Lyndon Blackwood PK (FIN)

The sound of guns firing with the smell of metal in the air fills his senses. The sound makes him jump more than anything else. Practice or not, the sound reminds him of the dead bodies of a group of foolish people who threaten to take things into their own hands. The sound rings for a moment in his ears with the shrill sound that's left behind. A life of violence and protection is what they had created for themselves, protecting the places that they believed needed it. A hand clasps onto the sore shoulder that has been acting up for him since getting tackled by a teenager for no reason other than they didn't like him. A voice ringing in his ear of a command to get some rest for the evening.

Gunshots in the air sends his nerves over the edge again and again as he can hear the shout of hatred in their voices. This isn't real. It wasn't real. The gunshot wound that seems to bleed under his t-shirt as the flash of light comes to his eyes. Blood of a deep red that roots itself in his skin as his breathing goes quick. The hard sound of a scream filling his ears with a ringing about to make his head explode. Worried words of his old partner back in District Nine coming to his ears as he shouts of injured officer. A flash of nothing more but pain and worry as the night fades back into District Seven where he finds himself in a bed of some quarters that wasn't his.

The words of someone there telling him that he needs to get his head out of his ass because nothing's happened. Nothing's happened, but he's still panicking under it all. Hauled onto his feet, air seems to vanish, until his body complies to move. Eyes glancing to his higher up who wasn't happy. Words of fear and possible injuries coming in his tone, all that happens is a warning, just like the time before. Air cold with the memory of what just happened, eyes across his skin as the glare on his face grows again. They were human, just like the people of Seven. All of them had a reason to become what some call monsters, but others call saviors.

Peacekeepers. Citizens. Capitolites. All of them were born of the same blood that circulates under the skin. They stare at him with cold eyes that threaten to break his morals, his skin, and his pride. Strength in the silence is how he lives in the position that he finds himself in. Citizens have hurled rocks, words, and memories of terrible things at him. A reflection of the suffering that lies in their eyes, ripred coating their pupils with sorrows of a human.

He was human like them, born to a place where careers train to kill since the moment that he could walk. A fighter born for fame and fortune, but soul given to justice in order to keep the peace, like he had dreamed of as a kid in a house of too many siblings. Everyone fighting for food on the table that his parents could barely get out. The oldest of them all, he didn't eat first, but last as it was his job to help the younger ones. Sneaking bits of food for them to make him the best brother of the rest. A smile of white teeth as they praise him for feeding them a little extra.

Home. The place that he missed with all of his heart. Siblings growing older, becoming something else that would provide for his parents. Lucky enough to grow past the point of the games. Training wasted to the wind as wash ups that couldn't find work or a specialty to provide at home. Ma had told him to look deep in his heart for what he wanted to do once he was nineteen. Pa laughed at Ma's words, telling his boy to become something that'll make him rich. A whisper of something about picking up a pretty girl who could provide for him, but in the end, he did neither.

A decision based on lack of anything and promises of happiness. A decision that meant that he'd be shipped away from home without ever having a family of his home and never seeing the ones left behind. Brothers and sisters left behind as the age they were. Lives that they live would never be known by him, until he came home years later. Prayers upon his skin every day that he was becoming the monster and savior that people saw. Home was left behind to grew without him, with younger siblings who no longer relied on him anymore. Ma and Pa had both tried to talk him out of it, but it was futile because in the end, he left to see the world that he had never seen before.

The last day that he saw his family before the training to become a soldier had been a long one with tears and rain that made his mother break and father disappointed. Words that were never said lay dormant in their skin, as he marched into the building with one last look at his family. The training for Peacekeepers was tough, tougher than anything else he's ever done, but not enough to make him quit. Though, quitting meant other things, and he wasn't about to throw his life away again.

