did you get insurance with that? [grant]

[k!ah]

MARLOWE

The sun had set only a couple hours ago, the silent streets of District Three mourning the death of its tributes. It's been many years since a tribute from three had made it home. Thirteen, was it now? Looking at the statistics, not many from the upper districts seemed to make it home these days. Results, which no doubts, would be driving the people of the career districts crazy.

Fingers quickly check the wrapping on the package tucked under my arm. The box was rather large, filled with fragile, expensive, illegal goods that I had obtained through my sources over the internet. The favours I had to pull still caused my skin to crawl, but the payout would be worth it. I had been shocked, initially, when the buyer had approached me. The items that they were looking for were almost impossible to find, and the risks involved- well, lets just say I prayed to Ripred that I would not get caught.

With my free hand I tug on the hood of my jacket, pulling it further over my eyes. The crowds had started to die down, last few stragglers making their way home for the night, to sleep and eat and then repeat the same routine the next day.

I watch as a tired old man turns the key to his shop, sighing heavily as he turns to head down the street. Most likely he had done the exact same thing for the past ten years. Climbed out of bed in the morning, had breakfast, before heading to work. Preforming tasks that was so tedious that it was brain numbing. Yet, he was comfortable, content, in his routine he had set up for himself that he would most likely do the same thing right up until he retired. Or until died.

I could think of nothing worse.

Rounding a corner I collide with something- no, someone. "Fuck!" the curse slips from my lips no louder than a whispers as the package beneath my arm slips free from my grip. Crashing to the ground the contents shatters, the sound causing panic to surge through me. "Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no." Dropping to my knees I quickly grab for the box giving it a rough shake. The clinking of broken glass causes my eyes to flash up towards the person at fault.

"Do you have any idea what you have just done?!" I growl, scrambling to my feet so that I stood before him, only a foot away, finger jabbing him rough in the chest. I was screwed. The buyer was going to fucking kill me.

[grant]

There's a strange sense of yonder when tributes from a district die in the games. I try to avoid getting that grim glimpse on people's faces, to see what they're feeling through grimaces and graceful tears, but it's impossible when everybody who cared for those people, their lives, pile around screens each hour to see the latest update.

If that were my kid, I don't know how I would feel. Distraught. Angry. Full of malice, maybe. Am I too young to think like that? Probably, but my head goes there anyway.

The day has been an average one. Wake, work, sleep, repeat. Not a problem for those seeking anything less than progress. I can't settle for that. How do they carry on knowing that what they've amounted to is all they will have? Does it become enough at some point? Am I too young to think like that? Probably, but I would hate to be any different.

While the darkening skies grow in strength and the cold air becomes even more brisk, I feel the same tightening in my legs that I do whenever I strain them too much. It's been a while since my brain puts the wires in the right place again, but I still get so tired. Today's the day I come face-to-face with a stranger in an alleyway, the kind with a weapon, and I'll just have to hand them all my belongings and hope they don't bruise me.

My dad would somehow be disappointed if I managed to damage his son.

I keep walking through the cold even though I'm not entirely dressed for it. It's not poor preparation, but an oversight. Someone stole my coat in the factory. I've only just started, it's probably a prank, but I didn't see who it was. Huge conspiracy on my part. Definitely the guy from across-

Nearing a corner, I think I've tripped on something, but I've already bumped straight into someone else. "Fuck!" she slips, and I cover my mouth quickly so I don't say something stupid like sorry.

"Do you have any idea what you have just done?!"

What I've just done. I look her square in the eyes and lower my hand from my mouth. "You managed to bump into someone walking slower than a grandmother... You tell me what I did." I can only pause for a second before I figure that I'm being harsh. "My fault." I shrug. "But you should watch where you're going."

But, she looks distressed. That makes me distressed. What's the big deal? She's definitely up to something. Maybe I've bumped into the wrong person today. I should definitely pack up and leave as soon as possible. But, I'm curious. Curiosity is dangerous. I can't help myself.

"What even is... or was that?"

411

[k!ah]

MARLOWE

I. Was. Dead.

"You managed to bump into someone walking slower than a grandmother... You tell me what I did." He starts before the features of his face change, shrugging his shoulders as he picks up the blame. My eyes narrow in suspicion at the quick change in demeanour, I took it to be a shady reaction, one that sent my senses into overdrive, my back starting to sweat nervously. What if he was a nark? What if he was one of those pathetic fools who ran to the peacekeepers with anything that seemed slightly out of the ordinary?

