vickers

He didn’t believe Vidia had ever suffered in her life. Maybe she’d never even seen someone she cared about suffer. It only made him more furious. He knew exactly what blocked him from reason. He knew there was nothing he could do to be civilized to a woman who’d exhumed bodies even without breaking ground on the original graves. 

He knew she was clever. So clever that even as he started to hear the muffled noises of chaos in the distance, he knew she could find a way to do this again. Maybe even something more awful. He didn’t know her enough to know what her true ambitions and dreams were. He created his own ideas of them, assumed she would only do something worse even if she had to build a lab up from scratch. She was clever, and she could do it all again with all resources gone. 

This wasn’t about Panem. This was about him. He had suffered enough. What remained of his family had suffered enough. He did not want to see what more Vidia could do, what else she could bring into the world that elevated the word cruel to a new level. There was an ounce of reasoning he had left in him, and he let it slide away as he glanced up at the hallway security camera. The light was still off; the camera was still off. Everyone else had run. 

Killing is necessary for survival. Anything seen as a threat should be destroyed. 

Vidia Vickers was a threat to him.

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She didn’t look his way. When she didn’t particularly enjoy the conversation, her eyes would wander on the walls. It was better than seeing spite, and disdain, and disappoint. When he moved, it was already too late, the scalpel cold against the soft skin at the base of her neck. It didn’t hurt immediately. The realization hurt. The tubes crashed against the marble floor. They didn’t matter, for once.

The realization that she was very likely going to die at the hands of the kind of man who’d throw a tantrum and kill irrationally hurt. She wasn’t someone who ever hurt anybody. Her guilt was liking science and always pushing herself further. Her guilt was taking on a lifetime opportunity. And there went the lifetime. She wasn’t the villain in it. Instead, she pierced Chip with the coldest, iciest look she was capable of. It still looked more like offense than hatred. He was mediocre at best, and just made the move to take her life. Her life, with a path of accomplishments and successes ahead. It made her want to cry, but she didn’t. She had to keep calm and sort things out.

Vidia knew a thing or two about the human body, but she didn’t know combat. She was no nurse to patch wounds. Instead, she immediately covered the injury with both her hands, pressed against each other. The blood flowed warm. It made her furious, but she wasn’t going to risk putting too much pressure on her throat with resentful words. Resentful words weren’t going to be her last. She had it under control.

She took a couple of steps back, until she reached a wall, and slid down, to sit. To lie down. The best way to stop the bleeding started there. Chip wasn’t the problem anymore. The peacekeepers would handle him, for sure. The priority was to live.

But the blood kept spurring, and her vision was getting blurry. She was losing much blood, and fast. There was nothing she could do herself other than hope she’d wake up in a hospital bed, with all this over, asked if she’d like to press charges. Yes. She would very much like to press charges. In fact, she wanted to let Chip know that, but she wasn’t even sure he was there anymore. Her sight only perceived lights at that point. 

Was the explosion real, or did her mind just project it, to make slipping away a little easier? She didn’t know what was happening and that little voice telling her to keep calm, or it’ll get worse, was starting to fade. It already got worse, despite all calm. Even though she didn’t know whether Chip was still with her or if he fled, her voice muttered some last words, barely intelligible at that point, before closing her deep blue eyes forever.

“All this, and I still feel sorry for you.”

What was he doing here? A valid question. On various levels. Any other Gamemakers likely expected him to be on an extended leave; those who knew him better were still trying to figure out why he was in his job. What was he doing there?

He was keeping a promise he never made aloud, not even to Perl’s clone. A promise that hadn’t been sealed until his ass had been thrown in a cold shower by an old victor from District Three. He’d been fully clothed. He’d been crashing. Perl would’ve been so fucking embarrassed and disappointed. He’d lied in District Three’s graveyard that night, talking to all his dead family. All dead, except one. One he’d do anything for. That was his promise. 

Evie shouldn’t have had to see what she did on the Reaping day. And she was fucking smart. No matter how much Belle kept her from the screens, he was certain his niece figured things out. Maybe even found a spare computer or table to watch it on. She’d have to watch her mother die again. If only clones could see their lab mother die. Was that the equal price to pay? An eye for an eye? 

