Matty Haemer D3 {fin}

My life is not in my own hands anymore. I mean, it is under the condition that I fulfil what is asked of me, but I sure as hell didn't ask for this. I'm just a Gardener from District Three. I can handle myself in a fight, but can I really kill someone? There's a big difference between violence and murder, the latter has a planned outcome. They force it on me like it's my destiny, but it's not. I'm not meant to do this. What do they care though? So long as they have someone on the inside, it doesn't matter to them. Anyone can pull a trigger. That's what they keep telling me, but they don't understand. To them it's a natural thing. For me, and for most people, it's the most unnatural thing a person can do. I don't want this. I don't have a choice. I'm caught up in one of Panem's biggest assassination attempts in decades, and I'm going to be the one with the gun in my hand.

If I don't do this, they'll kill my family. Big Vic made that clear when he drove his brass knuckled fist into my little brother's jaw. I was so helpless to defend him, or any of them. Since Dad died, I've been the man of the house, bringing in the money we need to stay afloat through long days in the gardens and late shifts in the factory. Dad would have stopped them. Dad would have fought back and said no. I'm too weak. Physically I could maybe have done something, but I was just too weak. I couldn't risk their safety by being reckless.

I'm a healthy kid, although you'd be fooled by my unnatural and empty eyes. I've been set on a path that I was never meant to walk down, and each step I take is step closer to my condemnation. The pressure on my thick, defined shoulders strains my back and neck. It's a pressure I don't want, but one that has been thrown on me. My eyebrows are constantly furrowed with worry, my eyes stained purple from sleepless nights. I wouldn't be surprised if the stress started to turn fade my black hair to grey. I'm going to age badly, I can tell - That is, if I survive this whole ordeal.

I'm a gardener. That's all I've ever wanted to be, just a simple gardener. I'm good at what I do, and that's why I was employed by the government to help the Mayor. Vector Concat is a good man - He won a landslide election a few years back. People rallied to his calls for better living conditions and more consistent electricity throughout the District's poorer areas. He hasn't delivered exactly what he said he would, but he's made a lot of positive changes in the District. Of course, you can't make those changes without upsetting a few people. Concat restored energy to parts of the slums, and that didn't go down to well with Vic and his cronies. Victor Hayes is what most people who call a mafia boss, but he doesn't even deserve that title. He's a thug, nothing more. A thug who has a gun pointed at my three little brothers, and is pushing me into a life of crime. I got no choice. They want me in their gang. Whether I like it or not, I'm gonna be a criminal.

Vic wants Concat dead so that the power goes out in the slums again. Big Vic sells generators, lots of generators. But he can't sell generators if there's free electricity in the slums again. Concat dies, the lights go out and the cash flows back to Victor Hayles. That's his dilemma. I try to say it's not my business, but anything that's Vic's business is my business. Ain't got a choice in that no more.

At first he was nice. Big Vic welcomed me into his "family", and told me that everything would be fine so long as I did what he said. There was meeting after meeting, consultations with his associates. He told me I was going to kill Vector Concat - He told me I was the only one who could do it. I find that hard to believe. I know his game. He wants Concat dead and his hands clean. He's stitching me up and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. He's gotten nastier in recent weeks. I'm learning to shoot, and learning to lie. They're trying to make me confident, but I'm not a naturally confident person. I'm tough and loyal, but I'm not confident. Not even slightly. I can't be expected to lie. I crack under pressure like a fucking egg. I break out in sweats and start mixing my words up. I'm a disaster waiting to happen. They can't change me, and that's what making Vic so angry.

I'm his little pet assassin. His unwilling secret weapon. He's pushing me and pushing me, trying to turn me into some kind of killer, but he knows deep down that when the day comes I have to shoot the mayor, I'm not gonna be ruthless. He knows I'll probably fuck up and get caught, but at least he'll be in the all clear. So long as my family are under threat, he's safe. He knows I won't choke with them on the line.

There's no buyout. This is me, this is my life... Only it's not mine anymore.