Fight 3: Backrooms

You have come to learn that life seems to move in this way.

The earth crumbling beneath your feet, the world tilting on its axis. Wherever there is peace, there is a calamity waiting to upend it. Be that a girl wanting more than her family can afford, or a name called out in the Reaping, or a zoo enclosure full of misfortune children eroding into a sinkhole. There's a lesson in all this. Things can always get worse.

To think, a span of days separates a time when all you yearned for was to feel pretty and wanted — and now you only yearn for the chance to survive. All thoughts of Fraser Birk are knocked out of your head when you go tumbling into the depths, and the beautiful girls who kept you company are nowhere to be seen. You are alone, left only with your racing thoughts and the darkness that rushes to consume you.

That, and the searing pain that rips through your abdomen. When you gasp, it tastes like rust. You wait for the world to stop spinning around you, spreading your palms out against the cold floor and thanking your lucky stars that you're on solid ground again. A younger you used to watch the birds flying outside your window with envy — the same way you would watch everything else that was out of your reach — and you remember wishing you could join them in the sky.

Now, you never want to feel weightless again. Turning on your side, the first thing your eyes go to is the steadily closing circle of light that seems miles above your head. In seconds, it is sealed shut, and you are left only with the overwhelming smell of rot — and the stabbing ache that continues to move through you like a tidal wave. A glance down at your stomach reveals the culprit, your hands instantly starting to shake and a whimper leaving your lips.

Pierced through the side of your torso is a metal rod, haloed by a blossom of blood now staining your jumpsuit. You allow yourself a brief moment of panic, instinctively looking around for help but knowing there is no one to offer it. Any tributes you can still see are sprinting off into the distance, in search of shelter or supplies. Every bit of rationality in your body tells you that you should join them, that you need to get up and move if you plan on surviving. But that's easier said than done.

At the very least, there's no one to ambush you while you're down. This gives you time to access your wound, to let the adrenaline move through your veins before you rush to do something you might regret. As badly as your impulse tells you to remove the pipe, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you that loss of blood can be just as deadly as anything else. Swallowing a breath, you choose to deal with the agony just a little longer, willing yourself to your feet and crying out as the injury is stretched. One arm is cradled around your torso, the other holding onto the wall for support.

You stare down a nearby tunnel as the voice of Harlan Godfrey echoes overhead, signaling the true start of the 10th Annual Hunger Games. Whispering a silent prayer that you will find something useful waiting for you in the dark, you begin to stumble in that direction, terribly aware that more danger could be lurking around the corner.

^{{ Amber gathers her sponsored supplies & does some quick medical shenanigans! }}

With one arm exposed to the elements, a strip of fabric tied tightly around your waist, you clutch tightly to the knife you found and continue traveling through the labyrinth. Nothing you see offers any hope, or comfort, and each new space you enter only offers some new revolting stench. When you finally hear what seems to be human speech nearby, you're not sure whether to be grateful or terrified that there's more than just rats down here with you. Your morbid curiosity wills you to glance into a nearby room, mold covered and rancid with a sickly green carpet that squelches beneath your boots.

Too late do you realize the sound has alerted the two tributes inside to your presence, an unarmed girl shivering and demanding the boy across from her stand back — but he only presses forward, his blade striking fast like lightning and slicing her skin. You try to turn and bolt before he can move his attention to you, but spinning on your heels only reveals a third tribute you missed, not entangled in the conflict but standing far too close for comfort. "Let me pass!" you declare boldly, not sure if he's even trying to block your way or if he has any clue what's happening just behind you.

As bad as you feel for the other girl, now is not the time to play hero. You push forward with your shoulder, squeezing through the doorway, and you swipe your blade in a wide arc hoping to scare this new boy away from you. It's cruel irony that you risk harming him with this movement, but your fear and selfishness seem to be moving in unity. "If you want to kill someone, there's easier pickings just through this door. Another guy's already got the jump on her."

If you make it out of this alive, you will find some way to forgive yourself for the terrible things you have done — and will continue to do.

amber attacks dagger ; knife
|NSlx5d3e2knife
8.0

Guilt places its cold hand on your shoulder — and despite the urge to run, you find yourself frozen where you stand.

In the doorway, caught halfway between brutality and cowardice. "I didn't even do anythin-" the stranger can hardly finish his sentence before the frantic swipe of your blade cuts deep into his leg, cleanly splitting the seams of his stained pants and drawing blood. It seeps into the fabric quickly, alarmingly so, turning the already dark brown smears almost pitch black. Just the sight of it makes your stomach turn, but his next words make you want to hurl.

"That was unnecessary." And he's right, even if you can't bring yourself to unfurl your fingers around the hilt of your weapon. As frightened as you still feel, every impulse in your body playing tug-of-war between fight and flight, you are rational enough to understand that you've made the wrong choice. "God, I'm-" but the sentiment dies on your tongue, swallowed down into the churning depths. It doesn't seem fair to apologize for a decision you made in your right mind. He hadn't made an attempt to harm you, and yet you felt the need to go on the offensive.

