graves and the infinite arm // { day 5 | d12, dusty, jacob }

I lose him in the dark. And it's almost more terrifying than anything I have yet to experience thus far in this hellish arena.

But alongside my fear is a reassurance, that it's better this way, that at this point, getting close to anyone in this arena and staying there is going to be way more harm than good in the long run.

And then I'm reminded of the lingering taste of Ike on my lips, and I wonder if it would be worth it to lose it all enjoying my last few days instead of spending them hiding in some deep dark corner, hoping against hope that everyone else dies around me.

When only two faces shine on my watch that night, I know that despite what my heart might long for, my brain rationalizes that perhaps splitting apart from Ike was a good thing in the long run. Sixteen alive on by the fifth day has never ended well. Take the last two games, for example, when in each instance a gargantuan muttation complete with teeth, death, and a shit ton of nightmare fuel draws each and every tribute in the vicinity towards its wrath. Few escape without scars to speak of for their struggles.

And this darkness - it can't be a natural thing. I've heard of power outages before, even experienced a few, but for an entire spaceship to just suddenly lose power after days of thrumming along all fine and dandy? Yeah. It doesn't take a genius to realize that the Gamemakers have something planned.

But I sleep, regardless. Maybe it's exhaustion, maybe it's the fact that there aren't a million stars or some weirdly flickering fluorescent light bulb shining in my face, but I think it's the most rejuvenating rest I've had in some time.

Or maybe it's the aftereffects of the MRE and the fact that I've had two straight days of water to drink. Because you know, apparently those are important to keeping yourself alive or something. Or so I've heard.

But regardless, it's not surprising when some glowy thing appears in my vision. Nor is it surprising when I find the surrounding landscape unfamiliar through touch if nothing else. For all I know, I'm back in the gardens again, or the cargo hold that Kit and I had first set up camp.

For some reason, I find myself strangely calm. Maybe it's the fabled calm before the storm - for everyone knows that when a mutt that isn't a delivery word or a regional variant appears on the scene and refrains from attacking, that it's far from a wannabe pet.

No. It's the lure to whatever hell I'll find myself in today.

So I keep my gun out, my remaining four senses peeled for some sign of giant claws or a menacing, bone shaking growl. But when the light mutt abruptly vanishes, there's only-

"Who's there?"

Ah. Well. Shit.

Last time I met with Cedar Halt, he'd spared me after Kit and I had nearly killed him. I highly doubt I'll be that lucky this time around. And Red's face never shown on the watch - but this time, I don't have an ally on my side to even the odds.

But if I can't see him, then he can't see me. So maybe I just hold my breath and wait for him to pass-

The flash of the blaster is shockingly bright in the inky darkness, and this time I can't hold the expletive behind my lips.

"Shit!"

Shit, shit, shit shit shit shit shit fuck oh god-

Nothing touches me. But I'm alone, outnumbered, and quickly starting to panic.

So I do the only logical thing I can think of, right then and there.

I raise my gun, aim at nothing in particular because well, I can't see shit, and pull the trigger.

<><><><>

The thoughts of a nightmare crosses the depths of my mind in darkness. With blindness flickering into the realm of what I perceive to be reality, I wonder if slumber has forced its claws back around me. Briefly, just slightly, rest had closed my eyes amongst the guarding arms of our mutated foes - leaving me to believe no more shuteye would be required until at least another circle of the moon across the sky. But with this collapsing upon us, I’m forced to hope I’ve simply drifted back off into dreamland once more. It doesn’t feel to be a dream however, leaving the pulse of my heart to spiral into a panic I have yet to feel since my name was first called.

Hastily I scramble for the goggles I presume will assist in this setback. And sure enough once they’re placed upon my head, vision allows a breath to flutter past my lips. “Do you have one of those goggles, Cedar? They help you see.” Information is provided, while I’m also certain of his lack of this possession - though the question arose despite. Hope is all that we can cling to now, even when it’s futile. “Well at least one of us can see. I’ll be our eyes, unless you’d rather be?” Flirts could surely spiral from such, while it doesn’t amongst this anxiety consuming air.

Maintaining the rear of our train of two, my stare remains packed upon his wellbeing. Sound seems to travel far and deep amongst this pit of darkness, leaving me without fret that we’d hear a threat approaching. So my vision steadies of what he’s walking towards, and potentially into. But grace appears to be guiding him better than my own eyes can do for me on a regular… until panic rattles him in assumption of intruders when he crashes into what looks like an inactive robot left for decay.

