man on a mission

Indiana Ofit rarely showed weakness, but it seemed that the last twenty-four hours were determined to destroy her. 

She’d spent the entire night in her room shaking and nauseous, unable to stop washing her hands over and over and over until her skin cracked and bled. She’d been so sure that killing Hunter (or trying) would be her watershed, that she’d be flooded with peace and the sense that she’d finally put her father to rest. Instead, she felt a panic and regret so intense she wondered if she’d even make it to the launch the next morning without her body succumbing to the stress. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, her team just thought she was nervous about the Games. And as they were leaving, she overheard them discussing an attack on the Eighth floor. Not a murder. Which meant she’d failed– and she felt even worse. Hunter would name his attackers. Everything leading to launch was a blur until she was suddenly, painfully alone in a small room, dressed in something that she could only identify as akin to Peacekeeper armor. There was an odd moment, then she felt like she was floating.

No, she was floating. She barely had time to process this, to realize that with a small pushoff she was suspended mid-air. There was no countdown, and unannounced, the walls all slid open. To space. To open space. She kicked in some instinctive urge to run, but with contact to the floor, she was pushed off in the opposite direction, toward the chaos of the Bloodbath. Then, collision– with another tribute she couldn’t recognize through the suit right away, but the impulse to survive took over. She angled herself to fight, trying to grab at them first and gain the upper hand before they got it on her.

@shilohgarner​

And in fact, he almost couldn’t believe he really was.

Was this real? A simulation? How did they get here so fast? His head was spinning as the wall separating him from space — from space, what he assumed was certain death — lifted, and he crouched back, pressing himself to the back wall out of fear, his heart beating fast.

Nothing had gone right. Nothing was going right. What if he died here, now? He would never be able to finish the job. To see if he could really get revenge. To see what it would feel like.

He watched as the other tributes began to push themselves off the walls, out of their own pods. He thought he glimpsed Indy’s face, through her visor.

They hadn’t left things off well. Indy had stuck her knife into Hunter’s shoulder, then run, and he’d had a split second to decide: finish the job himself or follow her.

For some reason, he’d chosen to follow her. To check that she was okay, probably, his instinct strong towards family even if he hardly knew her at all. But when he did find her, all he could do was snap at her, tell her that she’d squandered the opportunity. (Of course, the irony was that he’d squandered it too. He could have finished the job and he hadn’t, for some reason.)

Now, as he pushed himself off and floated out into space (space!), he aimed himself towards the star at the center, the objects floating around it, going for something, anything that would help him.

He reached a canteen first, and grabbed for it, though his movements were slow, floating as he was, hindered by the suit.

indyofit​:​

To feel nothing over his own sister’s death was so terrible, so unthinkable, that the cold rage was no longer too far away to reach. She barely knew Shiloh and if someone were to kill him– Her grip tightened around the hilt of the knife, knuckles going white. This selfish, pathetic man, even when face to face with the horrible things he’d done, he still saw their father’s death as amounting to the unfortunate collateral of a game. Not a person. “We’re not playing a game,” she snarled coldly, closing the distance now, breathing heavily. She pressed the knife to Hunter’s pale throat with trembling hands, angry tears beginning to bud at the corners of her eyes. He still didn’t understand. He still didn’t realize that he’d taken away the one person in her world that had shown her what it meant to love and to be loved. “I already understand what you’ve done to us just fine. You took everything away from us and you don’t even care. Don’t you understand that?! How come my father’s life was part of a game but yours, yours is worth saving? You’re a worthless, pathetic piece of shit, do you hear me?” Her voice was raising dangerously now, and the blood was beginning to well up near the edge of the blade.

She should do it. She should just fucking do it, she was right there. She put a little more pressure on the blade, but the adrenaline surged and her muscles froze. Why the fuck was she freezing up like this when it mattered most? @huntedhunter​ 

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The extents of his sisters’ deaths were none of his business, and he knew that even on his death couch. He clicked his tongue, even, but the sound came undone. And they were threatening, ready to put full stop to such a story. Hunter wanted nothing but to roll his eyes at their audacity. Still, he was too tired to.

Instead, he reached in his pocket and his hand found its way to his lips, to bring a cigarette to it. He took his time – as much of it as he could without talking. Last words? Were these kids mental? Have they not been paying attention.

Last words he’d deliver. “You’re not going to kill me.” Not in any way that matters. “We’re just having a private interview. Do you want to talk about daddy, share some treasured memories?” 