Screams across the body as they pushed him over and over. Bruises and rough, calloused hands began to form. Tests of strength, endurance, speed, order, and so many other things that he had to pass in order to stand in the white uniform that gives him a purpose. A purpose in life as a officer who kept order. Order, a tricky word to see in the world. Time and time again, he questions what is really wrong with Panem. Teenagers born in a place of restlessness and fighting from inner circles. Eyes that have seen horrors of being a Peacekeeper.

The first week of the Peacekeeper academy, he watched the smaller boy from down the street quit on life. Cold eyes that drift in his sleep, reminding him of the trials and tributes that had been in his training. Young adults that gave themselves to a cause that they believed in or to something to live for something more. Live for Panem's peace. They woke up early morning and trained in the arts of firing arms and self defense that many have learned from training. Was it normal that he could shoot a person from just a glance? Was it normal to feel like he was crumbling underneath from the things he's done?

Soldiers. That's what they were in the end. A group of young adults that had been trained to serve Panem. Graduating had been a proud moment for his mother, father, and siblings. They all appeared at the ceremony that had taken place, telling people nearby that he was their boy. A day was all he had to see them since graduating the Peacekeeper academy. Enough time to catch up on everything that had happened, until they shipped him to District Nine.

A district filled with gang violence, hungry citizens, and peacekeepers. The first day in District Nine, he had watched all sorts of people come and go from being arrested. Some shipped to the Detention Center, some held for a whipping, and others being questioned. Green eyes avoiding the truth that many of them would never be the same again. Avoiding contact with any sort of criminal as he marches through the building. A partner assigned to work with him for the patrols that he would be sent on.

Only a few months of patrolling, he hadn't come across any sort of problems. The partner that had been assigned to him being a down to earth man who was older than him by a good five years. Only ever really talking out of uniform, he enjoyed his company. Stories, jokes, and all sorts of friendly conversation being shared between one another. Good times weren't meant to last. A stiff feeling in his throat comes forth as he shakes his mind out of the thoughts of the past. Walking towards the quarters of his higher up. A knock, silence, and the door opens to a familiar face.

"Officer Blackwood."

Perfectly straight. Attention. Respect. Fear. A soldier's form as he lets his eyes stay upon his higher up. The older gentleman chuckles under his breath as Lyndon feels the air get thick with tension. Trouble. Green eyes meet an icy blue as they wash over his skin like a chill. Time spent on medical time off, until he was allowed to be shipped to District Seven. Control over his past was there, but he hasn't lost control in a long while. Arms cross as his higher up speaks with kind words. Many have seen the same horrors, but find ways to survive. Survival was every human's first instinct.

"At ease, Blackwood."

Body relaxes only the slightest bit as he balances from foot to foot, letting a breath slide out quietly. The higher up waves him away after handing him a note to have him take the rest of the evening off. A nod towards his way, until he opens the door and walks to the cold public, dressed in civilian clothes like the rest of Seven. Trees lining around him as he approaches the one place that he frequents for comfort. An empty bar with lumbermen who only eye him for a second, before realization comes across their faces. A drink ordered as he sips from it lightly, remembering Nine vividly.

Years spent in a district torn by violence. A partner who was the closest thing to a friend that he had in Nine. Gunshots were the first sign. Officers sent to cover fire in a place away from the main part of the district. A gang shooting at the peacekeepers in a shoot out. Guns in their possession, no ideas on how they got them. A shoot out that killed one too many of their own. They were sent in it. Gun fire followed by bullets that almost hit them. Ricocheting shots that collide into concrete, wood, and all sorts of things that were being used as shelter. Only a moment to break apart in the middle of it all.

A plan was made with his partner, a simple quick distraction. Feet collide with concrete as his partner moves to the side. The gang members go to shoot him. The sound of gunfire going off as he stands, shooting them. Heart beats and sorrow for the dead. The first time he would kill a man with the weapon that they taught him to use. Hesitation to use the weapon that they had been taught to use. A teenager holding a gun up to shoot his partner. The sound of a bullet ringing in the air, as a shout rings in his ear. Everything becoming too slow. His own gun shooting at the teenagers with gang affiliations.

