same war | new battlefield . GG v LNaWB [4]

He walked into his home and there it was, the succulent all dried up and withered. Ah, there it goes. His allies' frantic yelling made him pause mid-machete swing. As quickly as the fight started, it was over, and Ty was driving the jeep like the end of the world was at their doorstep. Cedric visibly sighed and addressed their new sworn enemies: "I'd love to stay, but it looks like I may have a funeral to attend!"

And oh it was such an asshole thing to say, he knew it. He figured his allies would give him an earful about it later, if they remembered. His inappropriate behavior was often lost to a superior chaos, so perhaps he wouldn't reap the consequences for his foolish words just yet. Either way, it was time to depart. He wouldn't argue with them about that, as disappointing as it was.

Plus, they were outnumbered now. It didn't take a genius to see the odds now stacked against them.

In the vehicle, Cedric stared silently. Rather than leading the pack, he was a background figure for once. Shades of grey in a colorful backdrop of reds and blues. It was better this way, as Cedric was usually speechless during pivotal moments of life. He watched Ginny's eyes flutter, soft as a flowers petal, a sharp contrast to the blood gurgling in her neck. A cannon echoed moments after. Cedric didn't coin that as a coincidence.

He remained silent again as they left her body for the hovercraft. There were no last words, no reminiscing on his behalf. He had known what he was getting into when he volunteered, so he was prepared for the inevitable. Some lives were more fragile than others, and yet there was nothing he could say to remedy the situation.

Sometimes it was better to say nothing at all.

He planned to break his vow of 'respectful' silence by turning on his walkie talkie. There weren't many people alive who he cared to speak to, but he could check in with Sinead. What to say, what to say. He scripted it in his head: "what's up, bitch???" Or maybe he could disguise his voice to startle her. That would be a nice distraction.

Instead, the device crackled to life on its own. Screams oozed from its speakers, reminding him of his time in the Detention Center. Voices had a tendency to echo more violently when there was pain and terror involved. He recognized those painful pitches in an instant, but that wasn't the only concerning part. Was that his...mother?

Cedric felt something tighten in his stomach. For the first time in awhile, he was unnerved. There was no way his mother and father were screaming at the other end of this thing, even if it sounded exactly like them. It was psychological torture. As an avid watcher of the Games, Cedric knew this. And yet...

The Capitol had been known to do the unexpected before. Sending tributes home alive, allowing tributes to die twice.

When it ended, he tossed the walkie talkie in his bag and laid down. He was calling bullshit. A good scare tactic, but clearly fake. Cedric wouldn't allow it to deter him from his goals. Spoiling his own fun was not part of the plan.

Fortunately, the arena was full of distractions. With a belly full of water, he drove them into another battle and nobody hesitated to act. The dried, cracking blood in the backseat was a reminder of what was at stake. Meanwhile, he enjoyed this new Ty who took charge and wielded his gun with confidence. His bullet popped the side of the blonde's head - oh, "Hey Sinead!"

It was a bad time to wave, as his ally had just blown her ear off in one shot, but he never was tactful.

Eager to try something fresh, he pulled out his own rifle and took aim at the brunette. "Hey, you! Show me what District Four is made of, yeah?"

His bullet soars through the sky and catches on to the blonde's head. By the time Tyrone settles his rifle down, he sees only a bit of her ear remaining. Damn, that close to the head. One shot and it might have all been over. The fighting begins, though, as one of theirs climbs out of the jeep and sweeps her machete out upon Luya. Cedric and Luya join the charge with their guns. The close combat makes him nervous. Ty still isn't strong with the rifle, and the pushback from each shot he sent yesterday troubles him. He stays clear of aiming toward Luya or Cedric, only ready to shoot when he knows that he won't put them in harm's way.

The identities of two out of three of their enemies are revealed by Cedric. Sinead is his district partner. Cedric calls the other out as a District Four tribute, and Ty remembers seeing her name before, Nixie. The other is a boy that Tyrone hadn't met, but he guesses perhaps Seven, recalling a similar face in front of them at the Opening Ceremonies. Three on three.

Sinead charges toward him. She swings her machete once, and he manages to escape its strike with a few steps back towards the beam holding up the outpost above. The rebound lands, though, falling down upon his leg. The pain jerks his knee upward as he falls back onto the tower. The machete leaves a torn pant leg and brutal gash. It burns, but Ty can't cry about it just yet. The heat of the moment consumes his conscience with the mandate of survival above all else. It's not long before he's standing straight again, running back to get another clear view of the field.

He sees Cedric, as unscathed as before, yielding his gun now too. Luya isn't as lucky though. Nixie struck her well across the face, leaving a bright red wound on her cheek. He wishes that he could take it away from her, after all they've been through in the past day. Why won't Cedric take the brunt? If he's so unafraid, why can't he jump in front of the sword for her? Selfishness, that's why. Every day, it becomes more and more clear how expendable Ginny, Luya, and he are to Cedric. The boy from Seven comes down on Luya's leg and Tyrone winces with fear. So quick to judge, the kiddish boy from Eight is, when he would not fall on the sword for Luya himself. The only difference is that Cedric doesn't think twice about it. For Tyrone, thinking feels like all he knows how to do.

It takes a few more seconds of repositioning before he can find another shot opening up. A gust of wind thrusts itself upon the field once again and he loses it. For an arena where they made guns the most desirable toy in the box, the Game Makers have made it very difficult to get a good shot off. Ty uses the support beams as a refuge from the wind, leaning up against them to avoid all of the wobblings. He sticks with the rifle, knowing that if he takes out his machete from his bag, it might just fly away if he's flimsy with it.

