tears to his eyes by clenching them shut, taking a breath, and holding it for a second before repeating. Working with fish for his entire life, Dagger isn't a stranger to a less-than-savory smell, finding a means to push through it on the wave-rocked boats in Four.

He trudges through the ankle-high water, one hand plugging his nose and the other wrapped tightly around the hilt of a sword. He walks until the ground becomes a carpet of sorts, damp and sickly green. The water trapped in the carpet squeals around his feet, rising and fizzling around the rubber soles of his shoes. The slime-slick stone walls of the tunnel fade into a yellowish-toned wallpaper, water-stained and peeling at the corners. Dagger despises the change in scenery, the entire low-lit ambiance of the area making him uneasy. The smell seems to have dulled, though.

Voices cut through the heavy silence, pulling his attention. A part of him wants to turn the other way, get another few moments of respite, and pull his being together. He'd know an exhausted worker is an ineffective one, recalling the times when he'd been half-asleep on his father's boat, eyes sluggish, piercing his skin with fish hooks. Maybe he'd trip and fall on his sword, that'd be an embarrassing way to go. But in that same recalled memory, he remembers his father's words, telling him if he didn't get his ass in step that he'd have to swim his way home.

Dagger pushes forward and only after a few steps, and a turn, he runs into a figure. She's smaller than him, her skin clings to her bones, and he's familiar with her face. He can't put a name to it, but after spending the days in an exhibit with twenty-three others, he became accustomed with how they look. Perhaps not the wisest decision, because they'd all have to bleed out in these halls for him to go back home. And it'd be easier if he could look at all of them as hurdles and not people.

At least he didn't know her name.

She shouts at him, waving her knife erratically.

"I didn't even do anythin-"

He's cut off when her paranoia digs into his leg, a sudden burning sensation as his skin is split and blood gurgles and rushes down his leg. His shit-stained pants cling to the wound, and he realizes he'd be lucky to walk out of here. Hobbling, maybe. And that's if the bacteria doesn't eat its way through his flesh and kill him first.

He clenches a fist, punching the wall with the side of it, groaning.

"That was unnecessary."

And he suddenly has half the mind to cut her down. To run her through with the point of his sword. It's what it was made for. And perhaps that was his purpose, too.

But he hesitates.

Dagger hangs onto the ends of her words, never tearing his eyes from her wide, brown eyes. And then he moves, pushing through the body-packed doorframe, holding up his silver sword in a defensive stance as he passes. It's not a threat, but he'd cut her if she made any kind of move.

He approaches, the dampened, sea-green carpet caving in around his boots. He could be quieter, but there was really no point. Doe-eyes had already given away their position. The other girl she spoke about was cornered, a flurry of cuss words flying from her mouth, blood splayed across her pale skin. She's a fish caught in his net, the boy a shark in the water. And for a second, a pang of guilt strikes his heart. For playing his part in these games, for making her death a spectacle.

But it would've happened if he turned the other way, and went down a different tunnel. There's no escaping having their deaths, gruesome and violent ends, being broadcasted to every screen in Panem.

At least he'll try and make it quick.

dagger attacks max 🗡 sword

9yXumBYwcJsword

miss

sword

[k!ah]

m a x .


*   *   *

"Who's supposed to stop me, Shaky?" The voice feels as slimy as the wall you grip, it slithers across your skin leaving goose bumps and you swallow hard. You were not a stranger to violence, hell, aggression came with the job when you were selling to junkies who threatened tear your arms from your limbs if it meant getting their next fix when they were on the verge of totally losing it. But you were off your game. Your whole body ached as though you had been hit by the train they shoved you in before they dumped you in that enclosure like a fish out of water to be gawk at.

The slashing of water fills your ears and suddenly the figures before you settle into one. You see a glint of silver catching on some of the dim light and instantly you know what it means. "You don't look too good... Maybe I should come give you a hand."