Two bodies. The results of the incident. "Officer down!" He shouts to no one around, but the device that lets him speak to other patrols. They were meant to be there sooner. The other gang member fled the scene. Cloth pressed to the side where the bullet went through his partner. Tears beginning to fill his eyes from all the times they spent together. Days that he would never get back again. Memories that would be left with a bitter taste on his tongue.

"Get him, please. Lyndon. Go."

Tears in his eyes as he keeps pressure on the wound.

"I'll be okay, Blackwood."

"No! I-I can't leave you here."

Hands holding the cloth to the side as it turns a dark red with blood. Ripping his sleeve with his teeth, putting it on top of the cloth. Nothing was working. Eyes were going cold as he keeps screaming for him to hold on. Last words fall from his lips.

"Blackwood. It'll be okay."

It'll be okay. Three words that still ring in his head like a record that keeps repeating. A drink for the mistakes that have been made. Downing another shot of alcohol that helps him forgot about it. They had found him with hands still clutched to the cloths that were around the bullet wound, but eyes lifeless. Pulled away from the body screaming because it was his best friend. His only friend in District nine. Home is where they sent him. Wallowing in his own sorrows, licking the wounds on his mental health, they sent him to help in District Two.

Days spent in a building with white walls as they pump him full of reasons that everything will be okay. Okay. A single word that he was going to be. Family comforting him enough that he wasn't collapsing. Siblings, now older, and with jobs. Kids of their own who got to see their uncle for the first time. All of them felt foreign to him. All of it felt like a dream that he was floating through, until he could find a place to stand. Months spent just learning who they were, until it was time to go.

Time to go back to a life full of criminals and patrols. A pawn on a chessboard of a game that was stuck in a stalemate. District Seven was better than District Nine. Forests that chilled the bone. Workers cutting trees for the rest of Panem. Children running around with smiles upon their faces. A new world entirely from the one that he had been at. The day that he met his higher up had been normal, except for the question of his mental state that he answered honestly.

"I'll be okay, sir."

Body stiff with control. Brown hair shortened to a point with it swept up. Green eyes meeting the icy blue that were his higher up's eyes. A jaw with a light beard that he kept groomed during his time in Seven. A look that the lumbermen had of their own. Blending in with the people of District Seven. A nose crooked ever so slightly from run ins with gangs in District Nine or from training in District Two. Everything seems to blend together since then. A mixture of things that just flash across his mind whenever he truly thought of it.

Muscular arms that lift him up from the bar counter as he shuffles across the bar to the exit. Legs toned from the work as a Peacekeeper as they move him away from the alcohol that now lingers upon his tongue. Rough hands messing with his coat zipper, callouses from hard work that he's done over the years in seven lingering on his skin. A shorter stature than the other peacekeepers that he works with as he marches out of the bar. Short, but still enough to do as much work or damage as them.

A soldier trained to protect, but protection came with a cost.

Dreams upon his skin. rough hands that gently move along his side. Lips upon his own with a gentle whisper of passion. A rough breath coming from the other's throat. His own voice coming forth in a gentle passion. Skin tingling with the touch of a rough calloused hand on his cheek. Then it's over. Waking up in a cold sweat. A chuckle under his breath as it's happened time and time again. Alcohol still lingering in his breath as he rubs his eyes again.

"Who knew, after all these years, I still dream of you every night."

Dreams. The only way of escaping the reality that he had lost it all. No going back, but only moving forward. No one knew the truth of the incident in Nine. No one knew of the last kiss that they shared before death had taken the only thing that made him feel alive. The last electricity that ran through his veins. The life of a Peacekeeper wasn't meant for love, but even in the end, he still dreams of the things that could have been.

Except, he has a tendency to lose everything that he dreams of.

Throwing his life away, once again.

The waxing moon drifts over the glass as he closes his eyes, letting himself go back into a state of dreaming.

The sounds of gunfire wake him to reality.

Just like they did every morning since.