everybody dies | unresolved mysteries

[Tom]

A smoking gun holds no answers; gunpowder dancing along the edges of mystery.

Neon lights of a club surround a single patron in the corner of a booth where an old fashioned sits in a glass swirling with a straw; a screen glowing around the room with the Hunger Games on loop. Cheers and jeers echoing along the walls of the room where people root for and against tributes. Betting between bar patrons having gotten heated with the fights on the television. A heavily concealed booth where a patron sits with an eerie silence as the old fashioned is downed past lips sealed tight; the smell of gunpowder burning along their nostrils. A fire burning in their system as they stare up at the screens watching Bellamy Scott fight again Nine and Eight; something akin to stress present in their features.

Cigarette smoke from their lips, fire burning through their chest, and a smile upon their lips. Dark brown hair shaved down to clear the way for their bright eyes; a cold and calculated stare. Shuffling their calloused hands into the dark pockets of the slacks along their legs, gripping the gun hidden beneath the dark dress shirt attached to them. An announcer's voice reaching their ears as the swirling sound of a half empty cocktail comes from their movement of the drink in front of them.

"Bellamy and Liara might have met their match here! As you can see..."

The announcer's voice fading into the background once more as their eyes follow Bellamy Scott's strikes. Blood dripping just like the evening of that night. Gunpowder in the air, snarls of mutts, and a white uniform stained deep red. A painful memory bursting through their skull as another drink comes with a colorful twinge to it; the old fashioned taken away in a moment's rush. Every day, they can still see that evening where gunpowder filled the air and fire burned and blood dripped. Forced retirement from the incident eventually being pushed upon them, but they preferred it that way.

Retirement was peaceful. They had everything they could ever want for the rest of their life. Except, Bellamy Scott had to come and ruin it. The little boy hidden away in a closet where fear had overcome the strength to survive. Ironic in a way that the incident had finally reached them once more to haunt them. The boy who lived making his way to the Capitol; a mystery in the tale of his life. They didn't like Operation S.P.A.R.K coming back into the light, but information was classified and the man who knew the truth had died years ago. The only person left who knew the truth was Bellamy and themselves.

Blood drips from the wounds of Bellamy Scott; worry building along the edges of the bar until the cannon sounds. Death hadn't been so kind to him. They stand up. Alone and sad in a way, stepping out from the booth, leaving behind a large sum of money for a tip to the bartender who's served them for years. Eyes still attached to the screen where Bellamy Scott is lifted up and taken away. Left in an empty forest where Areto finds him; words slipping of a boy they'd fallen for. Worries of a dying boy bleeding out into the world, they couldn't take anymore of it as they leave into the neon of Saturn City, ignoring the feeling of emptiness pulling at the edges of their stomach.

The truth was they still could remember that day as if it were just a few days ago. District Three looking miserable in comparison to the Capitol's beauty. A mission to retrieve the data of Barnaby Scott's studies into a miracle drug. Told to use force if necessary, but there's no way they would use force on Barnaby Scott. Not after everything that's happened in the past. A silence had passed over them as they step through the neon streets of Saturn City before stopping and falling gently into an alley. Tears soaking through the collar of the dark dress shirt; a miracle they'd kept it together this long. The shadow of the building hiding their form from the public, hidden away in the anger and pain that soaks through their skin. Hands coated with the same blood as they can remember the chill over them.

Pathetic.

They were meant to have been over this after all these years. A stoic nature burned into their skin, but nothing could stop them from the breakdown they've been holding in since Bellamy Scott had stepped forward with the confidence of a corpse for the games. Dying with regret and fear. It's pathetic, but they feel for Bellamy Scott. They weren't supposed to remember all of this for years. Store it in the bottom of their memory to never come up to the surface except for the dreams where gunpowder and a smoking gun in their hands burns and burns and burns. A laugh almost echoes from their throat before they look to their hands. Fading back into the memory once more.

Feet taking them up the steps of the Scott home; alone by themselves. Step after step up into the building where they open the door with a smile. A friendly composure as they speak to Barnaby Scott who's face is filled with the shock of realization. Eyes following one another until they can push past Barnaby and into the house that belonged to them. A silence filled between them as the world sits with a hush. No words filing past them as the silence builds and builds until it breaks by Barnaby Scott's own words.

"I know why you're here, Officer." Those words burn through the air with a tension that doesn't quite feel right, but they bite down the tension. Their fingers splayed out along their sides, pulling at the dark jeans at their side until it burns in their stomach; bile threatening to raise with the memory of their notice sent in to them. Barnaby Scott had refused to turn over their work and now they've been sent in for it. They can't breath. They can't feel their hands. Words slip from their own lips.

"I know." Pain burns through their chest before they stand forward, hands to the side where a gun stays hidden. "We both know it would come to this, B." There's a shuffling of feet before a silence fills the room. The tension heavy in the air before Barnaby Scott softly moves forward. Deeper into the house, whispers something in the air as they follow with a careful look. There's an admiration upon their skin as they could remember the many times they've come this way before. Photos of a woman long past, pretty enough to be an angel. Photos of a kid learning how to walk and talk; block buildings surrounding the floor of a room. Colleagues of Barnaby staring back at them as they step farther and farther in.