You move to shove him away, your knees protesting as they threatened to give way. "Touch me and I'll-" fingers wrap around your wrist in an iron grip a moment before it is pinned to the wall. Pain erupts through the palm of your hand, and a scream is torn from your throat as your vision flashes white for a breath. You feel as though your hand is on fire, the pulsing surging pain rushes through you and for a moment you can do nothing but gasp, your trembling knees fighting for their life as your gaze flicks to your hand that was pinned to the wall, a knife impaling it until it broke through the stone beneath.

"You sick fucking bastard!" You screech as you try and rip your hand free, swallowing your next scream as it pounds against your lips, desperate to be let free. It fucking hurt. So fucking much.

Movement from the corner of your eye has your head jerking away from the mess that was your hand and suddenly there is another person before you, only his knife is bigger and longer and its not exactly a knife as much as it is a sword. And fuck. You were so fucking screwed. And your head is spinning. And your knees are shaking. And you fucking had felt like it was burning in the pits of hell.

The sword comes for you the same moment as the other kid releases his knife from your hand. Your knees fail you and you hither floor, panting through gritted teeth as you cradle your hand to your chest. You had to get out of here. Frantically you look around yourself for an escape, your eyes locking on the retreating figure a few feet away. They slip through a doorway and like the cornered animal you were, you lung for it.

[ max shoves nolan ]
tZXAd_6w7Wunarmed

unarmed

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

"NO ONE GOODE"

It takes you a moment to realize you've put your knife through her hand.

You have half a thought to release the hilt immediately, feel her tug against the blade with pain-slicked resistance reluctance. Abandoning the thought in favor of survival, you wrap your sludge covered hand around her thin wrist and hold it still. You don't let go until your knife has gouged into the cork-like material mounted on the wall.

You sick fucking bastard! she hollers, right in your face, when a wave of violence comes barreling through the open doorway. A quick glance over your shoulder just as he swings a long- ugly blade in your direction—no, in hers.

Despite your narrowed eyes, you know better than to look a gift horse in its mouth.

You abandon your own silver knife, pulling it free from where it stabbed through her hand. She's been a shivering mess since the lot of the tributes were dumped in that stinking pen, worse than the others even as they started to suffer the hunger pangs. She's not pulling herself out of this fight. You're sure of it. Instinct has you snatching out for the knife in her other palm, disarming her so that any fighting chance she might've had goes out like a candle in an open window.

Dark eyes flash towards the girl in the doorway, bug-eyed, beautiful Amber. Looking to the kid from Four, it figures the two pretty ones found each other first.

Something stirs, seeing the blood on her knife. 

"Maybe you do have teeth," eyebrows lower, and you drain your face of whatever impression she's left on you. You don't want her to know, don't either of them to know. Knuckles going white around the hilt of the knife you pried from Max's weak palm, you turn away from her and incline your head toward Max just in time to realize she's dropped to her knees in front of Dagger, who is looking for all the world like you've always imagined a shark does when there is blood in the water.

His eyes are as dark as your own, burning with determination above his firm-set mouth. Two boys lunge for Max, but it's your palm that fists in her hair, yanking it back towards both of you. 

"Not so fast, Six." you knife at her throat, you meet Dagger's eyes over her shoulder. "I know you're not trying to run from a fight."

nolan attack max, knife

1rrSgZBJG9knife

3.5

knife

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

district seven female
☢︎  Amber Bosch  ☢︎

Guilt places its cold hand on your shoulder — and despite the urge to run, you find yourself frozen where you stand.

In the doorway, caught halfway between brutality and cowardice. "I didn't even do anythin-" the stranger can hardly finish his sentence before the frantic swipe of your blade cuts deep into his leg, cleanly splitting the seams of his stained pants and drawing blood. It seeps into the fabric quickly, alarmingly so, turning the already dark brown smears almost pitch black. Just the sight of it makes your stomach turn, but his next words make you want to hurl.