I couldn't get arrested.

I'd heard the stories, the rumours that had circulated about the cruel treatment by peacekeepers. By the experiments and torment inflicted in the detention center.

- "But you should watch where you're going."

Anger quickly evaporated the nerves, my eyes flashing dangerously as I turn on him once again, lips pulled back into a snarl. "You should watch you're going!" It was petty, a childish attack that left me feeling agitated and slightly embarrassed. But my nerves and agitation had got the better of me. Teeth snagging my bottom lip as I stare at the box that was crumpled on the ground. The buyer was going to kill me, they were going to track me down at skin the flesh from my bones.

Okay, calm down Marlowe, its okay, we can figure this out. Silently I make my plan, I needed to change my name. Find a new home. I still had a few contacts that owed me- "What even is... or was that?"

"None of your damn business," I snap, eyes snapping from the package to the boys. The ladies at the orphanage had always said that I was a feisty bitch. In fact, I was almost certain that was why I had no friends. That and I preferred my own company. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to lose the fiery edge. After all he had been right. It had been my fault.

"It's none of your concern, kid." Picking up the parcel I hear the movement of shattered glass. "It's better for you if you don't know." I pull the hood of my jacket further over my head, hoping to hide some of the more prominent features of my face.

[grant]

She can't hide how affected she is.

I see not just a glimmer of fear, but that true sinking feeling as though her world is about to swallow her whole. As though a thousand questions about the situation scramble around her brain.

"You should watch you're going!" she lets out with a snarl, and I completely agree.

I probably should look where I'm going. Too distracted by the cold. Every shiver is superseded by an incessant need to sit down. But she seems so enraged by my curiosity that I'm reminded of how used to it I am. I'm always asking questions. I'm always wondering how, and why, and what.

I'm just fucking nosey.

"None of your damn business," she fires at me. That only makes it worse.

Not only am I entirely entangled in whatever this is, but I'm going to be genuinely frustrated if this turns out to be anything except illegality. If what we've managed to break is a birthday present, I'll be annoyed, which I why I need to know.

"It's better for you if you don't know." And that's all I needed; She gives me the confirmation. It's exciting, but it's dangerous. Should I want to find out about things that could land me in the worse places of our district? Do I dare a little, and find out more?

No. The real question is whether I owe her at least a little help. She deserves something, I broke something important. I can't have that on my conscience, I'll think about it every day for the next month. Nobody here has that kind of headspace.

What're you doing in such a rush, anyway?

The only time I'm rushing around this district is when I'm late for work. There's nothing that can save me from the pure wroth of my manager. They must have punctuality. The line simply has to continue. Stubbornness is likely the most illogical thing, and I can't never get my head around it.

"Here, at least let me help." I hold out my hand to see what she's carrying, if not to look myself but for her to at least show me. "I'm not a peacekeeper, I have a brain. I can probably help fix it."

363

[k!ah]

MARLOWE

As I hold the box under the crook of my arm I beg Ripred that none of the contents leaks onto any exposed flesh. I had done the research before daring to find the items that the buyer had requested. I knew that some of the poisons contained in the tiny glass jars could kill a fully grown many almost instantly- let alone a smaller, leaner woman such as myself.

Poisons such as these were almost impossible to get my hands on, but the buyer had promised an amount of cash that I could not refuse, enough to keep me a foot for at least the next couple years. Cautiously my eyes travel down to the box, I had to get rid of it. Now. I had to dispose of it and disappear into the night, lay low for a while until the backlash of my failure calms down. My reputation will take a hit.

My income will become close to nothing.

I was screwed.

"Here, at least let me help." He holds out his arms eagerly, ready to take the parcel and for a moment I consider passing it into his hands. It was like he was a fisherman, dangling his hook with a nice piece of meaty bait, and I was very close to biting. It could be the solution I was looking for. Pass him the goods and bolt, leaving him to have to explain himself to a passing peacekeeper. Or to unfortunately be found the next morning dead, the package only an arms length away.