"I don't think I can do this. At all." Those words burn through their spine as a silence fills them. A shattering feeling bursting through them as they listen still to those words. "I-I don't trust them. I trust you, but I can't give over my research. You have to understand, Bruno." Bruno shakes his head at Barnaby. He doesn't want to do this, but he's been ordered to. His fingers splayed along a frame of a boy and his father; tracing out the shapes of a man who loves his son. Bruno's never had what they had. A life of peace and happiness; hardships that he didn't have to face alone. The worry in the air as he steps forward.

"I don't." A flash of fear striking through Barnaby, but Bruno stands his ground. Eyes staring into those irises that he's seen so many times. "They're going to be angry. You can't do this, B. You're going to get yourself killed." As the room comes to view, Barnaby stepping forward first. A kid staring up at the both of them before Bruno gives a soft ruffling to the kid's hair. Night time cresting over the sky from the window before Bruno continues with a worried softness. "I-I can't... We can't." It's a few minutes of eerie silence filled with a tension that fills the room up with a heaviness. Two men standing by a kid who's sleepily building a tower of blocks to spell out his name. B-E-L-L-A-M-Y Tower having finished before Barnaby speaks once more.

"I have to. I love you, but I have to Bruno." Tears prickle at his eyes before there's a sound of a crash. Chaos starts to unfold around them as Barnaby speaks loudly to the kid, his lover's son, to get into the closet. Bruno going for the gun on his hip before footsteps rush into the room. White uniform filling the doorframe before he can see his partner in the corps. Officer Gemford who's got a gun pointed out; Barnaby is silent as they stare at one another. It's dead silent as the room freezes. Realization hitting Bruno too late before he can react to the gun Officer Gemford carries.

"Stop! No-" The smell of gunpowder reaches the air. The chamber bursting with the force of fire; melting away the warmth in his chest. The bullet flies in slow motion as Bruno dares to run forward, but he's too slow. A rain of bullets rings through the air, hitting the man he's fallen for. A taboo for Peacekeepers stationed in the districts from the Capitol. Bullet after bullet shatters the dream world he has been living in for years; a crash breaking through his body as he can feel the room spin around him. Barnaby Scott falls with a loud crash to the floor.

"Officer Winters. Next time, listen to orders when the Commander gives you a mission." The words hang heavy in the air as the blood of Barnaby Scott fills the room. Officer Bruno Winters stares at the scene before him before looking to Officer Gemford and feeling his heart ache. A scream desperately wanting to come out of his chest, but he holds it back. Lets the cold of the evening slip in and grips his hands tightly before he swiftly moves to the hidden gun. A swift movement that Gemford saw before Bruno pulls the trigger, ignoring the Capitol's code. The bullet rips through the heart before Gemford falls to the floor. Blood dripping before Officer Bruno Winters cries for a moment, numb to the pain around him as he rushes over to Barnaby Scott's body.

"Bruno. B-Bruno." His eyes follow with the hands he's holding towards the wound, trying to keep the blood from leaving the dying man. "Bruno! It's okay. It'll be okay. I love you, but my boy. Y-You have to. Please." Tears fill his eyes before Barnaby's life fades away to nothing more than the cold corpse in his body. Sobs tearing through his skin before the closet opens up. A numbness comes over him as he looks over to the little boy who stares in a state of shock. His eyes follow the boy before he lets his eyes stare over at the boy. A glare coming forth as the boy closes the door once more.

Love wasn't meant for men like him. White uniforms weren't meant to find love until they were broken after all of the work they do. The memory fades as he's in an alley way where neon lights glitter above him. Hand pressed to a wall as he wants to vomit up all the alcohol he's been drinking to forget. The rest of that night had been a secret. An evening spent spinning up a story to continue to live as he was now. Not a prisoner of treason, but an officer traumatized by the loss of his partner. Lucky enough to know Barnaby had been studying mutts and making it look much more like a muttation attack than two officers firing on one another. Two bodies taken away and a little boy who was supposed to come with him until Bruno saw the kid's face unable to handle the pain of it all.

Bellamy Scott had lived through hell and died for it. Gunpowder upon both of their noses, but he'd died on the screen in front of Bruno. Just another reminder of what his actions have caused. A smoking gun didn't have answers, but a veteran of the force had the only truth. Interviews would come up after Bellamy's story had come to the public, but he swallows down the sorrow making his way through the neon lights. A pain still present with memories of blood and love. Nights years after with an empty bed and dreams of a man who loved him. Blood soaked dreams and hands covered with the blood of his own partner and lover. Gunpowder following his nose; burning with a fire.

Everybody dies, but mysteries live on.

The story of Barnaby Scott will die with him.

In the end, it'll be better for everyone's sake if it does.