Tyrone aims to Sinead again. He knocked off an ear in the last shot, maybe he'll have more luck this time.

Heh.. "luck." Day One in the arena, Tyrone Hope-Less hoped that every shot he made would miss. He didn't want to find that courage at first. He desired a few more days to bask in the sun, a few more nights to stare at the stars.

But innocent, wishful thinking no longer remains an option. He's got two days worth of bloodied hands and three bullets deep.

With wind dragging his hair back and eyes squinted at his target, Tyrone speaks to his side of the battle. "We've been through three days of this, you guys! Stay strong!"

Luya, he hopes, stay strong. Judging by who the other side has pulled their blades for, its their lives on the line.

Cedric, stay committed. Day One was the peak of Tyrone's trust for him. Every since then, it hasn't felt far-fetched to think that Cedric may kick them out of the jeep and live him in the dust.

Regardless, his hand wraps around the trigger once more, and like a slingshot, he sends the bullet toward Sinead.

Tyrone, he thinks. Stay alive.

"Let's get this over with," she said, and they understood. Fighting was clockwork in the simplest sense, they both knew it had to be done. He was impressed by how little hesitation she possessed, being a girl from Twelve with false bravado. She ripped a chunk out of Ty's thigh like she was carrying out a chore, sweeping the goddamn kitchen or something. Cedric didn't want to think of a fight that way - it was more like a privilege. Then again, she hadn't chosen this fate. She was just following its path for better or for worse.

As Cedric reloaded his rifle, the earth didn't stop moving. Gusts of wind swept dust into his teeth, and the tremors beneath his feet made his bones wobble in an endless sensation of anticipation. The ground was about to split at any moment, threatening to swallow them whole, yet Cedric could only focus on the bullet in his gun. The first one had taken a nibble out of Nixie's arm, and he had himself to blame. This was a new sensation for him; heavy metals in his hands, recoil grinding his bones together until his wrists ached. Nobody knew how to use these things properly, just aim and fucking shoot. Hope for the best.

There was something oddly hilarious about Sinead and her bunch. The way she sprinted at Ty with a machete, the way her partners used spears and swords against idiots with guns. It wasn't supposed to work that way, bringing a knife to a gun fight, yet he could see Luya struggling to hold her own. There might've been something else to blame - the lack of a certain succulent perhaps - so it didn't stir Cedric any particular way. Ginny was gone, and if Luya allowed that to twist her fate, so be it.

Ty shouted words of encouragement across the wind. Were they for the others, or for himself? In Cedric's position, it was easy. He didn't feel anything genuine for these people, and the only battle scar he wore was a scratch along his back from a monster that died two days ago. Really, he was fine. He felt wonderful, in fact. The shit-eating grin that spread across his face was a clear indication. "Who wants to bet if my next shot misses or not? Any takers?"

He paused.

They could negotiate prizes later.

Another wave of attacks clutters his vision ahead. Tyrone's sight can't make out if his bullet landed anywhere near Sinead, but she's yet to fall. That alone is a problem for him. His fingers dig into the wooden beams to keep his footing. Gloomy clouds and tall shadows mask any sort of sunlight. Everyone's saying a sentence or two before they take their strike, hoping that it won't be their last, but if it is, it needs to be memorable. There are only a few seconds to catch his breath and steady his gun again, but the blood that has fallen onto the ground seems to have multiplied. The splatters of blood that come from gunshots and slashings alike pollinate the ground like bees in a field, spreading from one blade of grass to the next.

Sinead readies her machete to take another strike at Tyrone. He rushes back, hoping to use the beam as his support, but she swings sooner than expected, tearing into his back. Paralyzed for a moment, he allows his rifle to dangle in one hand, while the other tries to put some pressure on the cut to alleviate some of the pain.

It's not working, though. The pain is not getting any better. He's not going to get better. This is the end, it's-

His eyes drift over to Luya again. Her hair pedals in the wind as her wounds begin to pile up. She's not getting any better.

They're losing, again. His stomach turns as Cedric says something about taking bets on his next shot. Of course, his arrogance gets the best of him and his bullet strays away. His head shakes in disapproval. His confidence has yet to boost morale. Soon enough, though, morale won't matter. They'll all be dead because every alliance they've seen overpowers them.

Tyrone picks the rifle up with both hands again, aiming it back towards Sinead. He can't let pessimism get the best of him. There's still a chance that he and Luya can make it- they just need the right shot.

"What do I win?" the boy from Seven smiles at Cedric's bet. The boy slams his spear into Luya's leg. Tyrone can hear her pain. He hates it, all of it! The pain. The loss of his friends. The smirks behind everyone's words.

Tyrone is not the kind of kid to show off his anger, let alone rage. His voice wavers between frustration and fear while he speaks. "You win nothing. Don't you get it?" He prepares his shot as another gust of wind blasts across his body, his leather jacket and thin shirt gently pushing and pulling with the bursts of air. "We started from nothing, and we'll end up that way too."

Ty can feel his pulse pounding from his wrist as he waits to press the trigger. Everything in life is a simulation, the Capitol has done well enough to prove that to them over the past few weeks.

"None of us have anything to give anymore. We have nothing." He's never spoken back to someone like this before. He'd thought of it when it came to his father, but it never came to fruition.

Tyrone's trigger finger pulls and another round fires out towards Sinead. He's got nothing but the clothes on his back, a rifle by his side, a friend who looks near death, and a… Cedric.

He needs Luya to survive. Even if just for a day.

Please.