Now his blood is on your knife, and he's calmly limping past you in the direction of the girl you sold out. You can't help but feel awful for it, even if you stand there with your jaw set and your eyes staring directly at the carnage. You ask him to leave you be, to finish off the girl who's already at the disadvantage, and he concedes. This doesn't feel like a victory. I'm sorry. You want to say it so badly that the very fibers of your being feel like they might begin to unravel.

But you don't run, and you don't continue your attack. You watch with a terrible mixture of horror and understanding as the two boys begin to team up against the shivering girl. One with a blade like yours, and the other with a longer, sharper sword. At least three of you standing in this room will die, but you feel certain that her time on this earth will be cut short in a matter of moments. If anything, you placed all your bets on that fact.

You need her to die. You should want all of them to drop dead.

Kindness is not so easily buried. "Maybe you do have teeth," says the boy with the light tan and buzzed dark hair, the one who began this conflict. His perception of you doesn't make you feel any better, but there is a quiet part of you that latches on. If you have any intention of making it out of this place alive, you cannot allow your emotions to twist and turn at the very thought of hurting someone. You have to act fast, and you have to trust your gut instinct. And if you survive, you will have to do so much worse than sentencing a girl to die and slicing open skin.

"I do," you dryly say in response to him, blade still in hand as you enter the room and make a choice you know cannot go back on. "But I don't use them to play with my food. Did they not teach you manners where you come from?" It doesn't matter. Not as you position yourself between the two young men and stare down at a girl whose ill fate could have very well been your own. You will do her the good grace of looking her in the eye as you choose to try and end her life. Like mercy killing a wounded animal, you must not hesitate when you draw your dagger across her throat.

"I know this isn't fair." No, this is not an act of kindness. It's the cruelest thing you've ever done, but you can't dismiss the sound of your heart drumming inside your ears. "But I'll try and make it quick."

amber attacks max ; knife
J|Gw3C8Bgsknife
3.5

This is the part where you learn you can't be the hero and the villain.

Delirious from blood loss, shaken by a tragedy you've allowed to happen, you stand between the chaos and want to raise a white flag in surrender. "Well, fuck me." All your good grace is gone, head no longer able to wrap around how to be selfish and merciful all at the same time. There's a gaping wound in your stomach, you've taken swings at the boy from Four and the girl from Six, and you've attempted to give the other boy a lashing with your tongue.

So holier than thou. And yet you don't even know what to believe in anymore.

You just keep making things worse, girl with no friends save for her fairytale expectations. There are no princes here, no pretty damsels, not even dragons. You are all so distinctly human and filthy that it causes your skin to crawl. "Just leave it alone," Dagger chides you as if you're a child poking at an ant hill, shoving you backwards and making you trip on your loose shoelaces. You stub your toe, and that just makes the anger in you boil closer to the surface. Mama used to tell you to do unto others what you would have done onto yourself.

But you'd hate being pierced by a knife. Just as much as you'd hate hearing a bratty girl tell two brawny boys to go make quick work of you. And the icing on the cake: you'd be pissed if someone started preaching at you in the middle of a literal death game. Nolan tells you to shut up, and you can't really blame him. You just place your fingers to your temples, drawing in a breath that's meant to be calming.

Then Max jumps on the bandwagon, rightfully so. "That's so thoughtful of you." All that you can hear inside your brain is static, eyes closed and the stench of mildew burning your nostrils. "Go fuck yourself." Her boot lands her statement home, slamming against your shin and making you jump backwards on one foot, hissing in pain under your breath. At this point, you're just going to incite everyone in this room to start beating the shit of you with their bare hands. Weapons be damned.

You stomp at the ground with a huff, trying to exorcise the fury from your body, damning the pain that shoots through your nerves and radiates across your abdomen. You're rational enough to understand that things will only hurt worse from this point on. No more making friends, no more sitting on logs with beautiful girls and talking about crushes on handsome boys that would have never looked your way if you hadn't been sentenced to death alongside them. This is the thick of it. You're here for good now.

This is where the rabbit hearted girl needs to decide whether she's going to allow herself to be devoured, or if she's going to show those sharp teeth she claims to have.

Shrugging off the angel whispering in your ear, you stumble over to Dagger and grip him by the shoulders, not caring if your nails rake across his flesh. "How about you put that sword to use and just finish this." You position him in front of the girl you refuse to feel pity for anymore; she's a sad version of you that you will not allow to exist down here. She's on her ass, and you're still standing on your feet. Every single person alive down here can hate you for all that you care. It's not like you can take them out of here with you.

You shove him closer to her for good measure. "And I swear, I'll do everything I can to make sure neither of you have to see me ever again."

amber attacks dagger ; unarmed
dLOhD1LFKIunarmed
miss