"That was unnecessary." And he's right, even if you can't bring yourself to unfurl your fingers around the hilt of your weapon. As frightened as you still feel, every impulse in your body playing tug-of-war between fight and flight, you are rational enough to understand that you've made the wrong choice. "God, I'm-" but the sentiment dies on your tongue, swallowed down into the churning depths. It doesn't seem fair to apologize for a decision you made in your right mind. He hadn't made an attempt to harm you, and yet you felt the need to go on the offensive.

Now his blood is on your knife, and he's calmly limping past you in the direction of the girl you sold out. You can't help but feel awful for it, even if you stand there with your jaw set and your eyes staring directly at the carnage. You ask him to leave you be, to finish off the girl who's already at the disadvantage, and he concedes. This doesn't feel like a victory. I'm sorry. You want to say it so badly that the very fibers of your being feel like they might begin to unravel.

But you don't run, and you don't continue your attack. You watch with a terrible mixture of horror and understanding as the two boys begin to team up against the shivering girl. One with a blade like yours, and the other with a longer, sharper sword. At least three of you standing in this room will die, but you feel certain that her time on this earth will be cut short in a matter of moments. If anything, you placed all your bets on that fact.

You need her to die. You should want all of them to drop dead.

Kindness is not so easily buried. "Maybe you do have teeth," says the boy with the light tan and buzzed dark hair, the one who began this conflict. His perception of you doesn't make you feel any better, but there is a quiet part of you that latches on. If you have any intention of making it out of this place alive, you cannot allow your emotions to twist and turn at the very thought of hurting someone. You have to act fast, and you have to trust your gut instinct. And if you survive, you will have to do so much worse than sentencing a girl to die and slicing open skin.

"I do," you dryly say in response to him, blade still in hand as you enter the room and make a choice you know cannot go back on. "But I don't use them to play with my food. Did they not teach you manners where you come from?" It doesn't matter. Not as you position yourself between the two young men and stare down at a girl whose ill fate could have very well been your own. You will do her the good grace of looking her in the eye as you choose to try and end her life. Like mercy killing a wounded animal, you must not hesitate when you draw your dagger across her throat.

"I know this isn't fair." No, this is not an act of kindness. It's the cruelest thing you've ever done, but you can't dismiss the sound of your heart drumming inside your ears. "But I'll try and make it quick."

amber attacks max ; knife
J|Gw3C8Bgsknife
3.5

knife

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

T H A N E

You hang in silence.

The girl from Six curses and cries, her yells bellowing out into the void of twisting hallways. It's a record scratch in your mind, echoing over and over and over again as Ten tears his bloodied knife through her hand. Your stomach churns watching the hole in her palm contract with each ragged breath she takes, as though it had a heart of its own.

You feel something shift on your side, the girl from before with her wide eyes and shaken voice. The one who swung out at you, catching the side of your leg. You hear Ten's voice spit out some poison, his face contorting into a smirk. She responds, words falling from her lips but your mind drowns it all out.

Six squirms on the ground, her pale skin split and bleeding, blood mixing with the sweat and filth. Her body shakes. And you feel that ice-cold guilt wash over you again, three of you standing over her broken body. Your nose turns up. It's pathetic. She's already dead at this point, just a husk of a person with an empty voice. But you can't help but feel for her.

"Just leave it alone," your voice cuts through the second of quick, tense silence, "She's already gone. Look at her."

dagger lightly taps amber 🗡 unarmed

5CUm3irTwfunarmed

Bruised Right Arm -- 2.0 damage

unarmed

[k!ah]

m a x .


*   *   *

You make it all of two steps before a hand is fisted into your hair, the boy yanks on it so hard that you cant fight off the screech that climbs your throat. You wouldn't be surprised if clumps had been ripped right from your skull, not with the way it caused your skull to feel as though it had been set of fire. Your breath comes in pants as you are dragged into a warm body, your back pressed against a chest a moment before a knife is pressed to your throat.

"Not so fast, Six, I know you're not trying to run from a fight." The boys voice brushes against the shell of your ear and a shudder runs through your body.