Lips part with the prediction of his actions, as he transfers blindly into any direction and fires his weapon. Words are unable to halt him quick enough, just as my body’s unable to budge from the line of fire fast enough. He questions who’s there just as a cut boils upon the palm of my hand, delivered by my own piece of home… I should have given him the goggles. “You got me, ass! That’s who’s there, it’s me!” And perhaps I really should have given him the goggles, as I didn’t even see that there is indeed intruders upon us.

“Shit!” Curls through the atmosphere from another person of blindness, and through my green hue of ability to see I absorb the company. The familiar face rattles before me straight to a memory of two days ago - apologies spewing from his lips, his body succumbing to the ground in grievance over his friend that I had killed. If it weren’t for his evidential blindness, I’d assume he changed his mind and is here in a craving for revenge. But panic seems to be relishing him as much as it is us within this pitch blackness, incoordination appearing to target his aim rather aimlessly. If he had done the same in light is beyond me, while another bullet slams into my stomach.

Instinctively my hands go to cup the infant wound, a greenish gray muck seemingly spreading across my fingers. That hurt, yet I’m scarcely consumed by the severity of it - there’s no time to be. Another invader discovers my peripheral view, solely an odd noise breaching her lips as she strikes through the air in desperation. And the mark she lands upon her victim hurts me far worse than any upon my own impaired skin.

Just vaguely do I remember her features, forming within my mind right after I had truly absorbed Jacob’s - right after I had murdered his friend. Within the luscious nature of one of the rooms she joined us, attempting to spark an innocent conversation with the others in a nonverbal plea for a distraction from this place. My lips remained quiet then, unable to swallow the life I had recently taken. My lips don’t remain sealed now. She probably doesn’t realize who she hit, but unfortunately she’ll still have to regret it still.

“I’d give you two a chance to run away, but both of you have already struck.” And both of them went after my sole harsh comfort from home at some point, one of them far more recently than the other. Without a second thought my lips turn to her direction. “The dark doesn’t seem to agree with you, little one. It’s brought you to a killer with sight, and aimed your weapon towards her only friend.” The light of my sword flicks on to his beautiful buzz of destruction. No apologies. No regret. No life can be spared.

<><><><>

There's a cry of pain, and a swear - and oh god I think just shot Red.

My mind flashes between laughs shared at a luncheon and her impalement of Kit, and I'm not sure whether to celebrate the hit or embrace the nausea creeping in the back of my throat because of it.

So I do neither, instead dropping my free arm and the opposite knee to the floor, in a sort of crouch, because first and foremost, I need to get my bearings.

A loud, obnoxious sounding grunt fills the room that sounds like neither Red nor Cedar, sending a new wave of terror through my heart as my first thought goes to oh fuck and now there's a mutt-

But then Red cuts me off, addressing a little one and her weapon. And for the second, no further grunting or otherwise indecipherable sounds follow - and my blood cools and curdles as the realization that a fourth player, unknown to any save apparently the omniscient Red, has entered the field.

Personally, I have no idea who this late arrival could be, and I don't care. So far, nothing, glowing blade of light or otherwise, has come my way. I could run, I could hide - but no, my eyes still haven't adjusted to the inky blackness that must be some sort of purgatory or test, so for all I know, trying to run might pluck me from one dreaded encounter and plop me in something ten times worse.

So, slowly, as quietly as I can possibly manage, I get back to my feet. With some effort, I beat back the panic threatening to hijack my psyche, slow the rapid breathing fueled by an adrenaline overload. It's not easy, though. Having one of your senses permanently inhibited will do that to you.

My mind wanders briefly to Kit, and for the first time, I feel relief over the fact that he's dead and gone instead of regret. Not being able to hear is rough enough on a person - by Ripred, I only spent the entirety of Elias's childhood figuring that out - and I can't imagine what it'd be like to lose his sight on top of that. I've always counted sight and hearing as the two most important senses one can possess - and if I'm struggling enough with the absence of one, well...

Perhaps Cedar Halt decided to show sympathy towards me for a second time, for I'm startled out of feeling anything more than the slightest stab of sorrow before his blaster goes off a second time. And if Red's fury is anything to go by, he just accidentally shot her. Again.

I could run. There's enough chaos being generated by the hapless duo from my sister district and the as yet unknown fourth figure caught in the mix.

But I won't get anywhere by running. Running isn't what took out the nakom swarm or the overly aggressive mountain goat. Running isn't what gave Katelyn her victory, or Kirito his, or Harbinger his.

No. Even though it'd costed him his life, Kit had had the right idea when he'd made the first shot against Cedar and Red two days ago. There is no running from destiny. Either you win, or you die - those are the rules of the Hunger Games.