They were more nervous than he was, but that was only because he was too weak to emote, to clouded to realize how hanging by a thread he’d gotten. 

@shilohgarner​

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Indy was on the right track, the words coming from her mouth sounding like they’d been pulled from Shiloh’s own gut, so true were they for him, for how he felt. But she wasn’t doing it; she wasn’t finishing the job, and a cold fear crept through him, the fear that she didn’t have what it took to kill someone, the fear that maybe, if she didn’t, he didn’t either.

Shiloh didn’t pay much heed to Hunter’s words, save that You’re not going to kill me. They were. They were!

So why hadn’t either of them done it yet?

The fatal blow.

So easy.

Right?

“I don’t want to fucking talk,” he snarled, “do it, Indy.” She was right there. The knife was already pressing into his skin. Shiloh could see blood. The blood, oddly, didn’t fill him with the fervor he’d expected, though.

Instead, it proved that Hunter Twill was — disappointingly, unendingly, irreversibly, irredeemably — human.

“Do it. Please.” Something changed in his voice there. He was asking. Begging almost.

Do you plan on forming any alliances? Yes, I can’t go it alone.

If so, with whom? Why? My real alliance will be with Indy. I would also like to team up with Knox in there, if possible.

Do you plan on trying to grab something during the bloodbath? Yes, definitely. It’s the best chance to arm myself.

If so, what? If I’m gonna risk it, I’m gonna grab a weapon.

Do you plan on hunting out other tributes in the arena? Maybe if it comes down to the end and the shit’s just not, you know, ending. But I don’t know, I don’t want to be a fucking hypocrite. I’m not eager to kill innocent people.

What would you consider your greatest strength? My determination.

What would you consider your greatest weakness? Indy. I have no fucking idea what to do there.

Who do you think is your biggest competition? I’d say it’s Indy just because, well, I can’t kill her.

Jeannie quickly stepped forward and steadied him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Like that, but when you move your arm like here, don’t be afraid to adjust your stance. One step forward will do, I think. Come on, again.” She stepped back, gesturing for him to repeat the motion. 

Surya took another sip of her drink, feeling her interest deflate with each word out of his mouth. She’d heard it before, again and again, from volunteers or unlucky Reapings. The words varied, but it was all the same. Everyone wanted to be rich, and follow in the lead of the formerly rich. Even the humblest, most selfless of tributes from an outer district could not turn down their nose at the idea of indoor plumbing. “You’re annoying and on the verge of groveling,” she informed him, tone soft and smile still present. She thought she was being nice by letting him now. He wasn’t her tribute, she had no real investment other than curiosity. “Why do you want to win?”

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Everyone around here said the most cutting shit while acting like they weren’t saying anything mean at all. It was almost impressive, but he was more used to where he came from, where people didn’t have the time to sugarcoat shit. But her tone, and the words that accompanied it, led him towards honesty. Not all the way — but closer. “Fine, I want to win because when I do, I can do whatever I want. I can get away with anything. Don’t tell me that’s not the truth. I know it is.”

“Well, of course,” Calix hummed in understanding, for this was predictable and, at the same time, exciting to watch for the people back home. “And should you, two tributes from District Nine, be the last two standing, what can we expect to happen next? Would you sacrifice for her, or fight to see which one of you two makes your father prouder?” It was a vile question, but with Calix’s soft delivery, almost in the sense of telling a suspenseful tale, there was an odd charm to it, and the audience was mostly breathless waiting for Shiloh’s answer.

.

Shiloh wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, since it was a direct reference to that which he’d worked so hard not to think about. “Calix, do you really think it’ll come to that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, avoiding the question. “If it does, you’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

indyofit​:​

Indy forced herself to try to recall her own righteous anger, the one that had burned in her belly for five years now, making Hunter Twill the object of her obsession. She had to do this. There were no other choices. She drew her own knife now, heart slamming against her ribcage. She couldn’t look Shiloh in the eye. Was she a coward or not? 

He doesn’t regret it, she reminded herself. Shiloh had recounted his conversation to her, and he wouldn’t lie about it. She had no need to regret bringing justice to her father either. 

She raised the knife, addressing Hunter now, trying to steel herself against what had to be done. “Tell us again how our father’s death was nothing to you.”