"Let me go," You whisper. Each breath caused the knife to bite into your skin. You were trapped, caught in the claws of the predators that stalked you like the pathetic little scrap you were. Fear quickly ate away at your desperation, and your dignity as you found that you weren't above begging. "Please. Ju-Just let me go. I- don't want to fight. I just want to be left alone," your gut twists painfully and hunger surges through your body, a hunger that would not be satiated.

The girl from earlier slips fro the shadows, approaching you with a look of regret and pity. She clutches a dagger as her eyes dart from the boy that holds you captive and the one that slinks around, his voice like ice against your skin. "Just leave it alone."

It.

Something about the word has your lip curling back into a snarl, your body tensing and your eyes flashing. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. And fuck the girl who now stands before you like she was the one who was hurting. Like she was the one who deserved to be pitied for the act she was about to commit.

"I know this isn't fair. But I'll try and make it quick."

"Gee, thanks," you hiss, your hand wrapping around the boys wrist as you try to pull your throat away from his knife. "Thats so thoughtful of you," begging forgotten, you fall into old roots. The girl lunges for you, her dagger raised as she aims for your throat. desperately you kick out, your foot catching her wrist before the dagger found your heart. "Go fuck yourself," you spit, glaring at her as you fight to catch your breath.

[ max kicks amber ]
0o3JnmmX2Aunarmed
0.5

unarmed

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

"NO ONE GOODE"

First there's Max, whose face you only see in periphery; a thin trickle of blood cuts a line down the front of her throat, pooling at the little dip before her sternum. 

No one really thinks about the promises they make in childhood until they find themselves breaking them. On another day, another morning, you convinced yourself you wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. Sitting in the pasture at dawn, finger poking the yellowing bruise on your thigh. Red Lipstitch had left it there after his Daddy came home complaining about Derrick Goode snatching his job out from under him. Even thirty pounds and three grades above you, he only won cause he snatched a handful of dirt from the ground and threw it right in your eyes. You're still the one who broke his nose.

You'd known you hadn't deserved it though. Sometimes you do, and you fight back then all the same, but out there with only Breeze and the lavender blooms for company, you were so convinced you'd never hurt someone unless they'd earned every flinch.

That was a decade ago, as the war was ending and the rebels were losing traction, losing willpower, beaten into submission and crumbling under the weight of a nation starving. You barely saw your father that year. The contracts just kept coming and replenishment efforts put money is his pocket that put food on the table.

So fuck Red Lipstitch, you'd thought. He didn't know anything.

You were better than that. You were kinder than that.

But now there's you and Max and a held breath between you, and she is so much smaller than you. Hand fisted in her long dark hair, you think you could palm the back of her skull with a single hand. On instinct, your calloused hands tighten their grasp, and you hear pieces snap off in response. Her shoulder blades jut out from her back as if barely contained, no muscle or sinew to protect her frame, only paper skin holding a skeleton on wobbling feet. They press awkwardly against your torso, likely leaving bruises you won't want to look at later.

Then there's Amber, wide-eyed and wondering, asking questions that would serve her better dying on her tongue. Hear me out, something cruel murmurs at the base of your skull. "Shut your mouth," it finishes, your own voice echoing in harmony. You aren't sure if its for Amber, for Max, maybe both, their begging for mercy like a pair of bothersome, buzzing bees. Instead of an angel on your shoulder, you swear something else with wings makes a home. Demonic, it whispers a promised fate in your ear.

It feels like stepping into fire, Max wrapping her hands around your wrist while Amber makes promises she can't keep. All of your nerves are turned on. Dagger and Amber slow to a hazy blur, the desire to survive casting the world in sepia light. It's easy to know what to do, to know what you need to do, even if it breaks your own promise. Fist uncurling from the rats nest of mangled strands, you wrap your long arm around her to find the ruined one, then you begin to squeeze. 

Everything else narrows to the tip of your knife.

"Maybe you didn't want it, but the fight's here anyway Max."

nolan attack max, knife

xc0r2bh8eYknife

8.0

knife

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

district seven female
☢︎  Amber Bosch  ☢︎

This is the part where you learn you can't be the hero and the villain.

