f i x [you] --Andy

To hear Mik’s voice is such a sweet relief. Despite the pain I’m in I’m so thankful to hear that baritone drawl, lilted with an accent that I guess only people from Six have. ”Andy! Andy, please be careful.” I feel almost like it’s unnecessary for him to tell me to be careful but, hell, if the positions were switched I know I would tell him the exact same thing. Be careful, Mik. I don’t want to lose you, or Yaa, or Deimos. My thoughts wander to my other two allies and curiosity tugs at me. Where are they? Are they alright? Neither of them had answered when I called out to them over the walkie-talkie during my little scrap with the spider; does that mean they’re both hurt? I quickly shove that thought out of my mind, refusing to believe that either of them could be just lying on the ground dead. Both of them are strong and determined, and frankly I view them as the leaders of this little ramshackle group – leaders just don’t die that easily, and if they do it’s martyrdom.

I use my sword almost like a cane, stabbing the tip into the dirt in order to help me drag my feet along. Despite my struggling my legs are refusing to do their part; instead they are shaking, weighing down like lead weights, odd shoes dragging along the soil and leaving traces of my presence behind. I seriously doubt anyone will track me in this place: the fog is too thick, the thread of spiders is far more terrifying than a single tribute, and honestly I’m so sick of walking through spider webs that I don’t think anyone else will want to endure being lathered with silk threads this much.

My head begins to throb and I raise my stumpy arm, pressing my closed eyes into the fold of my elbow. I’ve never been one to get headaches back at home so maybe it’s the poison that’s hurting. But what about the anti-venom? Shouldn’t that be working by now? Venom doesn’t go out of your system that quickly, give it a little time. My legs are numb, though, and I fear that if I take another step I’ll just end up falling over.

Using the sword to lean against I slowly drop down to one knee and then the other, yanking the sword out of the ground and laying it down and then I curl up on my side next to it. I thought I was sore after the bloodbath but that was nothing compared to this. My entire body is aching (where it’s not numb, of course) and the deep wounds are still stinging painfully. My head, too, is giving me quite some grief. A low moan escapes me and I slowly pull out the walkie-talkie again, setting it sideways on the ground so that I can still press the button and speak clearly into it.

”On… second thought, Mik,” I say, obviously exhausted, ”I’m just gonna… lay here…. I’m so tired…”

The ground, though damp and moist from not being dried out by the sun, is unnaturally comfortable. The spider webs draping my skin hardly even bother me anymore. I close my eyes, hand loosening its grip on the walkie-talkie. Just a quick snooze, that’s all I want. My entire body continues to ache and throb, coupled with the new pain of my pathetic attempts at stitching myself up that only managed to hurt me more. Even though I had taken the first aid station at the training center I swear I was doing something wrong every time I reluctantly forced the needle through my skin to stitch up bleeding wounds. It was sick to watch and took much of my courage to even make the first stitch on myself – Yaa, Deimos, and Mik had all attended to my arm stump when it was severed and so I hadn’t had to use a needle and thread then, but since I was alone after my last fight I had no choice.

I’m not a coward, don’t get me wrong – I can fully take care of myself. But right now, after just battling a fucking spider the size of two horses, I’m honestly sure that I could use some help (or at least someone to keep watch while I sleep).

Unconsciousness lulls a silent lullaby, making me slowly succumb to its dark bliss. My entire body goes limp against the ground and I can feel sleep starting to pull me under, a haze forming around my conscience, the quietness surrounding me of my bedroom back home where the crickets and frogs would sing endlessly at night outside my window, a few horses would snort or neigh, and the moonlight streamed in through the dirty glass—

A sharp pain in my thigh breaks the serene string of memories, yanking me back and replacing the thoughts with flashbacks to the spider’s fangs against my skin. I let out a sudden shrill yelp, coming alive and thrashing out defensively, stumpy arm scrambling to find my sword while my hand shoots out and latches onto an arm. My wide eyes lock their gaze on what I’ve just grabbed onto and it takes a moment before I recognize the dark color. ”Mik?” A needle and thread rests in his hand, so that was what I thought were spider fangs. I look up at his face and find worry written so obviously all over it.

My heart rate slowly starts to come down as I realize that I am in no danger. It’s just Mik, alive and well, trying to once again aid me. I begin to relax back onto the ground but I refuse to let go of his wrist, keeping a tight grip on it. ”You scared me to death.” I do an once-over for injuries on him, spotting a cut on his cheek and neck. He doesn’t look too terribly wounded but there could be things I’m just not seeing. ”Are you alright?”

Overall Mik really does look fine. He came out unscathed from the bloodbath and I suppose he fought off a spider, too, and once again he ended up with only a few scrapes and bruises. Me, on the other hand – I’ve lost an arm, deep gashes everywhere, welts here and there. Compared to him I’m slow on my feet, unable to properly defend myself like I should be able to here. We won the wealth (us, non-Careers), I’ve already killed a human being – so why can’t I do something like defend myself?

