shotgun shot in the dark | getaway car v grunts (day 2)

sera keoch

We stay in the art area overnight.

For the record, it wasn’t my choice.

Look, I might be stubborn, but I’m not stupid. If Flynn Garner is telling me to keep moving – that it’s no use hanging around waiting for Portia to show up – then who am I to ignore him?

Circe, on the other hand, has been acting paranoid ever since I told her the bad news update. At first she went off on a tangent about how the Gamemakers would never kill off half of the tributes on the first day and I’m like, bitch hello? Sounds like the EXACT kinda thing they would do. And when she got sick of that train of thought, she started on the “how do I know you’re not lying to me?” bandwagon.

I’d responded curtly. “Well, next time he calls, you can talk to him yourself.” I thought that would appease her, being the power-hungry, in-control mafiosa midget she is. But she just started muttering something to herself about not being able to trust either of us, which really made the whole night very sour indeed.

And the cherry to top off a splendid first night in the Arena was the Anthem playing and confirming that yes, THIRTEEN tributes had died already. And lo and behold, right at the top of the pack: Portia Maybach.

I’m a believer in always preparing for the worst case scenarios; that way you’re not bitterly disappointed when things inevitably go wrong. But even with my prior knowledge of Portia’s likely demise, it still hurts to have my suspicions confirmed. Which is, of course, ridiculous to say or think for a girl I barely knew.

I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just misplaced sorrow at how unfair the entire situation had been. You never get used to injustice in the world, even when you think you will.

I sit with my emotions for too long, trying and failing to process the breadth of them. Don’t even have the energy to turn to Circe and make a smug remark about being right when she curses out our former ally. Instead, I pick up a fine-tipped paintbrush strewn in the sand and navigate my way through the darkness to the seven-foot canvas glowing like a beacon of hope. A tin of purple paint sits opened and waiting at the base of the canvas. How convenient.

There’s a few small doodles already adorning the wallpaper, but I make sure to draw the biggest one of all: a large purple crown, signed with the initials ‘P.M’.

“Rest easy, queen. You would have done great things.”

It’s something I might have said to Izzy, if we believed in obituaries and parting phrases. But saying the words aloud, finally, doesn’t bring me any grand sense of closure. Not that I expected it to, I guess.

No, the thing that catches me the most off-guard is the creeping chill up my spine and the raised hairs at the base of my neck – a very different reaction to the usual nothingness I get from making amends with the dead. I’ve always trusted my instincts. When you work in the dead of the night in the business of illegality, they’re the best weapon you can have. It’s why I immediately turn on my heel at these first signs of unease in my body, only to catch a string of glowing red eyes advancing on me two seconds before they howl through the silence:

“WE’RE GONNA GET YA!”

The pain comes fast, and I stumble away from the burning. But I can’t get away; it sits in my wrist, travels up my arm, feels like it might very well paralyse me.

“Mother FUCKER!” What the fuck is this nightmare fuel?!

“CIRCE! GET OVER HERE NOW!” I swing my spiked weapon through the air, a now-permanent extension of my arm, struggling slightly under the new weight and trying – and failing – to buy myself time.

I knew the mutts would be bad. Could have guessed they’d be upon us at the first opportunity, given the shenanigans of the Bloodbath-not-a-Bloodbath from earlier in the day. But it’s four against one and a speed run to death if Circe doesn’t get over here right now to show off her Career training skills.

I wouldn’t beg for her help, but I’m sure the pure terror and desperation in my voice speaks volumes.

sera attacks lloyd the grunt – spiked blunt

XvtuW3c7SUspiked blunt

stabbed in chest – 9.5 + 1


self-defense on previous attack

3-8

sera keoch

Circe’s just about as unhinged as the mutts, knocking another head clean off and then threatening to use the discarded metal as armor. Which is like, just plain barbaric. Not to mention rude. I don’t think I’d appreciate my limbs being used post-mortem –

Oh.

Ironic.

Ha.

… Anyway.

The stuttering mutt takes a swipe at me, and I block it surprisingly easily. Guess those fight or flight reactions really kick in right when you need them to. He starts berating the last remaining animatronic, calling her a slew of nasty names, and I swing my bat at him before he can finish the sentence. I’m not even attacking with the intent to kill anymore; I just want him to shut up.

And oh boy, does he.

Wires and detached metal plates fly through the air, landing in haphazard piles across the heavy sand. All of a sudden, there’s only one creature left – the one they were calling Daisy.

Think I remember a girl called Daisy. A little cherub baby whose only memory I have to keep her alive is the smell of her newborn self intermingling with the harsh stench of formaldehyde. That was a tough night. The recollection still softens me.

“Hey.” I lower my weapon for a brief moment and turn just in time to watch her head spin round in a perfect 360, her gaze constantly flickering between Circe and myself, back and forth, desperately uncertain. “Don’t listen to them. You’re not worthless.”

Exhibit A: the nasty ass cut she leaves at the base of Circe’s neck. I feel my breath get caught somewhere between my lungs and nostrils at the sight of the immediate blood pooling at her skin. I don’t really know what to do with the bleeding; most of the blood I’ve seen has been congealed and clotted, not pouring out of open wounds. Circe’s a Career though. She knows how to patch herself up. And apparently I know how to swing a weapon.

Call a spade a spade, play to your strengths. Deal with the things you can control.

I turn to the last mutt, her red eyes blazing without her consent, commanded by something out of her control. She’s scared. Trying to be brave. I almost feel sad for her.

“Sorry for this. Boss’ orders.” I tilt my head in Circe’s direction, give a noncommittal shrug of my shoulders. “You know how it is.”

sera attacks daisy the grunt – spiked blunt

JhqW4A0nWXspiked blunt

block – 0