@huntedhunter​

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Unable to keep his grasp on the blade, he sent Shiloh out of his reach with a push meant to destabilize him. It destabilized the mentor instead, though he regained his balance – not enough to keep standing (but he wouldn’t just collapse on the couch now). The remark about the father was met with properly rolled eyes, but whether that was the poison or irritation, Hunter could not properly tell. Both, surely. 

Breathing heavily, he watched the girl’s knife, and suddenly, he understood. There had been some talk during the interviews, and he picked that up without imagining it’d come to this. Even in that state, his mind linked his state of dizziness to them. Drugged. Fuck. He’d been drugged or worse, and they, as some sort of freakish cult, came for blood, for revenge for a crime he’d done as the Capitol cheered. 

This was not a time to get smart. Maybe if he could keep his eyes on the girl talking to him for more than a couple of seconds, maybe then he would be able to deliver usual Hunter Twill snark, but not like this. They were armed, set to draw blood at the price of their very lives, stupid as they were, and he couldn’t just explain natural selection. He needed to emote and make it convincing.

Immediately, he raised his hands to throat level, part a shield in case of any sudden moves, part to show good intentions. He took a seat on the couch, alert but all weak knuckles. Now all he needed to do was fucking remember the father’s fucking name. Fuck. “Don’t kill me so that your father’s death means even less,” he cocked his head to a side, to reason with them with squinted eyes. This wasn’t even manipulation – it was factual. 

“Some guy killed my sister, Addison, in 108. I didn’t hate him for it. Same with my other sister, but let’s draw the line before that, it no longer fucking applies.” The words were quick to tangle into each other, but Hunter had always made a point out of clarity. He still tried to avoid mumbling. “It’s not nothing to me. None of this is nothing. It’s just a dumb game that we all play, that you’ll understand very soon, regardless of if you kill me or not. Well–” 

He gave Indiana a skeptical look, as if counting on the fact that she was not going to. A bluff, which hid fear behind it. “You’re not playing the game by killing me. You’re answering with free-will violence to a very backdated conditioned violence, this… what I had to do, what I fucking did with no memories.”

Unprompted, he groaned of frustration. Were this kids fucking dumb? “I know you think it feels like fulfilling something, but the dead just pile up. I’m sorry. And no, of course it doesn’t mean much to me now – you’ll see tomorrow how it feels.” Hunter tried to shake his head, but his neck wouldn’t move properly. The dizzy was taking more and more of a hold on him. “Take my word on this and if I turn out to be wrong, one of you should just come out of the arena and kill me then, after you go through what I went through, and after you underst-” The words knotted in his mouth. It was time he stopped, already too long. God, he hated it when he couldn’t speak his mind to the last syllable.

@shilohgarner​

Shiloh was impatient with the damn speech, trying to interrupt him multiple times but Hunter just continued talking. “Are you fucking done?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, unimpressed. “I don’t care that you, a fucking psychopath, don’t care about your sisters being killed. So what? That’s not relevant to me. Or Indy.” He glanced at her, trying to steel his gaze, trying to get her to stay in this with him, to not waver. “If you have better last words than those you can say them now.” They had him cornered, didn’t they? No matter that he hadn’t been able to stab him right away.

indyofit​:

Indy could still smell the acrid, bitter residue of the poisonous plants on her hands, despite the labored scrubbing she’d done at the sink in her private bathroom back on the Ninth floor. She’d made the concoction just before her stylists started getting her ready for the interviews, sure that their own scrubbing would get anything that remained off. Yet she still swore she reeked of poison, no matter how much soap she used or how much perfume her stylists had drowned her skin in.  She was now in a dark shirt and sweatpants, so different from her elaborate interview outfit, but the shimmer of eye shadow and smudge of eyeliner was still there as she waited, breath held, in the hall of the eighth floor. Waiting for… something. This plan with Shiloh had seemed so sure, but now she realized that there wasn’t going to be an obvious moment. Fortunately, she didn’t have to make the call. Shiloh caught her eye, flashed the knife and emerged into the lounge. Her heart raced. This was it, the moment they exacted their shared revenge for the same crime, five years later. Indy had her own knife, tucked against her side, and she drew it then, hand trembling.  In the confines of her notebooks, her fantasies, her threats, this had seemed so simple. Righteous, even. Hunter, though, was not a great monster to be slain in the belly of a fantastical cave. He was just a man. Pale, sweaty, prone, vulnerable. She started to raise her hand, maybe to make Shiloh pause, but instead she let out a surprised “Shiloh!” as he lunged at Hunter, knife raised. 

