𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓖𝓸𝓮𝓼 | Katsuki Bakugou x Male reader

Chapter 27

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Everything seemed to erupt at once. The earth exploded into showers of dirt and plant matter. Trees burst into flames. Even the sky filled with brightly coloured blossoms of light. (M/N) couldn't think of why the sky was being bombed until he realised the Gamemakers were shooting off fireworks up there, while the real destruction occurred on the ground. Just in case it wasn't enough fun watching the obliteration of the arena and the remaining tributes. Or perhaps to illuminate their gory ends.

Would they let anyone survive? Would there be a victor of the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games? Maybe not. President Nezu himself had said that this Quarter Quell was "a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol." Not even the strongest of the strong would triumph. Perhaps they never intended to have a victor in these Games at all. Or perhaps (M/N)'s final act of rebellion forced their hand.

I'm sorry, Katsuki, (M/N) thought. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Save him? It's more likely (M/N) stole his last chance at life, condemned him, by destroying the force field. Maybe if they had all played by the rules, the Capitol might have let him live.

The hovercraft materialised above (M/N) without warning. It was quiet, and a mockingjay perched close at hand. He would have heard the jungle go silent and then the bird's call that preceded the appearance of the Capitol's aircraft. But his ears could never make out anything so delicate in this bombardment.

The claw dropped from the underside until it was directly overhead. The metal talons slid under (M/N). He wanted to yell, run, smash his way out of it but he was frozen, helpless to do anything but fervently hope he would die before reaching the shadowy figures awaiting him above. They had not spared his life to crown him victor but to make his death as slow and public as possible.

(M/N)'s worst fears were confirmed when the face that greeted him inside the hovercraft belonged to Kan Sekijiro, the Head Gamemaker. What a mess (M/N) had made of his beautiful Games with the clever ticking clock and the field of victors. He would suffer for his failure, probably lose his life, but not before he saw (M/N) punished. His hand reached for him, (M/N) thought it was to strike him, but it was something worse. With his thumb and forefinger, he slid (M/N)'s eyelids shut, sentencing him to the vulnerability of darkness. They could do anything to him now and he wouldn't see it coming.

(M/N)'s heart pounded so hard the blood began to stream from beneath his soaked moss bandage. His thoughts grew foggy. Hopefully he could bleed to death before they could revive him. In his mind, he whispered a thank-you to Neito for the excellent wound inflicted as he blacked out.

When (M/N) swam back into semi-consciousness, he could feel he was lying on a padded table. There was the pinching sensation of tubes in his left arm. They were trying to keep him alive because, if he slid quietly, privately into death, it would be a victory. He was still largely unable to move, open his eyelids, or raise his head. But his right arm had regained a little motion. It flopped across his body, feeling like a flipper. He had no real motor coordination, no proof that he even still had fingers. Yet he managed to swing his arm around until he ripped the tubes out. A beeping went off but he couldn't stay awake to find out who it would summon.

The next time he surfaced, his hands were tied down to the table, the tubes back in his arm. He could open his eyes and lift his head slightly, though. He was in a large room with low ceilings and a silvery light. There were two rows of beds facing each other. He could hear the breathing of what he assumed were his fellow victors. Directly across from him he could see Tenya with about ten different machines hooked up to him. Just let us die! (M/N) screamed in his mind. He slammed his head back hard on the table and went out again.