So when I stand, I don't run. I don't move at all, save for my arms. The less sound I can make, the less likely I'll be discovered before I can make my shot.

I still can't see shit. But I think I have a general idea where my foes are - and that'll have to be enough.

I'm tired of being the hunted. Maybe just this once, I'll give being the hunter a try.

<><><><>

Words seize to follow in the wake of my own. Not even a peep of language curls from the likes of the others in exchange. Violence, however, surely does pursue behind my own weapon’s raft of rage in response - my own lighten sword carving across the fellow, much shorter, redhead before me; while in this hue of my ability to see, the tint of her hair appears to be the same color as the blood slowly seeping from my core, a greenish gray. Guilt doesn’t curdle at the sight of her own brewing wound crafted by myself, her innocence not registering as much as the fact that no one else truly exist aside from us twelves. Perhaps another killer has truly been spawned by the likes of the Capitol.

Distraction directs my attention away from the aim of District Partner’s laser gun, preventing me once again from warning him of his, or should I say my, grave mistake. But immediately my eyes dart to his sight at the sting of another blast digging into my exterior. And sure enough his weapon is blindly wobbling in my direction as he cowers behind a ceiling lamp that’s for some reason mounted on the floor. “I think the dark is trying to make you repeat your Father’s game, Cedar.” Grumbles through my clenched teeth that’s busy swallowing the lightning pain of his error.

“See this glowing red that’s been my weapon since day one?” I question while waving my light sword through the air. “Try not to shoot at it.” Is recommended in a bundle of spiteful sarcasm. As ironically poetic as it’d be for Father to kill blue, and his son to kill red, I’d rather not be part of that art. But at least someone is on my side, whether he knows it or not, as Jacob fires through the dark and manages to hit the little one I purely wish to destroy over her uncontrollable mistake of harming Cedar. Blind or not, I’ll take it.

Another howl of pain pierces from the tiny one who doesn’t deserve to be here. Youth still possess her far more so than the rest of us - yet against the fate of death, our survival must take priority. Her expression of agony absorbs brutally upon my gift of sight, dripping guilt to boil against my heart in a manner I can’t accept. She swings her sword in any direction, closest to myself. But just as everything appears louder within this darkness, everything also seems slower within the advantage of sight. With ease I step from her line of fire.

I’d still rather not face the truth either, while within the pit of blackness it seems I’m the only one that must. My eyes stare directly into her’s, as her’s darts in every which way as if in a desperation to see. “I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this.” But Cedar deserves to live, and Jacob already knows to not dare to harm him. With a gulp, my weapon raises in warning - and I swing in strive of what’s deserved or not.

<><><><>

My strategy was a success. My mark found its target.

But this time, the cry of agony isn't Red, isn't Cedar, but the unknown fourth party. And it's a high pitched scream, one of a child instead of a teenager - and oh fuck is it-

But no, it can't be Kassandra. My district partner would have recognized my voice, would have probably made some quip about death or something. And there's only one other tribute that I know of that was that young, a girl belonging to a bloodstained legacy easily recognizable by her bright orange hair.

There's no connection to be found between me and the Spark girl. But as her cry echoes within my eardrums, I can't help but find that my thoughts drift towards Charlotte, towards Lydia. My sisters may have escaped the gauntlet this time around, but in a different world, a different time, it could have easily been the former that had her name called instead of Kass, and the latter still has seven reapings of her own to look forward to once I'm home, one way or another. And either I'll be there for that or I won't, and I'm not sure which option would be worse.

So wrapped up in my own head am I that I don't realize that there's a break in the bickering between Cedar and Red, don't notice that the former has fired off another shot until my leg is burning white-hot with pain.

I'm not a strong man, nor am I a tough one. And yes, I've been punched, I've been bit, I've been smacked in the leg by a fucking goat, but nothing has hurt quite like this before.

I suppose the benefit of me screaming in such an enclosed space is that it'll be harder to decipher my precise location.

The sound fades, my throat rubbed raw. Ragged breaths enter and exit my lungs as gradually, the pain loses its edge.

If that's what it feels like to get shot with pure energy, is that's the pain that everyone I've hit with my weapon has felt since I worked up the nerve to use it....

Well, it's no wonder that Cedar decided to aim in my direction. No wonder that the goat got so pissed off that it literally killed itself trying to enact revenge upon me.

But I'm not so weak that I'll let one shot stop me, regardless as to whether the intent was luck or malicious. Gradually my breathing slows, and I make every effort I can to silence it to the three surrounding me. Which, when you're low-key panicking and in pain, isn't the easiest task to accomplish.

But if Cedar found me once, he can find me again. So I guess I'll have to take the initiative instead.

