heartbreak & heatstroke | EPA v S&S v A { day four }

Jack couldn't stop thinking about the look in Wolf's eyes- like she hoped he had some idea of what to do, because she didn't. He stood there between his allies and the unknowable being before them, burns on his arms and sides from the times the light tried to take him. What to do next? They had an elevator Jack himself had disabled and a stairwell that had been basically welded shut from the other side to keep them locked inside. There was nothing to do next in that moment. There was nowhere to run, there was nothing to fight. There was only a choice: to accept their fate or rage against it.

"This way!" he'd called, hopelessly leading the rest of the sunset brigade to the other side of the horizon. On the floor-to-ceiling display, Jack could count every star in Ten. He'd seen plenty back in Five, but not ever like this before. It had been good enough for Machiavelli's final moments- it could be enough for them if... you know. Not that he had any intention of letting it happen. It just maybe wouldn't have felt as lonely.

Another dead end: mice in a maze of their own making. They managed to duck away from the spotlight for a couple of seconds maximum before it rained back onto them. He tried to run another way, but this time when he tried, he felt the floor leave his feet below him. Slowly, he began to rise. The skin on each shoulder burned, almost as if invisible hands of steam lifted him further and further up. There were no blisters left behind, only an absence of what once was: white hot heat instantly cauterizing any possible bleeding and advancing it straight into scars. He tried to fight against it, but fighting against gravity was impossible even in a moment when his own had been taken. His head slowly began to lull and tilt back, his eyes gradually widening into blank stares up, up, further into the light and then-

Nothing.

Just as quickly as the spotlight turned onto them, it vanished. Jack crashed to the ground in a heap, blinking stars from his eyes and finally seeing his vision relax into seeing Wolf standing over him. She still had that same look.

Behind them, Jack could hear the lock to the stairwell unclick. From his place on the ground, he strained his neck to watch as it silently slid open an inch or two before coming to a stop there, as if it hadn't ever been closed at all. Either they were sending something else after them, or they were making it perfectly clear that this day wasn't over for them yet.

"Guess they're getting us to a secondary location after all," he groaned, sitting up and following his allies.

None of them looked great at the moment, but by the time they reached the ground floor, Jack felt pretty firmly that Emerson shouldn't have been the one leading the charge. Not only because he was younger than them and it was stupid for him to paint a target onto his back, but also because he wasn't recovering as quickly as Jack had.

"Let's just stay close," he said, that southern drawl of Ten more and more palpable as time wore on in the arena, "Whatever or whoever they have waiting for us in there, we face it together." Jack decidedly did not look at Wolf when this was said, only pressed his lips together and nodded, jogging to match pace.

Before he could, the whoever, it turned out, arrived. Jack first saw Arcadia's district partner, then he saw that she was standing next to one of the people who'd attacked them in the elevator. There was also another boy there, from Seven, Jack thought. He felt a piece of himself crumble, and knew it was the sort of thing he'd never get back: this would go on, and go on. The performance of a lifetime. And all in the name of- what? Survival?

He had to remind himself that there was a lot of life waiting for him outside of this building, and that there was a time in his life when he knew it was worthy of fighting for. That couldn't change now that the fight had come. Deep breath in. Emerson struck at the tribute from the elevator, and Jack followed right behind.

"Hey," he called to Siberite through gritted teeth. "It's me, the person you're talking about as if I'm not in the room." He was right back in the pre-games when he assumed that Siberite would be a problem. He hadn't taken him too seriously during the elevator fight and now here he was, face to face with him again, the same goal as last time.

He didn't have time to consider the fact that this is exactly what the gamemakers wanted. He didn't want to think too hard about what it meant- yes, Jack was the idiot who killed a Garner in one of the first days in the arena. Yes, he'd always known there would be consequences for it. But if he allowed himself to wonder why this was happening too much, he'd just drive himself crazy with hopeless worry. Fact of the matter is that Jimmy cashed a check his ass couldn't handle. They beat Machiavelli, sure, but they hadn't accounted for one thing.

He couldn't hope that Wolf would choose to stay now that it was him on the chopping block instead, though. He had to accept her word. And he did: he believed her. Because when Sacrifice tried sneaking around and attacking him from behind, Wolf sprung to action and attacked back. Not quite in time for him to avoid damage at all- he grunted against her blade sliding across the nape of his neck. Was she trying to cut it off? If so, she'd have to try a bit harder than that: he had been told his entire life that he was thick-skulled.

"I have a name, by the way. You don't have to use it, but you should know it anyway: Jack Reeves. I'll be signing your death certificate on my way out when I win."

He knew he should be more cautious but the truth was that in the moment, his anger out-weighed his logic. He attacked more recklessly than usual, this fight no longer a performance but a ritual. So when he struck, it was not with flare: it was with prayer.

Fucking die.