"I'm not a peacekeeper, I have a brain. I can probably help fix it."

Hand it to him.

Give it to him.

Then run.

For a moment I just stare at him, my eyes darting for his extended hands, then to his face, his eyes, then back to his hands.

I couldn't do it to him.

Sighing I turn away from him slightly, looking over my should my eyes catch sight of a trashcan. Maybe I wasn't the heartless bitch I liked to pretend to be.

"Trust me, you can't fix it. They are broken and need to be discarded immediately." Where was I supposed to go now, though? What if the buyer was able to track me? to find out where I lived? who I knew? Surely he had the means, he was loaded and had the right motivation. "Maybe you could help me, still..." I think aloud, trying to formulate a plan. "I need a place to crash," I say finally, maybe I was being too forward. But I would prefer to be forward, than dead.

[grant]

There's a contemplation in her eyes when Wade offers his help. It's the least I can do, he's thinking. "Trust me, you can't fix it. They are broken and need to be discarded immediately."

But, why?. His mind accelerates, jumping to a few conclusions before settling on the fact that this is undoubtedly something insidious in nature. Typical, that his thoughts dictate this girl to be the victim of some crime, maybe bribery. It's rare that he would assume anyone would be capable of actually being the criminal. Assumptions, the bane of everyone

"Maybe you could help me, still..."

"Good, I'd love to-"

"I need a place to crash,"

"Oh."

It's a statement. It's not a request, it's not a demand. Just a statement, nothing else. Yet it makes Wade's eyes dart away for a second. He didn't expect that to be the way that he could help right now. But this right here could be the beginning of what he's needed for a long time. Connection, in the sense only meant by the word itself, nothing further. Being able to be around somebody, almost like a friend, who he can help. To be part of a useful system of thoughts, other than his own, for once.

"Well let's not give my dad a heart attack bringing a girl home." He stutters a laugh. "I know a place." He tells her.

The place is decent enough, the lighting doesn't work very well, and the heating is faulty. It's an abandoned home, only recently. There was a death there, and now it lies vacant. He didn't know the person in life, but since visiting the place one or twice in the past week, just out of curiosity, Wade has imagined a few million possibilities as to who this person was.

"See, one of my neighbours passed away, and now their home is empty. We could stop there, maybe even stash your problem parcel there. Nobody will know it was yours."

His eyes are alive again - he has suddenly not just finished work, and instead there is a problem to solve. Somebody to help.

[k!ah]

MARLOWE

"Oh."

For a moment I think he is going to turn me down, to scatter into the darkness like dust caught in the wind. But after a moment me gathers himself, laughing slightly, "well let's not give my dad a heart attack bringing a girl home." I knew next to nothing about the boy, but from just that one sentence I knew that he already had more family than me. I wonder what it might be like to have to fret about the thought of brining a boy home to a father that I never knew. Would I be nervous? Or would I just brush off my fathers words with a shrug of my shoulder and a few sharp words?

Maybe he would not have cared. His wife dead and his favourite daughter murder by the cover of darkness. He hadn't seemed to care when he left me on the door step of the orphanage, alone, and scared and crying for a father who refused to hear me.

I give myself a quick mental shake, shoving the thoughts of my unknown father to the back of my mind. I needed to focus. Right now wasn't the time to day dream about a life that I never had. I had bigger, deadlier issues to worry about than my own daddy issues.

"I know a place."

Perfect.

"See, one of my neighbours passed away, and now their home is empty. We could stop there, maybe even stash your problem parcel there. Nobody will know it was yours."

My hands twitch on the package, the last thing I wanted was to lug around this package for much longer. Each second I risked the liquids from leaking through the cardboard, nipping at any exposed skin signing a death certificate. "The place sounds perfect. Though let's just toss this in the trash and get out of here as quick as possible." Quickly I make my way to the trash, my eyes searching the quickly empty streets. The buyer would be here any minute.

We couldn't be here- well, I couldn't be here- not if I wanted to live another day.

"Look, we better get going, I have, uh, heard rumours that there is a gang hanging out around this street, and they have been getting more violent." Maybe I should feel guilt at how easily lies seemed to slip from my lips, but when all you have in life is the comfort of lies, you begin to reply of them, addicted the same way as my body craved the sweet relief tobacco.