He didn’t give a shit if she was willing to pay it. He’d take out the fucking loan for her. 

Glancing up, he saw no little red light on the hallway security camera. It wasn’t on. His grip tightened on the scalpel.

“Y-You upset?” he asked, taking a few steps forward. “Y-Your fucking copycats not get th-the emotional r-response you want? M-Maybe they aren’t as perfect as you fucking th-thought?”

“They are, though. They are great,” Vidia cut him off, eyelashes lowered in a pose of strict exhaustion. She wasn’t going to just sit there and hear him speculate on the behalf of her lifetime achievement. There was no reason to doubt her work, even if he didn’t like her or the project itself. It had nothing to do with anything. She wasn’t even upset. She was, at best, tired and confused about what was going on in the Tower as they were speaking. 

“Perhaps if we could put our differences aside for one moment and determine what is safer to do in these conditions, Chip, everyone would be happier,” she then spoke, with an air of involuntary superiority, as usual. She didn’t get mad. She wasn’t even fully panicked, as she tried to grasp the situation and find a solution, despite the tension rising.

Of course she didn’t notice the staple in his hands. After so many years, the instrument even lost meaning to her, as if it could never be a threat. But she didn’t see it to begin with. “I don’t know what is it that blocks you from reason, but I hear you’re a clever person. You may not like me, but I am too. There is no reason we can’t get over whatever hatred you have going on for me, and talk like civilized people.”

A few days off was leaving him with too much free time. With Evie still in Three, there was nothing to occupy his time with that actually pulled his focus. Except for Seraphina’s death. He watched that without blinking. He did not feel the same urge to lash out as he had when Perl died. He’d sat on his couch, shaking with anger, but there was no one to launch at. No one to scream at. No one to blame. There were several people to blame, actually, but none within reach. It was likely for the best. 

He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t know if it’d end with a bullet in his head or someone else’s. It seemed worse to imagine nothing might happen at all. Regardless, he needed a distraction, and a return to work seemed like the best option. He wasn’t allowed to do anything important. Instead he was sent on minor errands around the headquarters, helping people with connectivity issues or just running diagnostics on computers that were running slower than usual. It was all basic and tedious, but it kept him busy.

He was testing out a new temperature adjustment program in one of the bio labs when the lights flickered and his screen went black. When it lit up again, the computer was completely restarting. He’d never seen a power outage in the HQ before, not even a brief one. It seemed like a security hazard that there weren’t generators at the ready the second something went down. 

He heard a click at the door, similar to the sound that was made when someone held their keycard up to the scanner. He’d become so familiar with it that he glanced over his shoulder, expecting someone to walk in. No one did. He didn’t even see someone on the other side of the small window. Curious, he left the rebooting computer and readjusted his hat a little lower as he approached the door. He pulled it open to see no one in the hallway. He let it fall closed, and it didn’t automatically lock again. He crossed the hallway and tested another lab door. No keycard needed - it opened easily.

Someone had control of the HQ security.

Fuck.

He didn’t know who it was. He didn’t trust whoever was behind this, not really. He didn’t know if his own actions played a role, but he knew he should probably get out soon. He returned to the lab to grab his phone and headed for the door. He paused before opening it again, looking around for anything that might be useful. He grabbed a scalpel from a tray and held it tight as he entered the hallway. 

For a few seconds, it was completely empty and quiet. He kept waiting for a siren to start going off, or for Peacekeepers to storm throughout the whole building. But instead it was someone in a white lab coat with the nation’s most recognizable eyes who crossed his path. “Wh-What th-the hell are you still doing here?” he blurted. It was nothing to do with concerns about safety. The last time he saw her, he’d been blinded by anger. After the last week, his thoughts were crystallized and sharpened by the rage he’d been stewing in. 

@vvickers​

Vidia wasn’t in mourning per se, but it did shake her, having seen so many of the clones she helped create, with sweat and sleepless nights, more dedicated than a mother, die. She saw them again, dead this time, with mud in their mouths and cuts all over their body. She performed the work of a mortician, with the actual Tower mortician. She stitched them up, she cleaned their faces, she brought color back to their cold cheeks artificially. Where the panthers bit, she caressed, and it went away. It was the least she could do. She couldn’t just leave them be and go back to her life. Not yet.