Delirious from blood loss, shaken by a tragedy you've allowed to happen, you stand between the chaos and want to raise a white flag in surrender. "Well, fuck me." All your good grace is gone, head no longer able to wrap around how to be selfish and merciful all at the same time. There's a gaping wound in your stomach, you've taken swings at the boy from Four and the girl from Six, and you've attempted to give the other boy a lashing with your tongue.

So holier than thou. And yet you don't even know what to believe in anymore.

You just keep making things worse, girl with no friends save for her fairytale expectations. There are no princes here, no pretty damsels, not even dragons. You are all so distinctly human and filthy that it causes your skin to crawl. "Just leave it alone," Dagger chides you as if you're a child poking at an ant hill, shoving you backwards and making you trip on your loose shoelaces. You stub your toe, and that just makes the anger in you boil closer to the surface. Mama used to tell you to do unto others what you would have done onto yourself.

But you'd hate being pierced by a knife. Just as much as you'd hate hearing a bratty girl tell two brawny boys to go make quick work of you. And the icing on the cake: you'd be pissed if someone started preaching at you in the middle of a literal death game. Nolan tells you to shut up, and you can't really blame him. You just place your fingers to your temples, drawing in a breath that's meant to be calming.

Then Max jumps on the bandwagon, rightfully so. "That's so thoughtful of you." All that you can hear inside your brain is static, eyes closed and the stench of mildew burning your nostrils. "Go fuck yourself." Her boot lands her statement home, slamming against your shin and making you jump backwards on one foot, hissing in pain under your breath. At this point, you're just going to incite everyone in this room to start beating the shit of you with their bare hands. Weapons be damned.

You stomp at the ground with a huff, trying to exorcise the fury from your body, damning the pain that shoots through your nerves and radiates across your abdomen. You're rational enough to understand that things will only hurt worse from this point on. No more making friends, no more sitting on logs with beautiful girls and talking about crushes on handsome boys that would have never looked your way if you hadn't been sentenced to death alongside them. This is the thick of it. You're here for good now.

This is where the rabbit hearted girl needs to decide whether she's going to allow herself to be devoured, or if she's going to show those sharp teeth she claims to have.

Shrugging off the angel whispering in your ear, you stumble over to Dagger and grip him by the shoulders, not caring if your nails rake across his flesh. "How about you put that sword to use and just finish this." You position him in front of the girl you refuse to feel pity for anymore; she's a sad version of you that you will not allow to exist down here. She's on her ass, and you're still standing on your feet. Every single person alive down here can hate you for all that you care. It's not like you can take them out of here with you.

You shove him closer to her for good measure. "And I swear, I'll do everything I can to make sure neither of you have to see me ever again."

amber attacks dagger ; unarmed
dLOhD1LFKIunarmed
miss

unarmed

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

T H A N E

In the ruinous, technicolor violence, there's a moment in which you wait—inhale, and count one, two, three. But you can still hear her writhing on the wet carpet behind you. You can't tell if that squish sound is the ground bending underneath her weight or her flesh caving in around the steel of another jab of a knife.

Your dark, empty eyes are trained on Amber's, and you can't bring yourself to break away. To turn around and face the dying girl. Because you know in your bid to ease your guilt, you've only prolonged her suffering. Ten's just messing with her, his knife like a fork stabbing and moving around the food on his plate. It's hard to tell if this is all a show for the cameras—giving the clamorous audience what they desire, or if he really is a shark, circling the waters.

How about you put that sword to use and just finish this. Her voice is sharp, its dissonance ringing in your ears as she grips your shoulders, fingernails digging into your skin. You don't put up a fight as she forces you to twist around, you know that she's right. Could end all of this right now, put Six out of her misery and never see either of these two again, one way or the other. 