In a split second, she realized it was decided, and it was something she’d known from the very beginning. Once this was started, there was no way out. It was go through with it and maybe survive, or back down and be executed.

@huntedhunter​

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Hunter sat up from the couch, back straightened to the point where the daze hurt and gravity anchored heavy over his shoulders. He heard the gasp, he saw it flashing how the tributes from Nine approached him, he noticed the gleam of the knife, unmissable and unmistakable. His hand boldly went to block it, grabbing it over the young man’s fingers on the handle. He started bleeding from his palm – didn’t know how. 

With both hands holding onto the weapon, as sweat dripped from him whole. He spat the cigarette butt, still lit, towards the tribute facing him. It ended up on the floor.

“Hey! Stop!” he gasped for air and somehow still managed to sound a certain kind of bored. “You, stay there or I’ll bite your throat off,” he commanded the girl’s way. Shiloh he had right under his bleeding thumb. Okay, one moment of concentration couldn’t hurt at this point, even though everything in his mind was unclear, event though he was feeling increasingly nauseous. 

With all the strength he had left in his veins, he stood up (hands still on the weapon), holding with nails onto his balance and lucidity, even though everything felt like slipping. Still, this was like being on unwanted drugs. He could make ends meet, despite almost throwing up, despite the hot shivers. “What the f–” He swallowed it. No, no, there was another way to approach it. His voice mocked calmness, only because he felt more and more powerless by the second. “To what do I fucking owe the pleasure?”

@shilohgarner​

He hadn’t expected the amount of strength Hunter seemed to still have in his body. Perhaps the poison was weaker than they’d anticipated, or Hunter stronger. A combination of the two. He tried to wrestle the knife from Hunter’s hand, managing to do so only as Hunter stood up and spoke, at which point he stepped back, a little afraid, glancing at Indy, sensing through her surprise, her speaking of his name, that perhaps she’d changed her mind.

“You killed our fucking father,” he spat at Hunter even as he retreated slightly, needing a new plan but knowing that they could not communicate one.

“Hmm,” Surya managed to make a noise of acknowledgment as she swallowed another sip of her drink. “And what will you do when you survive?”

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Enjoy the freedom of having done what I needed to do. Be able to properly mourn my father. He shrugged a bit. “Probably rich people stuff. I don’t know the details yet, you’ll have to give me some tips when the time comes.”

“Wow. Very subtle. Nothing suspicious.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a notebook too that I put all my secrets into. Must run in the family.”

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"It seemed like a fine idea, the secrets notebook, until you walked in,” he mumbled, then looked at her a bit more closely. “So you got secrets too?”

“That’s so very touching. And I’m sure he’d be proud of you!” Calix started clapping toward the audience for them to join in on the applause and nodding. “All parents want to see their children do well, but they also want to see their children make friends. Are there any tribute here you think could make for good allies?”

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The applause felt a little forced, but he wasn’t here for applause. He wasn’t here for this interview at all, really. His goal was different, it was to begin only moments after he left this stage. He frankly wanted it over as quickly as possible. “Ah, well, Indy for sure,” he said with a nod, not elaborating.

She tried not to laugh too much at his declaratino he wanted to be a victor. “I’m sure every other tribute feels the same. What is it about life as a victor you want most?”

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“The surviving part,” Shiloh deadpanned, though the true answer was that he wanted the immunity. He wanted what Holland had. To be able to do whatever he had to do, and get away with it.

“Yeah, thought so.” She rolled her eyes, then joined him, way too close. If they were siblings, she was going to annoy the shit out him like one for as long as she still could. “What’s it really?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, though he really fucking wanted to tell her. He didn’t know why, since telling her was a terrible idea. She wasn’t going to automatically be a supporter of this just because they shared half the same blood or whatever. “It’s just a plan for something. But it’s better if you don’t know. So stop asking.”

“Doesn’t have to be a slab, doesn’t have to be meat. Anything you can cut down with a blade in your District can fit the reference.” She wouldn’t let herself be deterred by his agitation. Jeannie was far too excited to be able to teach someone something for a change. She demonstrated a fighting stance, blade parallel to her arm. “First, you go like this. Then -” Her arm shot forward, to visualize slashing out at someone the way Gamma had shown her in training.