She was carrying lab samples from the fridges into the laboratory when it happened. Screams that signaled the trespassing stopped her from walking back into the lab. She stopped, not quite knowing what to do with the purple liquids in her hand now that she couldn’t look at them through a microscope. Perhaps she should run. Perhaps she should hide. Perhaps she should be finding some alarm button to press. The situation wasn’t unbearable, but as much as Vidia enjoyed the unpredictable, this was intervening violently into her work. 

She stopped into place to reassess, hands still steady on the test tube rack. There was no point in panicking. The Capitol would undoubtedly find and solve the problem. When she ran into Chip Foster, she wasn’t ecstatic about it. Last time they spoke, he crossed some limits and almost lost it. Such companies were no delights. However, she wasn’t scared of him. Her eyebrows raised at the question, which she answered in a collected manner. It was obvious. Vidia Vickers had no respect nor fear for whatever rebel action was going on in the Tower. They were hopeless to her. It was going to end anytime soon. 

Not that rebellion in itself didn’t have something special about it. Vidia understood the appeal of a good rebellion. It just wasn’t something that was going to work. And yet, she would have admired the rebels’ efforts if this didn’t directly intervene into her work. The Games had started a little less than two weeks ago. Her job had been done for months, aside from observance, but she still couldn’t part from the machine that made human flesh -- that she’s seen bleed, and bruise, and pulse in the arena -- out of DNA, that made thoughts out of gray matter. She just couldn’t part from it. By now, she knew the recipe by heart, like grandmother’s cheesecake or that one good pasta sauce that only came out life-changing the first time.

Her answer was cold, a little impatient, visibly bothered, but ready to bet this wouldn’t take longer than a lunch break. “It’s where I work and where I would love to keep working once this chaos is dealt with.” She didn’t consider that they were destroying everything as they were speaking. In her mind, they were going to be escorted out at any second. “What are you doing here, if it’s not too discrete of a question?”

TASK 011. THE ARENA

What sort of terrain/climate would you least hope to find?

Any natural setting. She finds the less natural, even digital type of arenas rather interesting, not that she would perform well in any arenas. She’d want survival, but she doesn’t know if she’s strong enough to kill, both physically and psychically.

What types of animals would you fear the most in the Arena?

She would fear most of them, with a big emphasis on reptiles. As interesting as they are, Vidia is terrified of them.

Aside from the threat of the other tributes and ploys by the Gamemakers, what would you be most afraid of in the Arena?

Disease. She is careful even around flu, and, as a person specialized in biology, she worries about many more diseases than normal people, even if it’s not necessarily the case.

Is there anything else that scares your character that they might encounter in an Arena?

Jeannie fidgeted with her fingers anxiously. This wasn’t good. The time of launch was coming at her quicker than she’d have liked and she didn’t feel prepared at all. She’d done things, trained, tried to impress sponsors and the audience alike but still, nothing seemed like enough when you didn’t know what was coming for you. “Hydrating, okay. Yeah, I got it. But how much is too much, because what if I overdo on the hydrating and I have to pee all the while I should be focused on the bloodbath? Tricky situation, very tricky.”

“I wouldn’t jump over a couple of cups, since there’s so little left. Double it if you go to the bathroom prior,” Vidia raised her shoulders into a shrug as she made her suggestion. “Are you going for a bloodbath item, if any are available to begin with?”

 “Pickles?” Abel repeated with wide eyes. The thought alone had him queasy again. “Only thing that’s going to help is another drink, but I’m trying to hold out until a respectable hour, you know?” he explained with a small laugh.

“It works for me, even though it mainly comes from an ancient superstition.” Even Vidia didn’t know the biological explanation, but even if it were placebo, there was no point in ruining something already working, one way or another. “What you’re describing to me is a certain way of turning yourself into an alcoholic. And, at the end, there’s still a hangover to come. You’re just postponing and intensifying it.”