I close my mouth, silently yielding to his command. It must be obvious to him that my one-handed attempts at stitching up the wounds are pretty rudimentary and uneven. I tried, I honestly did, but here again I’m having to rely on my ally to heal me because I can’t properly do it myself. When am I going to be able to save my own hide? I reluctantly allow him to gently push me back down to the ground and pry my hand off his wrist. ”Relax, okay? If you relax it will hurt less.”

Relaxing is the last thing on my mind. My entire body is riddled with aches and pains and with Mik shoving the needle into my skin all I can do is wince every time a sharp pinprick erupts in my thigh. I grind my teeth together, sucking in air and making a sound that’s a mix between a growl and a pained moan.

As time passes the pain in my leg just goes numb. I still feel the needle but it feels almost like Mik’s trying to stitch up a rubbery balloon instead. By now I’ve managed to stay quiet and still, only flinching now when he adds more string to pull the wound together. If I come out of every fight like this I’m sure to die soon. The thought of dying never really scared me much, and even now, as I lay bleeding and “half dead,” as Mik called it, I do not fear death. Dying alone, though, is another thing – Haff died alone, abandoned by his allies. I don’t want to die alone like he did. If I have Mik or Yaa or Deimos by my side then I can die a thousand deaths, but if all I have is myself then I’ve either messed up or lost something along the way.

”There’s no way I can win this thing.” I don’t know if Mik heard me through his concentration but I continue, musing out loud. ”It’s only day two and already I’m half dead. What’s the point in even trying to win? I can’t heal fast enough.” I guess you could say I’ve given up in some aspects of these games because I have, I really have. ”But that doesn’t mean I can’t do whatever I can to make sure you or Yaa or Deimos wins. If I’m going to die then it might as well not be in vain.”

I can tell by the way Mik’s face changes that he really does not like what I’m saying. I’ll admit that my statements were rather dreary and grave but who am I to say any different? I’m weak, I’m still probably somewhat poisoned, how the hell am I going to win a fight against a human or a mutt? I feel barely able to lift my limbs anymore, lying heavy like dead weight on the ground. I don’t stand a chance, how can Mik not see that? Sure I made it out of the bloodbath but at a terrible cost: I lost my arm, became a target for Akina’s allies, and if it hadn’t been for my own allies then I would be gone already. Am I just dead weight to them? All along has it been the other three progressing and then me just pulling them back down? I’m not smart like Yaa, I’m not strong like Deimos, I’m not logical like Mik. What am I?

The anger in Mik’s voice is unmistakable. Of course no one wants to heart that they or their fellow ally is going to die but what’s the point in hiding it? Should we continue to deny the inevitable rather than accept it and act without the restraint of fear? I’ve accepted my death but I’ve come to realize that it’s my regrets that prevent me from acting calmly.

”Don’t talk like that, Andy….”

“Don’t talk like that, Andy.”

“Don’t talk like that, Andy.” My mother glares at me with dark, angry eyes, her mouth pursed into a hard line. ”But Ma,” I begin my desperate and pitiful plea, ”Haff can learn, he’s good at learning. You just gotta give him a chance—“ She backhands me clean across the face, throwing me off balance so that I stumble, my hands clutching at my burning cheek. “I will not have that idiot child ruining the face of this show, do you hear me?” She snarls, towering over me like a starving dog intimidating a smaller and weaker one that has got a meaty bone. I cower below her, shielding my face from another attack that is slow to come. “I said do you hear me, Andal?” I hesitantly nod. ”Yes, Mama.”

I look up at Mik, finding him blurry and distorted against the foggy white background. When I blink I feel hot droplets run down my cheeks, streaking through the sweat and blood. ”I need you to be strong. I need you to have hope.” Does Mik really think I can do it? That I can last for a day or two more? I shut my eyes tightly, trying desperately to grab a hold of any little ember of hope but not being able to find my strength. Have I really given up already? I raise my hand and clamp it down over my eyes, fighting back more tears as they begin to sting and well up.

”We all have a chance at going home—“

Anima lowers her head to my hand, eagerly trying to lip up the apple between my fingers. Her ears flicker forward but I know it’s not me she’s paying attention to – she’s completely unaware of the glistening and cold pistol I have in my hand and the fate I am about to bestow upon her. She doesn’t notice as I raise the pistol up through her blindside, gently putting the muzzle against her forehead. ”Go find him, Anima.” And then I pull the trigger.

”Believe in what, Mik?” I say hoarsely, not particularly to him so I’m not expecting a reply. Everything I once believed in has since died and gone away including any belief I ever had in myself. If I do make it home, then what? I’ll just have to deal with the fact that I managed to survive and Haff didn’t. My mother used to joke terribly about “Haff being named Haff because he hasn’t got half the brain that even a horse has,” and I can promise you that I do not want to listen to her lionize herself because I survived and he didn’t.

But there’s still this lingering feeling of uneasiness. Something is still out of place, untied, unstable. ”No one cared when Haff died. Only I did.” The words pour out, shaky and emotional. ”I killed his horse—th-the day Haff died I shot his horse clean in the face. I thought she’d find him, I really did, but now I’m not so sure.” I take my hand off my face, looking up at him through bleary eyes. ”What do I believe in anymore? You?”