<><><><>

Again the light of my sword carves harshly across the Being of the tiniest one here. Guilt curdles further into the pit of my stomach, almost feeling as though the foam of it may brim to my lips in nausea. A thought crosses amongst the overwhelming emotions sickening my core. A thought to dispose of the goggles cursing me with a gift in this darkness, to chuck that grace across the floor, to be as blind as the rest of the others. Facing the truth is too much to handle, but facing the truth is what has to be done. It was only a thought that crosses my mind, because I know the life of Twelve in its whole is too important to not face the truth for.

An apology brews from Cedar next in my direction, rather than another blast to dig into my existence. And an excuse of course follows in what I thought was an acceptance of mistake. Just briefly it distracts me from the destruction occurring within this ultimate darkness. Eyes narrowing with sarcastic attitude turns his way, while I know fully well he’s unable to absorb it himself. But at least I see his weapon aiming away from me, firing at Jacob - as if finally realizing all are foes except for the ones from home.

“There you go, Cedar - I knew you could do it.” A mixture of sarcasm, and a smidgen of pride in him, weaves together to form my words. A breath spews across my tongue at the relief of my own ally not harming me, until attention transfers back to what has to be done.

As if paying back for the disarray his ally caused a few days ago, the blackness gently presses Jacob’s strive for pain in a direction away from Cedar or I. Another slice decorates the small exterior of the little one’s disposition, and the pain that curls across her features is a harsh one to swallow. It’s not just agony consuming her expression, but also appears to be an understanding of what’s to come. She spews past the pain to deliver her name, to wish for her killer to not forget it - and I hope that it’s not me that has to, though I know it might have to be.

An apology sprinkles from her lips next, along with an urge that she won’t falter from battling. She spins wildly with a weapon she wasn’t use before, a weapon like the boys’ have, and I clench my breath in the pause to whom her blindness will hit. There’s another thought, just one more, to step away from this while I still can. But as that blast rumbles into Cedar, I know that it’s a conclusion I can’t step back from. “And don’t ever stop fighting, little one. No matter what, never stop fighting.” Because sometimes, most of the time, that’s all you can do.

<><><><>

I do end up taking the initiative. But I don't hit Cedar, nor Red - instead, the Spark girl from Three takes the brunt of the shot. And I'm not sure if that was a good thing, or a terrible one instead.

Pros: She's small, she's taken some hits already, she's being targeted by Red which means that as long as I help, she won't do shit to me, and I know next to nothing about her which, in this context, is a good thing.

Cons: She's a kid who is having trouble fighting back, she's not Cedar who I'm pretty sure is the only one who's taken a shot in my direction thus far, she's part of a legacy that's already lost kids to the Games and by striking I'm furthering that family tradition, and she can't be any older than Charlotte which, well, doesn't make me feel too good inside.

"My name is Industria Spark." And she's even got one of those traditional Three-themed names, ones that back home at least are usually reserved to the poor and downtrodden.

"Whoever kills me, please don't forget that." And now she's talking of death in her sweet pre-teen voice. Great.

I knew this shit wasn't going to feel great when I got picked. And I mean, am I wrong? You either kill, or you die, and neither sounds like an appealing option, yanno?

But I have to do one, or else I'll face the other.

So I rise my gun to do my duty.

And then Cedar Halt almost takes my goddamned eye out.

There's a flash from his general direction, more blinding than any sent my way thus far. And maybe it's luck, maybe it's instinct, but I swear, I can feel the heat in my skulll as the energy bolt tears through my face like a hot knife through warm butter.

Adrenaline blunts pain for a second, as my hand raises to touch where the bolt left a mark. When it comes away wet, the pain kicks in.

This time, I don't scream.

"FUCK!"

I yell, in pain, in frustration, in fear. Because my life just flashed through my eyes, my own mortality revealed as the thin, stretched piece of string it was. And that terrified me as much as it pissed me off.

I've been pushed to the fight or flight response more times than I can remember at this point. But nothing has spooked me quite like that one single shot in my direction did.

"Fucking Ripred, Halt!" I cry, my voice about two octaves higher than usual. "If you're going to take my eye out, at least get it right the first time! I have blood pressure to think about!"

There's no calm, no planning, as I raise my gun and point it in the direction I think the shot came from. All of that was swept away with the wind, with the one single blast that, in another world, would have spelled the end of Jacob Fel.

I'm almost disappointed that the gun only let me fire once before I needed to reload, because if that function wasn't in place, I'm almost certain I would have spent the entire clip on this panic-fueled attempt at retribution.

As it was, a single bolt of red energy flies through the air. And this time, I hope it hurts.

Badly.