Amphora stared at the woman, mesmerized by her eyes and finding the practical advice to be some of the sagest she’d heard in both training terms she’d been through. “I will,” she assured the woman with a nod. “Do you have any other suggestions?”

What a good girl. Vidia wanted to peck her forehead, but even for her, that seemed excessive. Affection wasn’t the easiest language for a woman like her, as much as she felt the need to express whatever twisted attachment she had. “The human body can go weeks without food. Your priority should always be water, though you’re weak without food, and you shouldn’t be weak in the arena. I’m not the person to give advice based on the Games. Just always pay attention.”

Perl thought she could detect a bit of actual emotion in those words. It turned her stomach to feel any sort of empathy for this woman. Or to think that she owed her breathing to someone like this. “Wouldn’t worry,” she said. “You’ve done the hard work of making sure our pain receptors are functioning. Now you just have to sit back and watch us die.”

Perl Foster was her own age, and yet, she still had an odd feeling of motherly affection whenever she saw her face. Vidia did watch over and carefully help build all of them. It was only normal she had gotten attached. “If it helps, it will not be pleasant at all. I made you -- I did not work on your deaths. I’m not even a Gamemaker aside from the help I’ve given with the cloning process.”

TASK 010. FACTIONS

Born: Candor

Chose: You would be in Candor!

“Smells very strong” Abel mumbled in disgust. “Took all the medicine I could, but I don’t think anybody has found the cure for a hangover yet, have they?”

Vidia sighed, rolling her eyes, and threw the smoothie in the bin. To hell with anyone who called her unreasonable or apathetic. “I mean, if it doesn’t smell too strongly, eat something sour. Pickles. Water too. There are pills for the headache. Pills for the nausea. Get a little creative, you know?”

This was what living was about. She had dazzled in her interviews, then used the chaos ensuing to barter and sneak her way out into the city streets. She was recognized, of course, but nobody reported her or collected her, instead the drinks and the men and the cigarettes kept coming her way. She reveled in every sinful second of it. Even wasted, she wasn’t stupid, she stumbled back to the Tower around three in the morning after a memorable (for now) stopover at a Capitolite’s apartment. She’d had every intention of going back to her room, but ended up at the Tower’s bar again, a familiar haunt. “Do a shot with me,” she commanded of the person already on the barstool. She hadn’t drank or danced like this since she was young, but that was the beauty of it: she was young. 

Alcohol wasn’t her poison, but it was late enough and private enough to make an exception. Agatha, younger than she was even when Vidia became aware of all the Games superstars as a child, was already tipsy in front of her. It seemed good enough company. “Two of vodka,” she immediately answered, talking to the bartender instead. “I hope that’s up your alley, Miss Moreau.” 

Maybe going out with Elias the night before had been a mistake, even if Rhi had Emme today, he still had to be at the tower, and deal with all of that, and he was massively hungover. “Please don’t eat that in here” he grumbled, holding his hand up in front of his mouth because the smell of food alone had him on the edge.

“It’s just a smoothie,” Vidia defended herself, raising the plastic cup, all the color of a carrot, and then executing a cheers-like gesture. “Do you feel unwell? There’s medicine for mostly anything, you do know that, right?”

Another year, another night spent at her table in the lobby. She brought two pots of tea, several plates of simple food and treats, and plenty of extra supplies to replenish with throughout the night– with so many tributes and so many heartbreaking connections in the Tower, she expected little down time tonight.  “Tea?” she offered to someone who passed and seemed to eye her post with some kind of interest. It was less of an offer and more of a distinct invitation, because she was already grabbing a spare mug and picking up the kettle.

Vidia didn’t need much to consider. She didn’t fear getting poisoned, not when they had cures for most of it. Poison she could get fond of in time. That was a thrill too, to some extent. And Hestia Ember was the sort of company she could see herself seeking. “I’d love to. What kind of tea is it?”

TASK 006. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE?

It can be lonely at the top. As one of the rarest personality types – and one of the most capable – Architects (INTJs) know this all too well. Rational and quick-witted, Architects may struggle to find people who can keep up with their nonstop analysis of everything around them.