You stare at Six with cold eyes and a blank face, a mask that gives nothing away about the guilt eating at your nerves. What a strong man you are. And you swing. Because this only ends one way. 

dagger attacks max 🗡 sword

Qk1cQeyiaIsword

miss

sword

[k!ah]

m a x .


*   *   *

The fist in your hair releases you, and for one naive, fleeting moment something akin to hope flares in your chest. It's pathetic, and weak, but it's enough to have your heart skip a beat and your body tense. It's extinguished a moment later when a hand clamps around your own, fingers digging into the mutilated flesh of your palm. The pain is sudden and overwhelming and for a moment you cant breathe, your sole focus on the agonising pain that takes you captive just as viciously as the ones who surround you.

You gasp, and tears blur your vision at the same moment as your stomach clenches, forcing you to retch. "Enough, please," you rasp as your fingers tighten around the boys wrist, your nails digging in until you feel his flesh break beneath your touch. "Enough!" It was too much, the pain was too much. Thoughts become a blur, your vision becomes splotchy and your mouth tastes like acid. The torture was too fucking much. A sob climbs your throat, and your knee's give until its him holding you in place. "If you're going to kill me, just fucking do it!" you spit as you feel the tip of his knife press into the flesh at the base of your throat.

Your gaze jumps from the girl to the boy who stand before you. The girl shoves the boy forward as though this was some fucking game, and she was struggling to decide who should be the one to go first. "Stop it with the games," you gasp, as the boys grasp on your hand tightens. "This is so messed up!" Your eyes land on the girl and you glare at her as she hides behind the boy with the sword. "Grow some fucking balls, you coward. Own up to your shit."

You were getting desperate, your eyes finding the boy with the sword. He stares at you with cold distant eyes, his fingers flexing on the hilt of his sword. He moves to strike and desperation fuels your body as you squirm against the boys hold. The boy misses, how, you had no fucking idea. "They offer me to you like a damned sacrifice and you still fail," you say around pants, your fingernails burying themselves into the boys arms deeper, desperate to escape his hold. "Pathetic- Ripred, the lot of you a fucking pathetic."

[ max kicks dagger when he tried to cut her ]
ewjxxYNA6Ounarmed
[ 3 ]

unarmed

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

"NO ONE GOODE"

Like a petulant child, Amber stomps her feet in the muck and pouts, a kicked dog who doesn't realize this needn't have been her fight. The movement paints little splatters of grime and waste across the base of the wall, decorating the molded baseboards with fresh filth. You grimace when a rat scurries out from behind the wall, clambering over the green carpet squished beneath your own boots.

At least Dagger has the good grace to fix his mask.

You watch it slip over his face like a mourning veil as he turns away from Amber, as if trying not to hear the words both girls wield like weapons. You suppose you've robbed Max of anything else, but you wonder what Amber's excuse is, how she justifies to herself doing exactly what Max said she did: offered her up as a damned sacrifice.

Damned she certainly was. From the moment she tried to hide in these narrow tunnels. All roads lead to a dead end.

But even still, Max spits vitriolic acid at the pair casting strange shadows in the flickering light—"stop it with the games!" Even with her own knife held at her throat, even with her ruined hand clenched between your calloused fist, even with a sword aimed directly at her heart, "grow some fucking balls, you coward."

Except everyone wants to survive, and no one fights like a survivor. You've been one long enough to know better than to underestimate this one. You know better.

Maybe your grip loosens when Dagger lunges, just a fraction, an exhale that lets her escape. Not because they're looking at you like you're a monster, like this is somehow something you wanted, not a walking nightmare; and not because you intend to give up, or let her walk away.

You loosen your grip because then she can wriggle, and Dagger can miss, and suddenly you don't want to let her die to a puppet.

"S'not like I dreamed 'bout this shit either," and maybe you push her away a little bit, putting room between the two of you. Maybe it's because you respect her more than you expected. It doesn't stop you from swiping with her knife as you push her back towards the wall. "If you wanna tell me where to aim, I'm all ears."

nolan attack max, knife

rjku62fo4hknife

3.5

knife